Bait choice for my next trip was made simple by the fact that my local shop has a limited choice. It was something from the Dynamite range, or one of the bags of Nash bait that has been on the shelf so long that the local museum are rumoured to be interested in a bulk buy. This suited me fine because the Dynamite was in theory the perfect stop gap until I could get alternative bait sorted. I forget the exact circumstances, but a couple of years ago, just as I was about to set off for two or three nights on Selby, one of my bags of bait in the freezer turned out to be a bag of sprouts or something. I needed a quick fix so I grabbed a bag of Dynamite boilies from my local shop. Needless to say my first choice of bait was fished in the prime spots, while the Dynamite baited rod was half heartedly flung out, just to make up the numbers. I forget how many fish I caught, but distinctly remember that despite the two to one odds and the un-favoured position, the Dynamite rod produced half the fish. I was confident that the bait could produce and given its price, and the lack of millionaires fishing the lake, I was also confident that the fish will not have seen much of it. With the Meaty Marine purchased I turned my attention to rigs. These were tweaked and tidied, nothing groundbreaking or outlandish just simple rigs, but simple rigs tied well, with love and care.
After last week’s fiasco, I seriously considered setting my alarm yet another hour early. Was this perhaps taking things a little too far? If that extra hour did not produce pole position where would I draw the line, sleeping in the car all night perhaps? No I am far too long in the tooth for that malarkey. I am already getting up at a silly time of the morning, if someone else is keen enough to get there before me, they were welcome to it. As it happens, upon arriving at the lake it turned out that only Motorbike Bloke was keener than me, but only to the tune of ten minutes. We spent the time until opening watching the water and chatting about recent captures, or more accurately lack of them.
Normally when the water opens it prompts a scene like a La Mans start, or rather one in reverse i.e. all the cars speed into the car park and everyone jumps out. Things were altogether more relaxed this time round though because there was just the two of us. Rather than rushing off we spent some time admiring photos of our adversaries. In particular that of the big Common. I say big, at low-mid 20s it is not really big by today’s standards, but it is the bigger of only two Commons that the water holds, hence the big Common. It is not even a particularly pretty fish, it has irregular scales and is more of a gnarled dark old warrior than a bar of gold. That all said, it is undoubtedly beautiful in a rugged sort of way. Given its rarity and beauty, along with the lakes biggest resident, it is one of two fish that I would most like to catch. With our appetites well and truly wetted we set off for our respective pegs. As a parting shot Motorbike Bloke laughingly assured me that when I catch it, he would come round to my peg and take the photos of the Common.
Swim choice was academic, the fish were in the same place as last week and the only known capture since was from that peg. Let’s face it, it would have been rude not to! Five minutes later, and the late arrival who was stood hands on hips giving me the evil eye before doing an about turn, was obviously thinking along the same lines.
Although it did not take me long to set my stall out, due to the extended socialising it was comparatively late, so I was spitting feathers. Brews on the bank always taste good, the first one especially. With being that little bit extra thirsty that one hardly touched the sides, so the kettle was not even cold when it was pressed back into service. With my thirst quenched and now just drinking Tea for the pleasure of it, I sat back to watch the water for sings of my tormentors.
A short time later something funny happened. One of those fat rod rests, the middle one to be precise, started to make a funny noise accompanied by line being stripped from my reel at an alarming pace. Once I remembered from the dim and distant past that this signified a run, and after double checking that the offending rod did not belong to someone else. Like hell, I shot up like a scalded cat and could not help letting out an involuntary “YEEES” as my strike was met with a reassuring Carpy thump.
I remember thinking hang on Jackson don’t be premature, there is the small issue of an island and a fallen tree to navigate yet. At that exact moment the Carp, which was clearly clairvoyant, made a headlong rush for the back of the island. This was bad news! With the fish kiting on a long line, just clearing the island was not nearly enough, I had to get the fish a long way further right to avoid the fallen tree. With the angles all wrong I had no choice but to gallop several yards to my right and then hang on for dear life. Fortunately this change appeared to confuse the fish, which then took off in the opposite direction straight out into open water. With a few more yards gained and the worst of the danger avoided I eased back a little and slackened my clutch right off. After such a long wait there was no way I was going to lose this one to a hook pull in the margins. This proved to be a really prudent move because it was the margins where the fish decided to make its stand. Keeping deep the fish twisted and turned plodding back and fourth seeking out one of the many snags, sunken logs and stumps that litter the margins. Eventually the pressure told and although I had yet to bring the fish up to the surface experience told me that it would not be long. I slid the net forwards so it was more to hand and then started to apply some upwards pressure. After a little persuasion a very distinct and familiar flank rolled on the surface. To say I was gob smacked would be the understatement of the year. If you wrote it as a script it would be dismissed as totally improbable and far fetched. But this is not a film its real life, and the most unexpected and improbable can and does happen. It was the big Common and after a couple more half hearted lunges she/he was safely nestling in the folds of my net.
the most unexpected and improbable can and does happen! 
Obviously I could not wait to take up the kind offer of photographing the Common. There was no point in hauling the fish up on the bank, it would have to stay in the net while I arranged the photograph. The barbless only rule meant that unhooking the fish in the net was easy and straight forward so with that done, I folded the arms and secured the net with a long heavy duty peg. My other rods were unceremoniously wound in and I set off round the bank. The only blemish on what would have been an otherwise perfect story is that upon arriving at Motorbike blokes peg he was engrossed in what was clearly a fairly involved and important phone call. As much as I would have loved for him to have been able to take the photos, as always the welfare of the fish came first. Although another angler was press ganged into helping photograph and weigh the fish at 22lb 2oz, it was not long before I walked back round the lake to share the experience with the only bloke who could fully understand the weird coincidence of it all.
On this water at least, almost anything after that would ultimately be an anticlimax. So it was fairly east to accept when the rest of the day turned out to be just that. It was smiles all round as I set off for home that evening.
Little did I know as I drove home grinning like a demented idiot that events were already in motion that meant it would be many weeks before I would walk those banks again.
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Kinnel the biker is hardcore int he heading down that dodgy road on a Moped B4 first light loaded with a 3 rod setup 
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