‘Wherever I looked the view was a stunning; rhododendrons in full flower, scattered around the pool were small patches of lilies, some with bright yellow flower and lots of submerged lily leaves of a vivid green in colour, known by anglers as ‘cabbage leaves’ for their crinkled edges’
It was around 1600 hrs on June 15th when I arrived at my chosen venue, an estate water, for the start of my 83rd year of angling. An hour or so later, I dropped my tackle bag and rod holdall off at ‘The Oak Tree’ pitch, followed by my brewing gear with a fruit cake.
I put together my Sharpe’s salmon fly rod, which had been converted from 13 feet to 11 feet for carp or barbel, matched with a centre-pin reel. My other rod was a Constable ‘Forty Fore’ matched with an early 1950s Mitchell 300; both reels with 12 lb bs line.
I’d chosen to start fishing at dawn on the western bank which is heavily bushed and where I have shelter overhead, with rushes in front for cover from the fish. This bank also catches the first warmth of the sun’s rays. I have patches of water-lilies, beds of potamogeton natans and bulrushes. I also had the choice of fishing over gravel or soft silty areas. I soon spotted the odd carp cruising around on the edge of the lilies.
Wherever I looked the view was a stunning; rhododendrons in full flower, scattered around the pool were small patches of lilies, some with bright yellow flower and lots of submerged lily leaves of a vivid green in colour, known by anglers as ‘cabbage leaves’ for their crinkled edges.Spotting a gap in the rhododendrons, I quietly made my way through to the water’s edge. I noticed the water was slightly coloured with poor visibility; in other years I would see the bottom over much of the lake bed, though I did spot a couple of tench of around four pounds in less than two feet of water, creating a smokescreen as they rooted about, no doubt feeding on bloodworm.
I had a choice of baits, bread, potatoes (not tinned but potatoes cut into chunks and cooked). I’d arranged pieces of potato to be thrown onto the gravel area for a few days, in exchange for a bottle of Grouse whisky. I also had lobworms and sweetcorn.In case I fished all night I had some silver paper for visual bite indication, also an alarm indicator which would alert me to any interest from a fish, should I accidently fall asleep in the darkness.
I sat there for around two hours just soaking up the atmosphere and the joy of being back. Sadly most of my friends and others from the 1950s and 60s have passed on; at 2200 hrs I stood for a minute’s silence to remember all those no longer able to enjoy this special day. I certainly miss them all; we had so much fun, learning from each other as we progressed in our knowledge.
Around 2330 hrs, with no sign or sound of carp moving, I chose not to fish during the darkness and get my head down in the big house. At 0315 hrs, after a quick shower etc, I quietly went out of the door, then slowly walked to my first pitch, then put my jet boiler on for the first fresh brew of the day.
Dawn; the start of some action.
The bird song was amazing. There was also a group of roe deer and I spotted a fox creeping along the opposite bank. Having spotted a carp moving, I catapulted a few bits of bread close to the far bank. “Life at last”, I thought, as a few minutes later a fish nudged a piece crust, not sure what it was up to, as it slowly submerged and disappeared; “surely it wasn’t spooked?” I thought. A few minutes later I spotted a swirl around the crust through my binoculars, then watched the crust disappear. At least I’d got a carp interested in taking bread. Sadly not, it seems, as the other bits of bread were ignored.
My first fish.
Picking up my cane rod and centre pin outfit, with a loaf of bread and landing net, I walked slowly to the opposite bank, keeping well back from the water’s edge, then spotted a fish no more than three feet from the bank. Quietly, I dropped a piece of flake which didn’t even cause any movement on the water surface. The light had improved greatly; I felt the warmth of the sun’s rays.
I suppose twenty or thirty minutes had passed. I sat hardly daring to breathe, as I watched a carp move slowly towards the bait and when about three inches from the bait, it moved closer, its mouth slowly opened and quietly sucked in the flake. It carried on moving slowly, not knowing it had a hook in its mouth, until I set that hook firmly in the top lip. All hell was let loose as the water boiled, the fish opened the after-burners as it moved fast across the water to the opposite bank, creating a bow wave and leaving a trail of silt in its wake as it did so.
Before it reached the danger zone, I managed to pull it off its direction, away from a sunken tree branch. It then powered up the lake to the dam end and again I turned its head. After probably ten minutes or so, I was getting the better of this fight. The fish probably couldn’t work out why it was being dragged in different directions so often. I didn’t slacken off for a second. It’s surprising what 11 foot of quality bamboo, matched with a centre pin reel and 12 lb line can do; the power is perfect and at no time I did I think I would lose this fight. Eventually I got my prize in the net, a lovely common which, on the scales, weighed 16 lbs 8 ounces; I was delighted.
It was time for that badly needed fresh brew. During the course of the day I had a total of ten fish, all on bread flake or crust, all caught no more than three feet off the bank, my success was down to watching for a fish, then slowly stalking the quarry often on hands and knees, and often through nettles. When in position it was a case of quietly lowering the flake or crust, often next to a lily leaf so that no line was on the water.
This close to the bait, there is no rod rest in this type of fishing; at all times you are holding the rod, ready for instant action.I think it was the fifth or six fish that I spotted slowly moving alongside a large patch of lilies. Moving into position some four feet in front of the fish, I lowered the flake on the surface, directly under the rod tip.
No line was on the water and I reckon this fish spent twenty minutes just lying dormant; I was getting concerned that it wasn’t looking for food.The fish then disappeared under the lily pads. I could see by the movement of the pads that it was moving in the right direction. Suddenly it lifted up in the water close to my bait, then moved forward to gently nudge it. I thought, “that’s a big fish”. A couple of seconds later, it sucked in the bait and all I had to do was lift the rod; the fish was on. It moved off extremely fast, the reel screaming in protest, some thirty or more yards of line were stripped from the reel as it headed off towards the dam. I let it run, hoping it would slow down; this didn’t happen so I increased the pressure until I could feel the rod bending in the butt joint, right down into the cork handle.
At one time I walked backwards in the hope of increasing more pressure but no way could I stop the fish in its track. Suddenly this big one turned to the left, heading for some flag iris growing in the shallows, where some branches had fallen in the water time ago. Saying to myself, “If the fish got in that lot all would be lost”, thankfully it slowed down, then changed direction. I reckon this fish had been on for around fifteen or more minutes before I got my first good look at it; I realised I’d got a heavy fish, a mirror carp, built for power. Another ten minutes passed, seeming like a lifetime, but the fish didn’t want to slow down. With most of the water around three feet in depth with a lot of silt, the fish often powered on through water leaving a black trail in the water as it ripped through the silt. The water looked as if a World War Two warship was making a smokescreen to escape.
The sun beat down, my arm was aching, I felt numbness in my rod hand, but I was determined to get this fish. I’d even made the choice to go in the water, if needed, to keep the fish from the bankside lilies.Thankfully I managed to get myself along the bank where I had a clear area for netting the fish if needed. Slowly the fish started to tire, the runs were becoming shorter. The fish often wallowed on the surface as the runs become shorter. I put on more pressure and began walking backward, slowly dragging the fish towards the bank. This was working so, pushing the net out in the pool, I virtually dragged the fish over the net, dropping the rod I lifted; the fish it was mine. I struggled to get the fish from the water as it thrashed about in the net, water going everywhere.
I got well drenched but it didn’t matter, I’d got my prize. As I manoeuvred the fish into the weigh-sling I thought of the words last season from the owner who said, “Could there be a 20lb carp in the water?” I said, “Yes.” On the scales I got a reading of 21lbs 10 ounces. Punching the air with joy, I shouted to no one, “Yes, it’s a new water record.” After a couple of quick pictures I watched the fish swim off strongly. Later in the day when the owner returned from his golf, I gave him the good news.During the session I had eleven carp, all on surface baits of bread. The best ones were 21-10, 16-8, 15-9, 15-3 with 5 more doubles and two of around 8lbs; the end of a very good start to the season.
Writing & Images Martin James M.B.E – Summer 2023
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