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A single javelin of moonlight pierced the tangled knot of submerged Oak roots, scattering in the murky water beneath the great tree. A big Carp lay quietly on the lake bottom, motionless save the occasional tremor of fins. Above her a myriad of sheltering fry, luminescent in the moonlit water, hung in nervous flickering suspension.
The
Oak stood half in and half out of an ancient estate lake. The old tree’s
writhing mass of tannin stained roots had served generations of fry well as a
nursery. The big carp herself had hidden there once, as an immature fingerling,
many years before.
She’d
charged headlong into the sanctity of the cavern the day before, following a
close encounter with an angler, and she’d remained there since. She’d been
close to defeat when the anglers hook had slipped its hold; instinct had sent
her crashing beneath the old tree and into its familiar surroundings. Safe
within its sanctuary, the carp had gradually calmed. Hunger would see her
venture out into the lake in search of food soon, the recent trauma slowly
fading from her mind.
The
following evening an autumn sun sat like an over-ripe peach, low on the
horizon, sending the hazy golden mist of twilight dancing along burnished
treetops, and gilding the prominent spurs of the river valley in the distance.
At the dam end of the lake an angler stood surveying this wonderful ‘cabaret’
of light as dusk fell.
Charlie could see the smouldering silver
ribbon of the feeder stream, at the far end of the lake, as it picked its way
torturously down through the contours of the valley. Falling, finally, in an
effervescent tumble over a mossy sluice gate and into the stolid lake below.
Along
the south-western bank the low sun, probing through panoply of tall Poplars,
threw a fretwork of long sepia shadows along the lakes margin. On the opposing
bank it stained the water crimson, and Charlie watched a Barn Owl's ethereal
form lit by a halo of the smudgy remnants of reddening light. He watched as it
quartered the water meadow in noiseless glides, searching for a complacent
small mammal in the deceptive half-light.
A
‘murder’ of Crows flapped homeward wearily, sprawled across the richly coloured
sky in a ragged line. Exhausted from a hard day of foraging upon the last of
the stubble, where the pickings were slim, the harvest now long finished, and
competition with the voles and mice fierce.
Though they didn’t know it yet, or, in truth,
couldn’t remember it from last season, (Crows have very short memories you
know.) things were destined to get much harder for the unfortunate birds. The
onset of winter ‘proper’ would see them forced into harder labour still, soon
they would have to spend their days hard at work digging over the stubble in
search of wire-worms and leather-jackets.
This
lake held some of Charlie’s fondest memories and, though he hadn’t fished there
in later years, an urge to reacquaint himself with the place had been growing
within him for some time now. A recent walk around the place had yielded the
sight of a very big carp and boosted his desire to fish there even further.
Today had been a reccy trip for a session he had planned in a couple of days’
time.
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A
Robin landed close by, perching on the handrail fixed to the dam wall. The
little bird had obviously encountered anglers before and seemed quite tame. He
reached into his shoulder bag and found an uneaten crust from his lunch-time
sandwich. He crumbled the dry bread and flicked some on the ground to one side
of the Robin. The bird dropped to the floor immediately and fed on the crumbs.
Charlie noticed that it had a somewhat ragged appearance, and was missing one
of its tail feathers.
The hungry little bird cleared every crumb
before flying off. Charlie watched it’s unnatural, wobbly flight and said to
himself with a degree of sadness, that poor bird would be lucky to see the
coming winter out. At least you’ve fed well today little fellow he murmured as
it disappeared from sight into the bushes.
He had spent a lot of time at this lake with
his father as a youngster, when they’d enjoyed many a day fishing with a
crowquill float and bread flake for Rudd. Or freelining lobworms for the
elusive Tench, and of course they’d spent many hours in pursuit of the
‘uncatchable’ Carp.
His
mood darkened a little, seeing the Robin, and then remembering that fateful
day. The day his father had managed to hook one of those, almost mythical,
carp. The events of that day amounted to the one and only real regret he had
after a lifetime of angling. In truth it was probably the reason he’d neglected
to fish the lake in recent years, he admitted to himself sombrely.
A
few minutes passed before his father turned to Charlie, his face flushed and
glistening with sweat, his eyes held a feverish, almost manic look. The young
lad was taken aback by the transformation in his normally stoic father, and he
hesitated to come forward at first when his father beckoned him -with a finger
held to his lips to signal the need for silence.
His
reservation was soon replaced with a tingle of excitement, as he crept forward
to join the older man. Peering through the slender wands of reeds, Charlie, at
first, could see nothing to warrant such enthusiasm as he stared into the
gloomy water. He followed the line of his father’s arm as he slowly extended it
to point to a large patch of lilies to their left.
Charlie
let out an almost audible gasp as his eyes suddenly focused upon a group of
three carp that were working their way towards them just below the surface.
He’d never imagined a fish could be so big! He’d sneaked the odd look at his
fathers treasured angling books and had seen pictures of mighty looking
specimens, however nothing he’d seen in any book had prepared him for the sheer
‘presence’ of these majestic creatures.
As
they came closer the largest of the three carp veered away from the other two
to come to rest no more than a couple of yards from the young boys nose. The
carp, a common of about fourteen pounds, hung there below him, her broad dark
back kissing the surface and her deep Chestnut and honey coloured sides glowing
in the warm sunshine.
Charlie
was rigid, not daring to move a muscle, his mouth hanging open as he stared in
disbelief! It was unquestionably the most spectacular sight the young lad had
ever witnessed. He felt truly privileged to have shared this wonderful
spectacle with his father, he felt sure they must be the only people ever to
have seen these secretive monsters at such close quarters.
His
father was growing impatient; Charlie’s excitement was infectious. He whispered
to the boy,
‘Come
on lad, let’s move back and get this tackle sorted out.’
The
youngster was reluctant to break the spell this mystical beast had cast over
him but the urgency in his father’s voice told him he’d better move!
They
shuffled back from the water’s edge quietly and he crouched in a daze, barely
noticing as his father tackled up a cane rod and greased the line. There was
nothing by way of terminal tackle other than a hook, and this looked huge to
Charlie. The little hooks he’d used in the past were tiny by comparison; you
could bury one of those out of sight in a single Brandling or a pinch of bread.
His
father crawled stealthily back to the water again; cane rod in one hand, and a homemade
landing net in the other. He motioned the youngster to bring over to him their
only other item of luggage, a little canvass bag. Charlie scurried forward
eagerly, handing the bag to his father.
A
loaf of fresh white bread was produced from the bag and Charlie stared with
disbelief as his father tore off a piece of crust fully two inches square! The
older man proceeded to bury the large hook in the bread then, satisfied it was
properly hooked, and he dapped it briefly in the water below. The crust was
flicked out, expertly, to land on the very edge of the Lilies; a slight twitch
and it was on the water, tight to the pads.
His
father sat back and tore two larger chunks of bread from the loaf, tossing one
to the lad with a grin.
‘We
aren’t going to let them greedy beggars have it all son.’
Charlie
nodded his head in happy agreement, and set about the bread with vigour.
They returned to silence. Young Charlie smote
by the atmosphere of the place. The hypnotic drone of insects, the perpetual,
rhythmic, chorus of birdsong and the sweet, incense like collusion of
wildflower perfumes all served to intoxicate him; and he sat in a sea of
intense pleasure. Watching his dad fondly. Waiting for a monster.
The
stark white crust bobbed on the gentle hint of ripple, the soft breeze keeping
it snug against the Lilies. There was no
sign of the three carp now. His father explained that this was just what they
had wanted, in order that they had been able to make the cast without
disturbing the fish.
‘Far
better to let the fish find the bait lad, than the bait find the fish. Once
they’ve been spooked it’s a done job.’
They
sat together for the next hour; neither of them feeling the need to speak. To
the imaginative young boy the lake seemed quiet and mysterious. There was no
trace now of the magnificent creatures that they’d watched earlier. Almost as
though it had happened in some kind of magical dream. Yet that beautiful tawny
beast that had hung in the water beneath him was real! His dad and he knew it,
even if nobody else did. The weight of this moment, this shared, secret
knowledge, thrilled him.
A Robin appeared from nowhere, alighting on
the tip of the stationary rod with a sway and eyeing a few crumbs of bread in
the grass. Realising the presence of the two anglers almost immediately, it
flew into cover scolding them vociferously as it went. Charlie’s father turned
and spoke for the first time in over an hour.
‘That’s
a sign that we’re about to catch a fish.’
He whispered knowingly to the young boy.
Charlie
stared in open-eyed wonder at his father.
‘Were
all anglers aware of this amazing fact?’
He
wondered innocently.
‘Oh
yes’,
His
father continued
‘It’s
well known, a Robin landing on your rod is like being given a lucky charm, in
fact I once…’
Charlie
learned no more of the tale. His father had stopped in mid-sentence and was now
gripping the lads arm tightly in a signal for silence and nodding urgently
towards the lake. As though to corroborate his father’s story, the big common
had appeared cruising steadily through the surface layers, heading towards the
Lilly pads. Charlie watched, hardly daring to draw a breath as the big fish
slowed then came to a rest a yard from the floating crust.
He
stole a quick glance at his father. He’d never seen such a tense look on his
face. A bead of sweat had appeared just below the peak of his old flat cap and
his temple was twitching. Charlie noticed how his fingers had whitened around
the tightly gripped rod. His gaze fixed unerringly on the scene in front of
him.
The
big fish moved again. This time, with no further ceremony, it ghosted up to the
bait, tipped itself slightly in the water, and nosed the bread gently. The
piece of crust rocked in the water and moved a couple of inches away from the
pads. A scattering of crumbs broke away like a flurry of snowflakes and hung in
suspension around the hook bait.
‘Please
let the hook stay in.’
His father offered up in silent prayer,
terrified that the water sodden bread would part company with the hook. Then,
as if in answer to his plea, the carp came again to the bread. There was the
briefest glimpse of a pair of lips, accompanied by a loud slurping noise and
the crust disappeared into a mini vortex.
The
slack line was ripped from the surface of the water sending up a plume of fine
spray. The cane rod hooped over as Charlie’s father struck it high over his
shoulder. In a flash, he was on his feet and paying out line to the running
fish. There was no stopping her on her initial surge, and his father
concentrated on applying a constant pressure on the drum of the wooden reel.
The rod bucked violently as the carp slowed
and shook its head in anger. Charlie was on his feet too now, and admiring his father’s
skill with the simple tackle as he fought the carp. The polished cane creaked
audibly as he pumped the rod in an effort to win some line back.
This
process was repeated several times over the course of the next few minutes, no
sooner did the angler gain a few vital feet of line back on the reel, than the
fish would charge away, stripping the line again effortlessly. After what
seemed like an eternity the powerful surges finally began to grow weaker and
Charlie's father exclaimed, through clenched teeth,
‘She’s
tiring son.’
‘She’s tiring now son.’
He repeated, through shallow pants of breath.
‘Just
grab the net and keep very still.’
Charlie
responded, trembling with excitement. The water just in front of them boiled
and they gasped in unison as the big fish rose in the gloomy water and came
into view.
‘That’s
the biggest fish I’ve ever hooked!’
His
father exclaimed excitedly, with a quavering voice.
‘Please
don’t let her come off.’
‘Put
the net into the water very slowly Charlie.’
Charlie
did as asked and held the net as still as his shaking hands would allow, just
below the surface.
His
father drew the carp slowly towards the net. She came through the water,
slightly tilted to one side, her flank gleaming like golden chain mail in the
clear water. She was no more than inches from the net when suddenly she awoke
again. Righting herself in the water and
thrashing it to foam with her powerful tail, she thundered away again!
With
a new and seemingly unstoppable strength she tore the line from the whirring
reel and ploughed along the margin! Charlie’s dad fought wildly for control of
the churning centrepin. The fish steadied a little but continued unabated with its
bid for freedom.
Directly
to their left the Oak tree that gave the swim its name loomed menacingly out of
the water. Charlie's father knew this was where the fish was heading. If she
made it to those treacherous roots he would lose her! The tree was a good
thirty yards away and the fish had covered nearly half the distance when he
instructed Charlie to drop the net and run down to the tree.
‘If
she tries to get in there throw a stick or something into the water to scare
her off.’
He
shouted to the running lad.
Charlie
sprinted to the tree and searched frantically for something to make a splash
with. Vital seconds passed as he scoured the ground. He spotted an old brick,
partly covered in moss. Seeing little else he grabbed this and scrambled to a
position at the base of the tree. From this vantage point he could see the
furrow the big fish made as it came towards him. With his heart pounding
wildly, the young boy raised the brick above his head shakily and waited.
Back
in their swim Charlie’s father had begun to think he was going to lose the
carp. He was applying maximum side-strain with the protesting cane rod and his
thumb was burning painfully as he attempted to check the revolving spool.
Although the fish was paying dearly for every inch of line, it would not stop.
There was nothing more he could do, and as the fish entered the last few yards
of water between him and the tree roots he resigned his self to losing it. In
one last-ditch effort to stop the carp from reaching the snaggy lair, he locked
the tackle up solid and prayed!
Charlie
saw the fish about four yards out. It was shrugging its head as it came
straight for the Oak, fighting desperately against the unceasing pressure. He
picked a spot in front of the fish and took aim. As it got to within two yards
of the menacing roots his father’s prayers were answered. The big carp finally
came to a standstill. His father could feel the fish stop and rise in the water
against the pressure of the locked tackle.
Charlie
let the missile go! The heavy brick was awkward in the ten-year-old’s small
hand, and the throw was awkward. The carp rose nearing the surface. He watched
the twisting trajectory of the brick looping through the air, and the burnished
scales of the carp’s majestic head as they broke the surface tension. They came
together with a sickening dull thud! There was a hiss as the sharp edged brick
severed the taut line and Charlie’s stomach retched as he saw a big ugly white
gape appear on the fish’s head. She listed over onto one side and sank slowly
from sight.
The
young boy stood biting his lip as hot tears ran down his face. His father came
running, demanding angrily,
‘What
the hell happened?’
‘What
the hell did you throw?’
Poor
Charlie was beside himself and could barely speak through the sobs as he
explained to his father what had happened.
Charlie’s
father, on seeing his son in obvious distress, soon quelled the anger he’d
felt, and though he was bitterly disappointed he did his level best not to show
it to the grief stricken youngster.
‘We’ll
catch her next time Charlie, don’t you worry son.’
He
told the boy. Charlie though was inconsolable and felt sure his wretched throw
with the brick had killed the innocent carp. He adored wild creatures of any
kind, and to think he might be responsible for ‘murdering’ one was almost more
than the young lad could bear.
‘Honestly
lad, them old carp are as tough as old boots. I’ll bet she’s as right as nine
pence in a week or two. We’ll meet up with her again one day and you see if I’m
not right.’
His
father tried to reassure him.
The
walk home that evening was a troubled one for young Charlie, he was to suffer
bad memories of that fish for several years to come. He said little on the way
back, talking to his father only once to ask him, with a wavering voice,
‘How
do fisherman know a Robin is lucky dad?’
His
father feigned enthusiasm and told him,
‘Well
it’s one of those little bits of knowledge that have been passed down from
father to son over the year’s lad. Every fisherman,’
He
began,
‘No matter how good he is’,
He added with mock seriousness,
‘Needs
a little luck sometimes.’
Glad
of the opportunity to take the young boy’s mind off of the day’s disastrous
events he continued,
‘When
a Robin visits you make sure to offer him a little food and he’ll usually repay
that kindness with a little luck.’
This
intriguing tale cheered the woeful youngster a little and they continued their
journey home in silence, Charlie’s spirits a little brighter.
For the first time in four days the big fish
stole from beneath the Oak and out into the quiet lake. The water temperature
had risen significantly during the recent ‘Indian’ days and she felt a hunger
welling up inside. She cruised a while,
still a little uneasy, eventually circumventing the perimeter of the lake
before she was content to think about feeding.
Her
acute senses picked up on the subtleties of air pressure and the particle drift
moving toward the North Eastern bank and she followed the breeze across the
lake, back in the direction of the Oak. Pausing occasionally to turn and watch
a struggling insect caught in the surface tension and being towed along with
the ripple. Gently sipping them in, each time her suspicious nature was
satisfied that nothing was amiss with the tiny, floating, protein rich morsel.
She swam purposefully past the Oak shelter and into the little bay next to it. Finally
settling down to feed in earnest amongst a patch of decaying Lilies.
A
week later the chilly temperatures that had signalled the arrival of the autumn
gave way to a period of unseasonably warm weather. Charlie mused to himself
that you could be forgiven for mistaking the days of cobalt skies and low,
fiery sun, for mid July, as he packed his fishing gear into his estate car in
shirtsleeves the following Wednesday. He could hardly believe his luck, with a
warm breeze picking up from the south and three consecutive nights without a
hint of ground frost, he’d have been hard pressed to choose much better
conditions for an October carping session.
At
the lake, he crept to the water’s edge, parted the curtain of reeds carefully,
and peered out over the calm pool. He studied the brightly-lit water intensely
for several minutes. Before too long
he’d spotted four very big carp cruising through the surface layers lazily. His
pulse raced. Although he’d observed large carp at close quarters on countless
occasions in the past, the experience had never failed to get Charlie’s
adrenaline flowing.
At
least three of the carp were well into thirty pounds in weight, but they
weren’t what Charlie was looking for. He continued to scrutinise the lake
carefully. There were lots of bubbles fizzing up from one patch of lilies and
he focused his attention on these.
After about twenty minutes he saw what he’d come for. From amongst the
tangle of dead and dying Lilies he watched in awe as an enormous blue-black
inkstain formed on the surface.
For
over an hour he remained, squatting uncomfortably, captivated by the vision of
this wondrous creature. Again and again he watched as the carp upended and
nose-dived from sight. The pads were twitching violently and the water fizzed
as the hungry fish churned up the bottom sediment aggressively. When he could
bear the discomfort no longer, and with cramp shooting through his legs, he
reluctantly shuffled slowly backwards, keeping low still, until he was sure the
carp could not see him, then stood up, grimacing as he straightened seized
limbs.
He’d
left his fishing tackle back at the car, preferring to approach the lake
unhampered to begin with to make his swim choice. The journey back to his car
was an arduous one, the blazing sun drew beads of sweat to his brow and each
gurgling step he took across the boggy water meadow awakened an unsavoury smell
in the heady afternoon heat. The pungent smell attracting a constant onslaught
from countless varieties of irritating flying insects that, Charlie told
himself with feeling, shouldn’t even be around at this time of year.
Despite
the tiresome trek there was no regret about his decision to park in a nearby
bye lane rather than the car park at the dam end. A number of the swims on the
North Eastern bank were only accessible by crossing a wide expanse of boggy
water meadow from the lane. Access was cut off from any other direction by two
muddy drainage dikes, used in the past to adjust the water levels on the meadow
during the summer.
In
effect, by parking in the bye road, next to a bridge where the two dykes
unified, any angler willing to slog across the marshy pasture with his tackle,
would find themselves on a triangular island. The chances of anyone else making
the effort during the week were fairly remote and Charlie hoped he would have
the place to himself for a couple of days.
Back
at the car Charlie took off his battered old safari hat and mopped the beads of
sweat from his face.
It
really is incredibly mild for the time of year. He thought, opening the car
boot and pulling out a well used folding chair and a grubby thermos flask.
Sitting back in the chair he poured himself an
anaemic looking cup of tea. It occurred
to him, while he sat there, that he would never have been able to do this as a
young man, the urge to get to the water would have been far too strong. He
chuckled, remembering the many bootfuls of water he’d suffered in his haste to
get across that water meadow in the past. Smiling to himself he gulped down the
remaining tepid tea and duly refreshed, he began unpacking his gear from the
car.
The
image of that big carp filled Charlie’s mind, as he organised himself for the
hike across the meadow. How big might she be, he wondered, he was almost
certain her capture would break his personal best for the species, which stood
at thirty-seven pounds three ounces.
He’d
been a keen angler for many years now; the early trips with his father had
unearthed a passion in him that had stayed with him throughout his life. Apart
from his family nothing else stirred such feelings within him. Even now, after
so many years, he could feel the excitement welling up inside as he
contemplated the coming session.
‘It
would be a sad day indeed!’
He
reminded himself.
‘When
I don’t get that feeling.’
He’d
fished almost fanatically as a young man, barely pausing to court and marries
his young wife ‘Lucy’. He knew he’d been a lucky man indeed, to have found such
an understanding and generous girl. Lucy had always accepted without complaint
his frequent forays to the water. In fact, she had given nothing but
encouragement, despite the many long hours of loneliness inflicted upon her.
To
his credit Charlie had always appreciated this fact and had repaid her kindness
at every given opportunity. When she had borne him two wonderful daughters he
had stored his tackle away gladly, to take up his duties of fatherhood,
resuming his fishing only when Lucy herself had prompted him. The faraway look
in his eye when the wind was pushing the ripple at his favourite pool onto the shallows
had been more than she could bear and, once the girls had began school she had
persuaded him to return to his sport. All this never failed to amaze Charlie,
especially as she herself had absolutely no interest in angling whatsoever.
He
had always kept things in perspective, and fished within their financial means.
In fact he was extremely proud of his tally of specimens, caught mostly from a
variety of inexpensive day ticket waters. There’d been no expensive, exclusive
syndicate waters for Charlie. The one burning ambition he had left was to catch
a forty-pound carp. Although he knew, that at fifty-five years of age and
without access to any proven ‘forties waters’, it was becoming increasingly
unlikely that he ever would.
‘Unless.’
He
told himself, with a tingle of anticipation.
‘Unless!’
Charlie
arrived, hot and breathless, at his chosen swim. It was in roughly the same
place that his dad had lost the big carp all those years ago. His tackle was
set up as quietly as possible and, with no sign now of the fish he’d seen
earlier, he baited up the patch of lilies where he’d seen her feeding.
A moderate amount of stewed hemp and wheat was
distributed amongst the yellowing fronds. He wanted to add to the appeal that
the area had to the big fish without arousing too much suspicion in her. The
small grains of corn and hempseed would soon get lost amongst the weed, giving
the big fish something to root for and a reason to return.
Satisfied
that the right amount of bait had been scattered in and around the pads, he sat
back in his chair and made up his rod with a simple, single, swanshot link
ledger and left it in the rests unbaited.
It
was already early evening by now and Charlie set up his oval brolly back a
little from the rods. He spent a few minutes organising his shelter for the
night ahead, then lit a gas stove and put a small camping kettle on to boil.
Sitting
back, with a freshly brewed mug of tea, He looked out over the silky surface of
the lake and wondered if there could be any better way to spend an evening.
There was a Great Crested Grebe working its way along about twenty yards out
and each time it dived, Charlie amused himself by trying to predict where it
would resurface. It never failed to amaze him how long these birds could remain
under the water, and the distances they could travel while under.
From
the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of steely blue, flashing past above
and behind him. He turned quickly and just caught sight of the Sparrowhawk as she
arrowed across the clearing. For an, all too brief, moment he marvelled as she
flew like a bolt, straight at the bole of a giant Crack Willow. Tilting the
primary feathers on one wing, almost imperceptibly, just at the moment that she
looked sure to dash herself against the tree. Then rolling acrobatically around
it in a spectacular aerial manoeuvre that would have had the most seasoned of
fighter pilots green with envy.
The
remainder of the evening passed quietly, and Charlie occupied himself by watching
the various creatures that were busy on and around the water. At midnight he
drifted into sleep and slept soundly through till dawn.
Charlie
woke feeling a little uncomfortable in his reclining chair. A quick brew up on
the stove soon revived him and he positioned his chair close to the water’s
edge and watched over the baited area. After about a quarter of an hour his
spirits soared as he saw bubbles begin to rise from amidst the pre-baited lily
pads.
An
hour’s observation had proven that the feeding fish were indeed the big common
and a slightly smaller mirror, and by the time the feeding spell had finished
Charlie was almost unable to contain his excitement. He watched the fish leave,
then retired back to his shelter and prepared a welcome breakfast of eggs and
bacon. This was washed down with copious steaming mugs of coffee.
His
appetite satisfied Charlie turned his attention to the fishing once again. He
topped up the baited area with a pint or so more of the particle mix. This time
though, he introduced a few grains of sweet corn. This was to be his hook-bait
when he decided the time was right to put out his rod.
The
magical dawn quickly passed and Charlie sat close to the water’s edge watching
the lilies again. At about 11.00 a.m. the two carp came again. Once more they
fed for over an hour and Charlie sat trembling with excitement. She really was
huge he told himself shakily. Again the two big fish left the pads.
Three
grains of sweetcorn were put on a size 6 hook with the light link leger set up
and lobbed underarm to land at the very edge of the pads amongst some more of
the free offerings. Charlie kept the front rest quite high. This allowed the
line to be kept reasonably tight, and to rise out of the water against the
stems and at a similar angle. He hoped that any contact made by the carp with
the line would be construed as merely a brush against a lily stem.
Charlie
settled into his chair, his heart was beating a little faster, he knew he’d
probably have to wait a while but the sense of anticipation had grown with the
session and he was becoming more confident. It had taken a good deal of
resolution for him not to cast a bait into the Lillies any earlier. He prayed
that his patience would pay off.
He
ran the idea of her capture through his mind, imagining her perfect scaling and
huge girth on the unhooking mat. He visualised her in the weigh sling, and saw
the scales sweeping past the forty pound mark.
Lost
in this reverie, he was a little startled when a Robin appeared suddenly;
landing on a nearby thistle head. Charlie instantly recognised it as the tatty
little specimen from the dam; with the missing tail feathers. Slowly, so as not to scare the timid bird, he
reached into one of his tackle bags and drew out a small bait box containing some
red worms. He made sure the Robin could see a bunch of the wriggling worms in
the palm of his hand then tipped them on the ground in front of him.
The
bird fluttered a couple of feet away at the movement of his arm and landed on a
Sallow twig. It never took its eyes off the worms though, as they squirmed on
the ground trying to find cover in the short grass. It sat quizzically turning its
head from one side to the other for a brief moment, then deciding there was no
danger it dropped to the grass and began rounding up the escaping feast.
Charlie
watched the Robin gobble up the half dozen or so worms one after another with
some amusement. He felt the little bird must surely go pop before long, and
wondered where on earth it was putting them all. As he watched the last inch of
worm disappear down the Robin’s beak with a struggle he laughed out loud,
‘You’ve
just about eaten yourself cross-eyed haven’t you?’
He
asked the Robin. The little bird hopped back up to the thistle head and eyed
him curiously.
‘Well
I hope you’ll remember that.’
He
added, laughing again.
‘I
shall be expecting a little bit of luck this evening.’
The
Robin, deciding the restaurant had finished serving, cocked its head once more
to look at him, relieved itself, and then flew off.
With
the little bird gone he made himself comfortable in a position where he could
see the pads, and relaxed into his chair. His thoughts inevitably turned to the
fateful day with his father. Not wanting to tarnish the session he was having,
which so far he’d been enjoying immensely, he pushed the bad memories to the
back of his mind and concentrated on the job in hand. Mentally planning where
he would net the carp and where he could position himself for a self-take
photograph, should he be lucky enough to catch her.
The
afternoon came to an end. Charlie had hardly noticed the hours slipping by.
He’d been engrossed in watching the resident bird life going about its busy day
on the water. He considered making a brew, and was just about to get out of his
chair when something caught his attention. Just beyond the baited area. A big
flat spot was hovering on the oily surface of the lake. The water heaved and
the flat spot developed into a bow wave as a big fish approached the lilies.
Charlie froze in his seat
He
held his breath and waited. She was there! In the late afternoon light he could
see her huge torso flashing beneath the surface. His mouth had dried out and he
tried to work his jaws to get back some moisture. She turned in the water
slightly then moved confidently into the pads and momentarily out of sight.
One
hand hovered over the rod butt and he gripped his trembling knee for purchase
with the other. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, the tension
showing in his furrowed brow. The lilies jerked and bent over as the big fish
rooted around for the tiny grains, he could plot the passage of the fish as it
worked its way through the dense pads, towards his bait.
For
a moment the lilies settled and he was terrified that the fish had eaten its
fill before finding his hook-bait. Seconds later the pads began dancing again
and the fish moved closer. Charlie was feeling slightly nauseas and his heart
was hammering at an alarming rate. The aggressive feeding spell had stirred the
water into a milky consistency now but through the mire he saw her big head
appear on the outside of the lilies. He watched in expectation as the great
blunt fork of her tail rose in the water and she upended herself over his bait.
Charlie
knew he was a split second from hooking this fish of a lifetime, almost
definitely about to break a personal record of some fifteen years standing.
Above all though, he knew he was about to exorcise a very old ghost! He turned
his attention from the wagging tail to his rod tip and watched it with hawser
tight nerves.
He
was watching it still when the tatty Robin landed on it with a jolt! Charlie’s
eye followed the resulting tremor, as though in slow motion, as it travelled
down the taut line. He watched in disbelief as the signal was transmitted below
the water to the feeding fish, and he watched in horror as the water boiled and
a bow wave surged in his direction from the edge of the lilies.
Charlie
looked at the Robin, still perching on the rod tip, cocking its head over to
look at him. It almost seemed as though the little bird was mocking him. He was
numb. It was all too much to take in. The harsh irony of the situation began to
sink in. His father’s words echoed through his head. He felt like a cruel and
twisted joke had just been played on him.
These thoughts raced around Charlie’s head in
a micro-second, meanwhile the bow wave continued steadily towards him. He
watched it come right past him and only then in the clearer undisturbed water
did he realise. The fish going past him was a big mirror carp!
The
Robin chirruped once, and flew away. Charlie watched it go blankly. He looked
back towards the lilies with confusion.
There had been barely been time to register the briefest glimpse of a
huge tail extending up from the bottom and then his rod tip had bent around.
Acting purely from instinct, he struck and stood up and found himself firmly
attached to the big common carp!
Realising
she’d been hooked, the big carp burrowed immediately, deep into the lily pads,
gulping a mouthful of silt and vegetation and shaking her head wildly in an
effort to dislodge the offending hook from her mouth.
Charlie
kept the pressure full on the fish, his carbon kevlar rod pulsing in his
fingers under the cork handle. He knew with the tackle he had the carp would
not break him, nor would the softened decaying lilies. By keeping the fish
under maximum pressure he would ensure the hook not slipping as the big fish
clearly intended it to.
Mottled
lily pads popped up to the surface as the strong monofilament line scythed
through their stems and Charlie eventually felt the fish’s head come around a
fraction. He seized the initiative and arced the rod around horizontally,
keeping up the momentum of the moving fish. She pulled free of the lilies and
out into open water. He could feel her huge golden hull now as she hung
ponderously in the water for a brief moment.
Gathering
her senses, and deciding the pads were of no use to her, she moved with purpose
away from the resistance, cutting cleanly through the water at pace. Charlie
breathed a sigh of relief, he was strangely calm now. He adjusted the rear drag
reel as she cannoned off into the lake, making her work for each yard.
Charlie
waited patiently for her to slow, then piled on the pressure again, once more
she came quite easily as he pumped the rod quickly, winding down furiously
between pumps and kidding her back towards him. He eased up as she came within
twenty yards of the bank, knowing she had more in the tank yet, and not wanting
her to react again, close to cover.
His
decision was vindicated when she woke up and headed out into the open again.
This time she motored away in an awesome display of raw power. The clutch on
the reel sung out loudly and Charlie hung on to the rod tightly. For the first
few yards he dare not attempt to tamper with the drag setting, so explosive was
her strength. He regained control and stopped her after about thirty yards,
then repeated the pumping procedure.
She
didn’t come quite so easy this time, shaking her head and pulling more
stubbornly. He’d only retrieved about ten yards of line when she set off again.
This time he stopped and turned her before she’d got any real steam up. He knew
he’d got her ‘all out’ by now. The dynamic bursts began to wane, and he brought
her closer this time.
She
rolled in front of him a few yards out and came heavily towards the net. With
her energy resources diminishing the big fish summoned one last effort and
lumbered off parallel to the bank. Charlie smiled; he knew where she was
heading.
The carp never got within ten yards of the Oak
tree. Charlie wasn’t limited by his tackle, the way his father had been all
those years ago. He knew, barring an absolute disaster, this fish was his. He
bullied her back from the direction of the Oak and placed the net in the water
in readiness.
The
feeling as she slid over the cord and he lifted the deep mesh of the net to
embrace her was indescribable! Forty five years of splendid pleasure and achievement
came to fruition at that joyous moment, and Charlie punched the air in victory!
As
he unrolled the huge beast onto his unhooking mat he knew he’d caught his
forty-pound carp. Her broad, perfectly scaled sides were the colour of polished
brass and she looked in peak condition, with a deep healthy lustre. Charlie
thought she was quite the most exquisite carp he’d ever seen. She weighed 42lbs
and four ounces on his scales.
He
quickly organised himself for a few photos and with this accomplished, he put
her back in the roomy net and lowered her into the margin. She gasped gently
regaining her strength quietly in the water. He gave her ample time to recover
and when she started to nose about looking for an exit, he knew she was nearly
ready for release.
The
Robin reappeared, sitting on a twig as though to watch over the proceedings.
Charlie watched it for a minute or two chuckling to himself. Then returned his
attention to the fish. He gathered the slack up in the net and cradled the
fish’s body carefully, gently rolling the mesh over her head. Raising her in
the water, for one last look before he set her free.
And
then he saw it, an almost imperceptible, thin ragged white line of scar tissue
on the crown of her head. He hadn’t noticed it in the excitement of the
capture, it was only visible because he was looking directly down on the carp
now. He watched her slip away numbly, the significance of it dawning on him
slowly and overwhelming him. He turned, once she had disappeared from sight,
and looked for the Robin. It still sat watching him.
‘Thankyou.’ He
said.
Chris Hammond
