Who Was That Chap?

Many years ago I was fishing for carp at the famous Tiddenfoot Pit. Fished and stocked by Jack Hilton many years before, it had seen many an experienced fisher since, not least for it's healthy population of Wels catfish.
 It was just gettng light when my left rod was away and I was into one of the resident hard fighting commons.
 The mist was just starting to rise from the watery mass and the birds were just starting their morning territorial chants.
 As I played the fish, looking around at the peaceful panorama, I noticed some movement.
 What can only be described as a quite portly gentleman, quietly made his way around the lake, passing the silent and still bivvies of the specimen hunters that frequented the lake.
 My fish was landed as this fellow in his big floppy hat and grey-white jumper set up directly opposite. He gazed over as I released my prize back to the depths. Watching, without acknowledgement, before setting up his rod
 Who is that chap?, I thought. He didn't look like any of the olive green battalion I usually saw. The only time we saw a float fisherman was when a cat angler fished for a livebait or on the odd occasional match. Most of these anglers struggled, which was why we saw so few try.
 Sitting on my bedchair, gazing over the lake, I watched attentively as the gent set up a float rod and threw out a couple of balls of groundbait.
 A first cast, a first fish, a second cast, a second fish and so it continued. I could make out  tench and crucians the likes of which I'd never seen here before, and the occassional large roach. It was as if he'd unlocked the secrets of the lake. I was en-tranced.
 Sitting there behind my alarms, I somehow felt inferior, this chap was 'angling', whilst I was just 'waiting'.
 It would probably have been around three hours later when one of the older members popped around for a chat. I told him of my observations, stating that, "That old boy over there could teach us a lesson or two."
"Indeed he could" came the reply, "For that is Fred J".