I've been reading through your various stories, and have thoroughly enjoyed them all, my first night on shift seemed suddenly quite bearable knowing I was able to read them in relative peace & harmony, inspirational stuff indeed!


My very first Twenty was a 21.08 Mirror from Thorndon Park in Essex, captured on film, many years ago.


I remember it as though it were yesterday.


It was in the mid Eighties, an impromptu venture out for a days fishing with my parents. The venue was one that we had fished previously a couple of times beforehand for Tench and general coarse fish, but I had never before attempted to specifically target the Carp from this particular lake, although I knew it held a few good fish. So we made an early start, my mother was on food detail, whilst my father, brother and I went about loading the car. We set off on the long & arduous journey (10 minutes in the car with my parents is more than enough time. Believe me the reason I suggested Thorndon Park in the first place was due to its close proximity to my home!). We arrive at the car park to discover no other cars in situ, and hasten towards the lake with a childlike anticipation, trolley bouncing along awkwardly behind us.

The lake looked stunning in the early morning mist that appeared to hover above the surface like a sheet of fine Silk. The songbirds were in fine fettle as the dawn chorus commenced, however, the serenity of the moment was interrupted by a fish presenting itself to the world on the left hand side of the lake, and so the left hand side it was.

We all nestle into a large swim, and settle for what looked to be a productive morning, but apart from a few nice Tench, the odd Perch & some nice Roach (Top angling Ma), very little else was happening on the Carp front, and as each hour passed, I realised my chance of a catching a Carp was slowly ebbing away as the sun grew higher and the morning grew hotter.

By midday, the sun was blazing down upon us, and all but the foolhardy had thrown in the towel. My father elected to make the most of the sunshine, sprawled across a garden sun bed, my mother was reading, and my younger brother was picking off the silver fish on a whip.

I had just returned after a stroll, when I notice some stray biscuits that had obviously been chucked in by someone fishing the opposite bank had begun to drift slowly across the lake toward us, and a couple of fish were lethargically picking them off one by one, unfortunately out of range. An hour or two passed without incident, and by now, we are contemplating stopping for the day, when I suddenly notice a fish moving down the lake just within casting range, its huge back protruding from the water. I seize the floater rod (A 13ft Shakespeare Strike glass match rod with accompanying Mitchell 300), pinch a large piece of flake around the hook, and launch the bubble float out as far as it would possibly go.

It landed someway in front of the fish, which was still moving leisurely along the same path towards my baited hook, very slowly I began to wind in, until the piece of flake was in direct eyeshot of the fish, no way could he miss it now!

My heart was fit to burst and I was shaking uncontrollably as it approached my bait, this huge back was rising slowly as it neared, I had no idea what the outcome would be, but expected the inevitable rejection. To my surprise, the fish raised its head, took one big gulp, and swallowed the flake without hesitation. “Hit it for fcuk sake, it’s had it” I heard my father cry somewhere in the distance, I was still dumbstruck that the fish had taken the bait in the first instance, and although only a split second had passed, it undoubtedly seemed like a lifetime.

Fortunately for me the fish had hooked itself and so battle commenced, off it shot across the lake with renewed vigour making my 300 scream and the line whistle, what I hadn’t taken into consideration was the snag it was racing toward, a post that was inserted into the lakebed. My heart sank as all went solid, and I resigned myself to the fact I had lost the fish, I placed the rod in the rest, slackened the clutch a little, and waited…………nothing.

Convinced the fish has slipped the hook, I pick up the rod and begin to apply gentle pressure when suddenly I feel the fish free itself (The profanities had paid off). A further Ten-minute battle ensued before my younger brother slipped the net under the fish, and then proceeded to snap it at the spreader block by attempting to lift it directly from the water, however by this time I’m already in up to my knees, with both hands firmly gripping the net by both arms, safe at last.

The result, a perfectly formed (If not somewhat dumpy) Mirror Carp weighing in at a very respectable 21lb 8oz, and a video of the capture to boot. (Cheers Pa).

very good, provided the perfect coffee break read! nice one.

Cheers fella's. but my inspiration came from those who have already recounted their experiences on here, and that was all the motivation I needed.



Anyway, back to reality & the Carpy year ahead.



A fistful of Silkweed, the Playboy bunny, & a once smokin Gun.


Last Thursday was my first Carpy outing of 2006. (Sad I know).


And it all started rather badly I’ll admit. My feckin gear was all over the shop after a rather radical scaling down earlier this year, I had no rigs made up as I decided to start afresh, so therefore had discarded the old lot, I had no grub prepared, so it was tinned crap or nothing. (Opted for nothing, what a mistake that turned out to be). The top inflatable ring of a 1,000 gallon paddling pool containing my ex-neighbours fish that is now inhabiting the rear of my garden had a slow leak, so I was reluctant to leave them for Two days, & to top it all off, the A13 through Benfleet was at a standstill due to roadworks, and the A127 was shut due to an R.T.A.

B*ll*cks to it, I was determined to find a positive, & then my thoughts drifted back to the previous day’s sighting of a fair percentage of the lakes finest residing in the Essex bay. That coupled with the fact I had a ready supply of colds in my England fridge (Has a burning effigy of Sven plastered to the front ) I now had a purpose!

The journey to the lake was poxy. The usual 15 minute drive turned into a 90 minute nightmare, & I didn’t arrive until 3p.m. I quickly unpacked the car & erected my new JRC brolly (the Dog’s nads) and had a look round. Once again, the relatively shallow waters were heaving with fish in the sunshine, and I was the only angler in the bay! Happy days.

After what you said in the first post, I'm wondering which you were least happy to see, the parents or the gnats? Great reading so far, more!

It's a car thing My old woman drives, my old man drives my old woman mad.


Nice one Dad, I knew you wouldn’t let me down!


He had the foresight to replenish my cold stock by fetching me over another four. we sat for a while watching the Carp traffic leisurely making its way in & out of the bay, the Bream had shoaled up in front of my swim, something I had never witnessed before, hundreds of them lying stationary just below the surface, almost as though they were set in jelly. My parents had not long departed & by now, the gnats had moved in with a vengeance, resolute in their numbers, a miniature Luftwaffe staging a re-enactment of the ‘Battle of Britain’, but my reminiscences of heroes & villains was interrupted by the sound of my RX, I sat up brusquely in time to see my hanger dropping slowly. I wasted no time in picking up the rod & striking, Fish on! However, my instincts told me it must be a Tench, for it was doing very little other than swimming toward me.

ARRRRRRRRRRGH!

That’s the last time I trust my instincts. For no sooner had the fish reached my side of the bay, so it powered off to my right with venom, straight underneath the willow, yet despite my best efforts to restrain it whilst holding my rod tip under the water, the inevitable happened & all went solid momentarily, then slack as the fish slipped the hook.

Trust me, I didn’t disappoint those that afforded me the pseudonym of Tourettes that evening! Albeit I was happy in the knowledge the fish did not escape tethered to a length of line.

Double jeopardy.


I cracked open another cold, rolled a bifta, & contemplated committing seppuku.

Cobblers!

I felt totally deflated my first session of the year, a fish hooked & lost on a difficult water on my first outing, talk about knock you back. Anyway, it was getting late so I recast my rod to the same spot, & dropped the other under the marginal willow with a few freebies for good measure.

The night was uneventful, a few bleeps here & there, but otherwise nothing of note.

I woke to a cracking sunrise (Forgot my digi) & crept round so as not to disturb anything that may be investigating the margins, large patches of bubbles were hitting the surface not too far out, & I was sure it would only be a matter of time before something happened (Ever had that feeling).

And I wasn’t wrong either, for as I sat there, keeping a vigil on the area under the willow, a tell tale swirl hit the surface a couple of feet away from my hook bait shortly followed by a belting run I calmly lifted the rod, leant into the fish momentarily, when suddenly all went slack.

The sky wasn’t the only thing that turned Blue that morning.





The Gun saga will unfold Wednesday evening I'm off home for a Sh*g & some

The gun



By late morning, the sun was beating down vigorously, & the fish were now moving freely between the main lake, & the warm shallows of the bay. I sat on the grass bank contemplating the preceding fishy episode with a degree of scepticism.

My mate J popped over for a visit, & promptly disappeared again, homeward bound after spotting several fish moving about, he just couldn’t resist! Meanwhile, I decided to have another rake round the marginal area directly in front of my swim.

On about the sixth chuck, I noticed something coming in with the rake, at first I suspected it to be a Swan mussel, but it wasn’t until I had it on the bank that the realisation of what I had just dragged up hit home, protruding from the silk weed was the butt of a pistol.

I immediately telephoned Tony the owner (Crocket on here) to explain my predicament.

Me: “Hello Tone, are you on the road”.

Crocket: “Yes Daz, what’s up”.

Me: “A f’kin pistol, that’s what’s up”.


Silence…..


Crocket: “What do you mean, a pistol?”

Me: “I just dragged it in with me rake”

Crocket: “What sort of pistol”

Me: “Do I look like Dirty Harry, I ain’t got a f’kin clue, hang on a minute, & I’ll have a butcher’s”.


Up until this point, I had not touched the thing for fear of contaminating it with my grubby mitts, but thought it would do no harm, so I bent down to examine it, and as I began to pick through the weed, I realised that it was a replica, an old black plastic cap gun.


Me: “Alright Tone, yeah it’s real, you better come back & alert the old bill”.


I could sense he was a little agitated.


Crocket: “Right, I’m on my way back”.

I may be a formidable wind up merchant, but I just couldn’t bring myself to let him drive back, so told him the truth. “W****r”

one day me old matey i will have my revenge. Now, just for a laugh and only because i have now got over it (nearly) , you may if you feel the need, relay the 'tent' story.

and be a good young fire starter and get some proper hooks.