Fifteen yards from the bank a mouth confidently rose yet again above the surface of the water, cavernous lips engulfed their third piece of crust. With care the unseen angler moved silently into position, his frame half hidden by the bankside rushes. A deep breath preceded a deliberate but gentle swing and the baited trap sailed perfectly 45 feet through the air to appear within the carp’s feeding circle on the far side of the shallow bay. Before the lake’s oily calmness could recover from its arrival those self-same lips appeared amongst the reducing ripples and the fourth crust of bread disappeared from sight.


…the unseen angler moved silently into position

The slack in the well-greased line straightened, the fish, on feeling the hook and line, became aware of her mistake and bolted for the cover of the weed beds. The angler, taken by surprise by the speed of the event, attempted a late strike. His luck and hook held. After a spirited fight on the light tackle a plump 6lb common lay defeated within the ash framed net. The delighted victor resisted the urge to dance and sing around the reluctant capture. The audience that has gathered would not have understood his exaggerated state of mind, instead he made do with a quiet cheer and contented smile.

That angler with the happy grin was yours truly. The reason for the excitement was not the carp, for it is average for this pool and in the grand scheme of things it’s merely a tiddler. This tale does not really concern the fish as such for I have caught them far larger, but none have left such a big impression on me, for it was not its size that evokes such fond memories but the method and tackle used that is of importance.

The rod was a well worn MKIV Avon, the set in its tip section a battle scar from the over-use of its light test curve, a rod more suited to chub and tench than the rigours of carp fishing that I put it through. The reel is an ageing wide drum aerial, a recent addition to my tackle collection that has now become an essential part of my fishing.


Wallis wizardry
The point of this tale is how I got that freelined bait 15 yards to the feeding fish with an ageing centrepin. Well, the joyful truth is that I actually cast it there, direct from the reel. No piles of line at my feet to tangle or the awkward looping of line through the rings to gain a distance further than my rod tip. Just a gentle swing of rod and calculated spin of reel that magically sent my baited tackle skywards.

The previous 6 months have been spent. whenever the winter decided to smile, in the garden learning this spell-like cast, usually with rod in hand muttering as I untangle yet another overrun. But that morning all the frustrations had been worth it for I had finally mastered the Wallis cast, or at least my interpretation of it.

I say cast, but that is far too simple a word for it. After ten years of struggling to reach all but the margins with these exquisite reels, acres upon acres of extra water are now within my reach. I can only compare it to the film ‘Crossroads’ where a musician did a deal with the Devil. In exchange for his soul he became the greatest blues guitarist in the land. Luckily my soul is still intact.

Even so, I have suffered for my art, the wife would go spare if she know the time and money that has been spent achieving my new skill. The neighbours think I’m mad for they happened to be on the other side of the hedge on the February morning the whole thing clicked and I was suddenly casting to the 15-yard marker that I had placed in the lawn with a fair degree of reliability. A monumental day that found me chanting silly songs and laughing to myself as if I’d found buried treasure amongst the shrubbery.


It was the ‘pin that gave the pleasure
What clicked that day I’m not at all sure. It is as if a spell had been successfully cast. (!) A mindset/muscle memory had been achieved that allowed the spinning reel and swinging bait to act as one. With further practise, accuracy and range increased until I could drop my lead within inches of the targets scattered around my lawn. On really good days a measured distance of 30 yards could be reached. I’d got to the stage where my garden was no longer big enough and started practising in a nearby field that really got the rest of the village talking. Despite local doubts about my sanity a winter of dogged determination had paid off. Hence the excitement created by that first humble 6-pounder.

As I write this I’ve now got a season of Wallis casting under my belt. My Mitchell reels have gathered dust on the tackle cupboard shelf. My venues tend to be picked by their suitability for ‘pin fishing. My diary’s no longer filled solely with notes of memorable fish and the weather, but focus on my new-found skill. The gentle cast that flew with precision to drop beneath the distant willow tree in an attempt to catch an uncatchable chub. Or the day at Downton where, with the gusting wind behind me, I consistently sent my legered meat to the far margins of the Avon, a genuinely wonderful fishless day.

My fishing now has taken on a new lease of life. Rarely are my rods out of the van and the more I practise the better it gets. A whim has turned into an obsession. I’ve become addicted to the direct link you can achieve with a simple ‘pin, no fixed-spool reel gears, cogs and rollers to dull the energy of an angry fish. Just me beside a lily-fringed pond with a floppy hat and equally floppy rod, coupled to a simple winch.

For those of you who deep down feel there is something missing from our sport these days, try it. Go forth to the loft and retrieve that old cane or glass Avon rod you’d almost forgotten about. Purchase or dust off an old centrepin. Anything will do for a first attempt. Then pick an easy local venue and try to catch a 6lb carp and you’ll never look back. When John Gierach, the American trout writer, wrote about a 12 inch trout caught on the dry fly being 4 inches longer than a 12 incher caught on a nymph or streamer he could just as easily have been talking about coarse fish and centrepin reels.

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