Keeping to the right the gravel path terminated in a small car park where Graham greeted me with an open palm and a smile. I complimented him on his choice of location and turned a full circle to take it all in: hills, trees, stone cottages and a field full of sheep and sturdy, well-fed lambs – beautiful.
I followed Graham into the cottage to meet Jane, his wife, and to run through the hundreds of fishy pics held on his pc, but I was looking for just one; one shot with a good story behind it. It need not have been an outsized specimen nor, indeed, a particular species, just a good quality shot with an interesting provenance. What you see above was his choice.
“Would you say this is the most remarkable capture you ever made?” I asked him, but was told of the book he could easily fill with accounts of outstanding specimens caught under duress or in unusual circumstances. He went on. “…but this fish was the last thing I expected on that particular day”. Graham dunked a custard cream in his tea and began to explain.
“I‘d been travelling around India, Hyderabad, Calcutta, Delhi, Poona and Bombay; my job with British Airways involved taking care of the catering for the Royal Tour of India”
So I’m gob-smacked within minutes of meeting the man. I’d unwisely assumed Graham Elliott to have been something in accounts…forestry…sales…hospital administration…how foolish it is to assume!
“Exhausted, I settled into the first class luxury of a flight back to Heathrow. Suddenly wide awake and also wide eyed, a stunning blonde stewardess offered the obligatory champagne starter. Later, she came and offered breakfast which I declined politely, but she wouldn’t take no for an answer and told me I must try her scrambled egg. We continued chatting for a lot of the flight. There definitely was a buzz in the air!”
Blimey, I thought; where are we going with this? How does this link up with a big ol’ mirror? Graham inches the biscuits toward me and I take one.
“Amazingly, on my next two trips to Colombo and back to Bombay, she was also on the crew – a thousand to one chance. Kismet. Long story short, we set up home in Eton Wick near Windsor and, later, with the kids into school, Jane took a job at a market research bureau, managing, and as a hostess. Here she befriended another ex-stewardess”
Was this woman a carp fishing fanatic? Oh, her husband perhaps… “I’m intrigued, Graham; this ain’t yer average fishy story!” I apologise for my interjection and Graham continues.
“Move on ten years and her friend, knowing I was a keen angler, suggested that I come and have a look at the lake that backed onto her house, as the houses that circled the lake had fishing rights. Amazingly, it took about another five years until I did! It looked stunning at about 4-5 acres in size, a crystal clear reservoir with gravelled bottom interspersed with duckweed. Tench, I thought, there must be tench!
A week later I was there, armed with a Sundridge Proton 13ft float rod that bent forever and had comfortably managed a few big barbel. This linked with a 6lb line to a size 14 specimen hook and an insert waggler. Red maggots and sweetcorn were to be the hook-bait after catapulting out a pint of reds and half a tin of corn. A cast out to 20 yards and the waggler slowly cocked as I wound back with the rod tip under the water and it settled beautifully with just 2 inches of red tip showing. This was comfort fishing: sitting on a deck that overhung the water and with a row of water rushes in front of me, yellow water lilies to the side. It got even better as Jane’s pal arrived with a cup of tea and a pizza slice”
I glanced up at the image on the screen and could easily appreciate just how idyllic the situation must have been – he’d been handed a slice of heaven as well. One of Graham and Jane’s two Siamese cats patrolled the window-sill and I dunked another custard cream…
“I have to admit, I’ve never been a long-session angler; I like my home comforts too much, with only the odd overnighter on the Trent or Severn due to the distance. To be honest, some of the carping stories I’d read seemed more like camping holidays – despite having friends who’d blazed the trail on Savay, Redmire and the like. But after sliding down river banks – sometimes into the water – I have to say, this was fishing heaven.
Time passed, and I watched the waterfowl across the water that now had a gentle breeze on it and then noticed the float lift and slide away. The strike was late but a fish was hooked and I knew straight away that it was a tench, boring this way and that. Safely in the net, the green, almost luminescent scales, shone brightly in the early spring sunshine. A good seven-pounder with a wide paintbrush as a tail. A smiling angler released her to the water’s embrace – what a start!”
“So your very first fish from this water was a seven pound tench?” A statement of the bleedin’ obvious, I knew, but it needed to be said if only for my benefit…to fully appreciate the luxury of Graham’s privilege.
“Yep. Not bad, eh? I made another cast and settled back, the humidity leaving me half dozing, but I was woken with another cuppa and a large hunk of carrot cake! As it happens I don’t like carrot cake very much and most of it landed-up in my swim, but what service!”
My raised eyebrows urged him to carry on.
“The float lifted an inch then settled, then dipped to the tip and stayed still. Two more dips and it slid away. I lifted the rod and connected with something solid that simply moved away at walking pace. The rod was bent right over and I tightened the clutch but it made no difference. I realised this was no tench but something far, far bigger, a carp or a foul-hooked pike – or maybe a shark! I was shaking by now, and the fish went in a straight line toward the left bank eighty or so yards away toward a sunken tree and it nearly got there! I locked the spool with my finger but I felt sure the line was going to break and I would lose this huge thing for sure. It just hung there for a minute, then it headed back to the centre of the lake. I thought I’ve got a chance now!
I was able to gain some line as it kited right but I still had little control as the fish sped away from me for another fifty yards. This went on for ages…” Graham’s eyes glazed and went to the window for a second or two. “…ten minutes? Yes, all of that; ten or more real minutes and by this time I’d seen it was a massive mirror carp and my legs had picked up the shakes from my arms. Anyway, I slowly guided the fish into the net, lifted – and it was mine. I just sat there and looked into the mesh at this totally unexpected surprise catch, by far the largest carp I had ever seen in the flesh, such a strikingly beautiful golden-flanked fish it was”
Even I was breathless. I took another look at the screen: what a lump!
“Jane’s pal came to take the photograph and, well…all was well with the world! Most anglers experience something similar in their lives and usually it gets off, or it turns out to be a tail-hooked average fish; sometimes though, the gods smile upon us and allow it to all come right like it did for me. I went on to adapt my tactics to ledgering to take even bigger carp in this magic place but this was one of those days and you have to wonder how it all came together” Kismet…destiny…faith.
