It’s a brave confession I know, but for forty years I’ve been a virgin.
I’ve been close on a couple of occasions but for a long, long time I’d never done it, that is until last year! All my fishing mates had done it; Micky and Glen did it almost without noticing but last May I did it – for the very first time – and this is how it happened…
I had been planning this trip for a few weeks but work and bad weather had made me postpone it regularly; as I said before, it was May, 2012. I had an appointment in the morning which was due to finish about 10.30 am, but the guy just hung around talking about our kitchen worktops and other banal stuff so I didn’t get away until about 11.30.
My first choice venue for this short, confidence-booster session was a small commercial with a good mixture of fish. I was horrified as I turned into the car park to find ten cars, 15 anglers and three large BT cherry-pickers noisily working on some cables so I rapidly changed to plan ‘B’…
About six or seven miles away was a small, slightly-expensive, lightly stocked commercial water adjacent to a trout lake where, in the past, I’d caught some good roach, and my personal best perch; as far as a ‘plan B’ was concerned it did not seem to be too bad a choice.
On arrival I found I was the only angler there, which was perfect. I tackled up and mixed some crumb groundbait only to find disaster had stalked me once again, I’d not got my hook wallet with me. I searched and searched until I remembered I’d taken it out to put my new 2012 rod licence in and left it behind on the sideboard – no hooks!
As I said, the fishery is part of a small complex which is mainly a trout venue. The fly anglers do like a few home comforts so they have a log cabin where they can retreat to when times are tough; I ventured in. It was like a large front living room with comfy armchairs, sofas, carpets, coffee tables and so on. Initially I thought I was out of luck as the owner shrugged his shoulders but searching at the back of an extremely deep drawer he uncovered a small, very old plastic box containing some funny-looking Mustad fly hooks. They were size 14 with a turned down eye and sproat bend (whatever that is…) but I was in no position to be fussy.
Returning to my swim I tied one of these peculiar hooks to a 3lb length of mono and fastened it to the 4lb main line; a 30g Drennan groundbait feeder completed the rig.
I started fishing at about 1.30pm and began to catch nice roach up to 8oz. The rod I was using was a 1lb test Fox model that had been shortened by the original owner to 11ft 6in for his son: it cost me £27 on a well-known auction site, I’d only just bought it and was keen to try it out.
By about 3pm the action had slowed up a bit; I cast out with a single piece of sweetcorn, put the rod in the rest and waited.
As bites go it was altogether unsatisfactory – a series of untidy tugs. Not the dreamy, slow, gentle pull of a bream; nor a timid sip of an early morning tench, nor the savage wrench of a hungry barbel, nor even the conscientious grab of a plucky perch. It was the bite of a bullying carp that’d nosed his way onto the feed and said ‘clear off, I’m having this!’ I struck into a solid, unyielding object with an ominous sense of foreboding.
When people say “I don’t think the fish knows it’s hooked” I’ve secretly scoffed up my sleeve but I genuinely believe this fish really didn’t know it was hooked. It didn’t tear off like a steam train; it simply stayed put. After four or five seconds it moved in a leisurely fashion to the right in what I soon realised as merely a momentum-building preliminary. My gentle side-strain seemed unlikely to stop it but it did change its direction, gaining power all the time.
I knew I was in a bit of trouble when Kate Adie appeared on the bank (she’d beaten Orla Guerin to the story). It was to be a battle of endurance, the only factor in my favour was the amount of space in my swim. I have a deep-seated reluctance to fish in snaggy, enclosed swims and always, possibly subconsciously, choose open water.
After some ten minutes I had played the fish carefully to the point of landing. I could really have done with Kate giving me a hand but she was too professional for that. At the net the fish made a couple of breaks for freedom but eventually, with a gasp of relief, I slid it under what appeared to be good looking common. Whilst my hands were still trembling uncontrollably I set up the weigh sling and lifted my prize. It registered a heart-stopping 14lb 2oz, my first double and my biggest fish ever – by over five pounds.
Kate had run off to get her scoop in before Orla so I still had the lake to myself; I took a quick photo with some rod and reel in frame to give an idea of scale and lovingly returned the fish to the water.
You might be thinking: “What a crap angler! Forty years and never caught a double figure fish” and you’d be right, but I’ve never really fished for big carp. I’m from a time and place when if you’d caught 3 or 4 lb you’d had a great day; a time before commercials, before multi rod set-ups; before boilies or pellets. You went fishing with your mates and if anyone caught a 3lb chub or a few good dace you’d talk about it for weeks.
One major advantage of this major breakthrough however, is that I no longer have to switch channels when watching ‘Young Angler of the Month’ on Tight Lines as Wayne, 11 from Rochdale is showing us his 16lb mirror he caught on strawberry flavoured boilie while on his first ever fishing trip; or Britney, 7 from Brentwood, with her 12½lb common carp landed while her Dad was having a snooze; or Liam, 13 from Bromsgrove, showing us his 28lb pike caught whilst legering a popped-up sardine.
I’ve had forty years of looking forward to the day I finally broke into double figures.
