Cyprio Numero Uno
If I ever had a childhood dream, it was to catch a carp. Ever since I had started to fish I wanted to hook one of these scaly leviathans. The angling weeklies were poured over and my eyes attacked the magazines carping articles with passion and a strong desire to catch this, most mysterious, of fishes.
You see, the world of angling was different back then. There were no still waters getting dug and filled with hordes of readily catchable, palm-sized carp. No, back in the innocent days of my youth a carp had to be earnt, it had to be fished for, and you had better get used to failure…because you were going to become well acquainted with it…How times have changed Eh?
On hot sunny days, the resident carp of my local ponds came to the surface to bask in the strong solar power sent down from above. Long, thick and battleship grey, these carp looked an awesome sight to me. I could never truly imagine I would ever catch one for I had seen too many anglers cast a “double” maggot or a floating crust on top of their ancient head only for the carp to slowly, without moving a fin, sink out of sight. No, these fish were old and wise and far, far beyond the capabilities of a youngster like me. I would still try though, but I knew the outcome before I even baited the hook.
On my first ever trip to the CLA gamefair my father had given me a “tenner” to spend, which was worth a little more than it is today. I scoured the angling stalls looking for something very special that would help me catch more fish.
I suppose I was looking for some kind of magic ingredient, a special elixir that the fish would find irresistible. Back in those days the gamefair was much bigger than it is today and, likewise, it appeared to have more stalls to browse round. For a young lad it was piscatorial paradise. I had never seen boilies “in the flesh” before, although these carp baits had been out for a while they were only just becoming mainstream and I had personally not encountered anyone fishing with them.
The stall-holder must have seen an easy sale because he soon enquired whether I fished for carp and would I be requiring any bait. Rather predictably I emerged from under that canvas a fiver lighter, but clutching a bag of exotic smelling boilies. “Coconut Crème” I think was the name stuck on the bag and their aroma was delicious.
The next morning couldn’t come quick enough and, as the sun rose, in the sky I was tackling up with all haste. I had borrowed my fathers Abu Cardinal 55, a cult reel back in the eighties and worth a few quid too as they had been discontinued. This was the days before the Shimano’s hit the scene and the 55 was seen as “The” big fish reel. That reel was furnished with rather ancient 10lb Maxima, this dark line curled off the spool holding much of its memory and making it practically impossible to cast. I was using another purchase from that gamefair too, a massive Drennan Driftbeater, and tethered a foot underneath was a solitary coconut boilie. The innocent enthusiasm of youth!
I wont tell you what I caught that morning because I am sure you already know. Needless to say…my quest continued.
For the next two seasons I tried and tried, but despite my angling skills getting better, I hadn’t even gotten a take off of those carp. You see, they had been in this pair of very popular lakes for as long as I can remember and they had seen just about every bait, every method and every young lad trying to lure them too. These educated carp are not the sort for a youngster to cut his teeth on, but that’s all that was available at the time.
In those days the stillwaters had a close season, the build up to which was most exciting for an angling mad youngster. Tackle had to be cleaned and organised into compartments. The few floats I owned were lovingly wiped down and reels replenished with new line. It was the angling equivalent to a Christmas Eve.
On the opening day of that particular year my young cousin and I decided to put in a long stint at our local ponds, our juvenile imaginations working overtime at what huge bagfuls of golden-scaled delights lay before us. There are two ponds, an upper and a lower one, the lower one being about 50% larger than the top pond. It was on the lower pond we were to concentrate our efforts.
We were young and woefully under prepared for night fishing. With only a paraffin lamp for light and warmth we tried to concentrate on our “starlights” glowing green on the dark water. Our heavy eyelids finally succumbed to sleep and we drifted away at the waters edge, lying on the bank side dirt. We awoke freezing and uncomfortable, the dawn was still half an hour away and we huddled around this singular lamp, quivering hands pressed against the glass in attempt to glean a tiny amount of heat. It was one of those familiar moments when you wonder, just why we do it! It would have been easy to have gone home, lured by the thought of a warm, dry bed, but we were somehow held by an invisible thread to the waters edge that morning.
The friendly face of an early morning sun started to appear and before we knew it, the morning light had revealed the sight every fisherman dreams of, a glass-like surface, smouldering with a covering of light mist.
Now you know all about gut feelings, well, several times in many years fishing I have been struck by an overwhelming urge to do something a certain way. It’s a weird thing that I cannot explain, but if I don’t follow my instincts I just cannot settle. It was on this morning, beside that lovely looking pond, that I just knew we had to move.
Our four rods were carried up to the top pond and we cast out with enthusiasm. We had four rods out, with three of them cast into the centre of the pond and each one was on the swim feeder and baited with double maggot on a size 16 hook.
The last rod was the previous years Xmas pressie, a Sundridge Turbo Graphite Leger, and it was one I lovingly cared for, wiping any debris from its deep kingfisher blue carbon. The eye at the rods tip was threaded to accept those screw-in Drennan quiver tips for when you were legering. At the time I thought that this was as good as leger rods could get! But the best is yet to come; I suppose I shouldn’t really admit to this, but attached to its squeaky new cork handle was a centre pin reel! Imagine that, swimfeedering with a centrepin! Just what was going through my mind? This silver ‘pin was an Adcocks Stanton and a description of which can be summed up by just one word…Quality. I have had this reel for nearly twenty years and it still spins like a dream.
Because of this set-up I could only use the Wallace cast, ergo, my feeder only reached about 7 or 8 yards from the bank. Incidentally, in the feeder on that rod I had stuffed a load of sweetcorn. For the life of me I cannot understand why, the rectangular golden kernels were much too big to escape from the small holes! After the cast the rod was propped up in the bankside rushes and an elastic band attached so that the ‘pin would let line out. Now, if a big fish had taken the bait and ran I would have lost the rod, it was a very daft thing, but again, I never realised this at the time.
As the morning’s light got stronger and stronger my cousin and I hit three great bites and managed to net a trio of red-eyed, green-skinned tench. It was the most tench I had ever caught in one stint up until then. We were both buzzing with excitement, our cold, sleepless night long forgotten.
I can’t remember which one of us saw it first, but suddenly my prized Sundridge leger rod was flexing its way into the water and, luckily, I just managed to grab it in time and snap the elastic band. I was ready and waiting for a royal fight. Although I had never hooked a carp before I just knew what it was on the other end of the line. This fish felt heavy and I braced myself for the first run, expecting an experience somewhat reminiscent of Hemmingway’s “The old man and the sea” But it never happened. This carp, my first, took about three yards of line and came wallowing up to the surface blowing watery bubbles as its scaly form came slowly to the telescopic trout net I was using.
I was elated beyond words. Three years I had waited for this moment and it sure did feel good. Upon weighing on the cheap brass scales I owned I found the weight to be a respectable 6lb 8 oz. By far my biggest fish that I had ever caught. I didn’t want to return this generous fish to the water, I wanted to gaze at its beautiful shape all day, but of course, I did the right thing and carefully lowered the fish towards its home. Just as I slipped the carp back a chap came running round the pond and he took a photograph of me and my fish. Then the carp swam away strongly, hopefully someday, to give another young kid his personal best.
After such an experience we tacked down. To fish on would be an anti-climax. For the next few days I never shut up about that fish. The fight was suitably elaborated and the length of the piscatorial battle grew and grew. At the end of the day I was just plain lucky, though I was too young to realise that at the time.
This story doesn’t end there, because many months later I bumped into the chap who had the camera fishing on the canal. Unbelievably he had those pics in his tackle box for me. Now, that was a stroke of luck!
Since then I have caught thousands upon thousands of carp, the novelty has worn off, but I still like catching them when I get chance.
Those pair of ponds are still there, and so are the carp. There is a good chance that my first carp is still alive and well, for they live to a grand old age. I actually went on to become very successful on those lakes, targeting the carp and the few chub, mainly because they were the hardest fish in there to catch…But that’s another story, maybe to be told another day. I wish that fish well because it changed a fishing-mad young kid’s life forever....