In reply to Post #332
A fresh warm wind, a feeding wind, was ruffling the surface and the sun was now peeking through the clouds with growing intensity. At last things were going our way.
From the bar we drove across the grassy banks surrounding the lake and pulled the little Renault into the area behind the swim where Nige had fished in June, which we had called The Point. We had the lake to ourselves so we set up and then I went out in the boat for a scout around with the echo sounder. The swim is marked with a small red dot in this graphic. (This is a modern image. The swimming pool and the dam surrounding it were not there when we first fished Boffin's.)
I found a very interesting feature about eighty yards from the bank where a small plateau curved gently up from the bottom. It was about twelve feet to the top of the plateau, about fifteen to eighteen feet to the surrounding lake bed. It seemed to be about two or three square yards in size, almost square, rather like a dining table set out below the surface. I placed a marker at the back of the plateau and extended the area of search, using the marker as a reference point. Circling outwards from the plateau I found two gullies about a foot deeper, leading towards the plateau from the north and the south. The Grey Line function on the sounder told me that the main lake bed was covered with soft silt about a foot thick, but the silt on top of the plateau was only an inch or so deep, the sounder revealing that the bottom was mainly hard-packed gravel or stone. It cried out to be fished so I jotted down a couple of rough intersecting landmarks in case a fish moved the marker...and pretty rough they are as you can see.
This tactic must seem so old hat these days, what with GPS-enabled sounders and bait boats, but I am an old salty dog taught to take land bearings from an early age!.
We fancied using groundbait on the plateau and in the gullies and there was a big supermarket not far away where I would be able to buy maize, millet and canary seed, and of course Frolic dog food, which was rapidly acquiring legendary status as a must-have part of any baiting campaign. However, in the meantime we decided to fish only with boilies and judge whether we needed groundbait after that. I rowed back to the plateau with about two kilos of boilies - shelfies, pure fishmeals and some birdy/fish home mades - and then we cast two of our four rods out onto the feature. As usual Carole and I fished four rods between us. We would take alternate runs, regardless of whose rod got the run...First get your run!
The other two rods were cast out to the gullies so as to cover both sides of the approach to the plateau, one in each gully, a cast of about seventy yards. These two rods were baited with stringers only in the hope that carp leaving or arriving at the plateau would be tempted by the meager offering. It is surprising how often this little trick works. We knew that some pretty cute anglers had fished the lake - Rod and Dave to name but two - so we added a extra dimension to the presentation; we fished two baits on the hair and the stringer was made up of three or four separate pairs of baits. This would leave individual pairs of freebies on the lake bed and we hoped the fish would wolf down the double bait hookbait without suspicion.
As we sat and ate the curry, washing it down with several bottles of beer. A few fish began to crash out at the top end of the lake towards which the breeze was blowing. I was tempted to move at least one rod to cover this area, but that meant rowing the bait up to the spot where the fish were showing. I thought that this would be a self defeating exercise as the boat would probably spook the fish from the shallow water. Anyway, if I knew my French weather, the wind would go down with the sun, and the fish would move out of the shallow bay, passing close by our baited area as they did so.
A fresh warm wind, a feeding wind, was ruffling the surface and the sun was now peeking through the clouds with growing intensity. At last things were going our way.
From the bar we drove across the grassy banks surrounding the lake and pulled the little Renault into the area behind the swim where Nige had fished in June, which we had called The Point. We had the lake to ourselves so we set up and then I went out in the boat for a scout around with the echo sounder. The swim is marked with a small red dot in this graphic. (This is a modern image. The swimming pool and the dam surrounding it were not there when we first fished Boffin's.)
I found a very interesting feature about eighty yards from the bank where a small plateau curved gently up from the bottom. It was about twelve feet to the top of the plateau, about fifteen to eighteen feet to the surrounding lake bed. It seemed to be about two or three square yards in size, almost square, rather like a dining table set out below the surface. I placed a marker at the back of the plateau and extended the area of search, using the marker as a reference point. Circling outwards from the plateau I found two gullies about a foot deeper, leading towards the plateau from the north and the south. The Grey Line function on the sounder told me that the main lake bed was covered with soft silt about a foot thick, but the silt on top of the plateau was only an inch or so deep, the sounder revealing that the bottom was mainly hard-packed gravel or stone. It cried out to be fished so I jotted down a couple of rough intersecting landmarks in case a fish moved the marker...and pretty rough they are as you can see.
This tactic must seem so old hat these days, what with GPS-enabled sounders and bait boats, but I am an old salty dog taught to take land bearings from an early age!.
We fancied using groundbait on the plateau and in the gullies and there was a big supermarket not far away where I would be able to buy maize, millet and canary seed, and of course Frolic dog food, which was rapidly acquiring legendary status as a must-have part of any baiting campaign. However, in the meantime we decided to fish only with boilies and judge whether we needed groundbait after that. I rowed back to the plateau with about two kilos of boilies - shelfies, pure fishmeals and some birdy/fish home mades - and then we cast two of our four rods out onto the feature. As usual Carole and I fished four rods between us. We would take alternate runs, regardless of whose rod got the run...First get your run!
The other two rods were cast out to the gullies so as to cover both sides of the approach to the plateau, one in each gully, a cast of about seventy yards. These two rods were baited with stringers only in the hope that carp leaving or arriving at the plateau would be tempted by the meager offering. It is surprising how often this little trick works. We knew that some pretty cute anglers had fished the lake - Rod and Dave to name but two - so we added a extra dimension to the presentation; we fished two baits on the hair and the stringer was made up of three or four separate pairs of baits. This would leave individual pairs of freebies on the lake bed and we hoped the fish would wolf down the double bait hookbait without suspicion.
As we sat and ate the curry, washing it down with several bottles of beer. A few fish began to crash out at the top end of the lake towards which the breeze was blowing. I was tempted to move at least one rod to cover this area, but that meant rowing the bait up to the spot where the fish were showing. I thought that this would be a self defeating exercise as the boat would probably spook the fish from the shallow water. Anyway, if I knew my French weather, the wind would go down with the sun, and the fish would move out of the shallow bay, passing close by our baited area as they did so.
In reply to Post #333
Darkness fell quite quickly, a brilliant red sun lighting up the sky on the western horizon behind us. It foretold a hot day tomorrow, thank God! Sure enough, as the sun set, the wind died away to no more than a zephyr of directions breeze. The carp seemed to have left the shallow bay off to our left, and the only fish showing were the hundreds of thousands of small fry dimpling the surface as the light went. It was eerily still and silent; not a man made sound nor natural noise to be heard. No birds, no insect noise, nor traffic or tractor, cough or cry. Almost total silence. Very spooky. How many times have you heard perfect silence? if there is such a thing.
The night chill sent us early to the shelter of the big canvas bivvy, where coffee laced with local Cognac quickly dispelled the cold. The night fell completely and the creatures of the dark hours began to show signs of life. A few rats, or maybe coypu scurried about in the thick bankside undergrowth. An owl hooted far off above a distance maize crop. The ubiquitous French dog that always seems to turn up wherever we go began its weary bark Would this one go on all night, as others had on different waters?
And then the carp began to feed...!
It was just after four in the morning when one of the rods cast onto the plateau gave a single bleep. We had tossed a coin for the first run and as I had won the toss, this was my take, if it developed. I was at the rods quickly. The indicator on the rod that had signaled the interest was a fraction lower than the others. I felt the line but there was no tension, nor any significant slack. A line-bite, perhaps? I gave it a few minutes then decided there was nothing to it. I'd just returned to the warmth of my sleeping bag when the same buzzer bleeped again. I had an awful feeling that I knew what was going on; bloody bream!
I was lying in the darkness of the bivvy cursing the slimy buggers when the `bream` took off on a flier. By the time I'd struggled to the rod to find the line pouring from the reel. I picked up the rod and struck; it was almost wrenched from my grip as a very strong fish took exception to my action. The carp - it was certainly no bream! - set off into the night, tearing away to my right, heading for the barrage as if the hounds of hell were at its heels. I could make no impression on that fish at all, and was rapidly loosing control of the fight. I'd have liked to follow the fish down the bank to my right, but the big oaks at the water's edge made this impossible. I had no option but to hold on and hope for the best.
On and on the fish ran, tireless and brutishly powerful. If it carried on like this I would loose it for sure. By now Carole had joined me at the rods. There was only one thing for it. “Can you get some rocks or stones and get away down the bank there and heave ‘em in? This fish will shred me off on the bankside the way it's going.” I asked her in desperation. Still the fish ran, the rod arched around almost parallel with the water, pounding off towards a distant goal. A few moments later I heard some light splashes. “Use stones, not fairy dust!” I shouted in exasperation. “I can only find grit,” came a faint reply. But the grit seemed to do the trick. Suddenly the line began to angle out from the near bank towards the center of the lake as the fish changed direction. The headlong dash slowed and then stopped and at last I felt as if I had some say in the matter. I pumped and gained line; pumped again. Slowly the fish came back towards my bank. I put the torch on to illuminate the net at my feet and as I did so the other rod on the plateau was away.
Darkness fell quite quickly, a brilliant red sun lighting up the sky on the western horizon behind us. It foretold a hot day tomorrow, thank God! Sure enough, as the sun set, the wind died away to no more than a zephyr of directions breeze. The carp seemed to have left the shallow bay off to our left, and the only fish showing were the hundreds of thousands of small fry dimpling the surface as the light went. It was eerily still and silent; not a man made sound nor natural noise to be heard. No birds, no insect noise, nor traffic or tractor, cough or cry. Almost total silence. Very spooky. How many times have you heard perfect silence? if there is such a thing.
The night chill sent us early to the shelter of the big canvas bivvy, where coffee laced with local Cognac quickly dispelled the cold. The night fell completely and the creatures of the dark hours began to show signs of life. A few rats, or maybe coypu scurried about in the thick bankside undergrowth. An owl hooted far off above a distance maize crop. The ubiquitous French dog that always seems to turn up wherever we go began its weary bark Would this one go on all night, as others had on different waters?
And then the carp began to feed...!
It was just after four in the morning when one of the rods cast onto the plateau gave a single bleep. We had tossed a coin for the first run and as I had won the toss, this was my take, if it developed. I was at the rods quickly. The indicator on the rod that had signaled the interest was a fraction lower than the others. I felt the line but there was no tension, nor any significant slack. A line-bite, perhaps? I gave it a few minutes then decided there was nothing to it. I'd just returned to the warmth of my sleeping bag when the same buzzer bleeped again. I had an awful feeling that I knew what was going on; bloody bream!
I was lying in the darkness of the bivvy cursing the slimy buggers when the `bream` took off on a flier. By the time I'd struggled to the rod to find the line pouring from the reel. I picked up the rod and struck; it was almost wrenched from my grip as a very strong fish took exception to my action. The carp - it was certainly no bream! - set off into the night, tearing away to my right, heading for the barrage as if the hounds of hell were at its heels. I could make no impression on that fish at all, and was rapidly loosing control of the fight. I'd have liked to follow the fish down the bank to my right, but the big oaks at the water's edge made this impossible. I had no option but to hold on and hope for the best.
On and on the fish ran, tireless and brutishly powerful. If it carried on like this I would loose it for sure. By now Carole had joined me at the rods. There was only one thing for it. “Can you get some rocks or stones and get away down the bank there and heave ‘em in? This fish will shred me off on the bankside the way it's going.” I asked her in desperation. Still the fish ran, the rod arched around almost parallel with the water, pounding off towards a distant goal. A few moments later I heard some light splashes. “Use stones, not fairy dust!” I shouted in exasperation. “I can only find grit,” came a faint reply. But the grit seemed to do the trick. Suddenly the line began to angle out from the near bank towards the center of the lake as the fish changed direction. The headlong dash slowed and then stopped and at last I felt as if I had some say in the matter. I pumped and gained line; pumped again. Slowly the fish came back towards my bank. I put the torch on to illuminate the net at my feet and as I did so the other rod on the plateau was away.
In reply to Post #334
Carole picked up her run, struck and was greeted by dour but not frantic resistance. She said, “I'm going to need that net before you, I reckon.” She was right. In a few minutes she had worked the fish into her feet where it lay, beaten awaiting the net. Carole hoisted her prize ashore, sacked it quickly, then came back in time to net my carp, now almost finished with its antics. Now we had two fish on the bank, Carole's a very pretty 19lb 4oz common, mine a blistering near-thirty pound (29lb 40z to be precise) common. What a scrap it put up. I wondered what a big thirty or, dream on, a forty might scrap like! I sacked it for it's dawn appointment with the camera.
We sat in the bivvy in the warm light of the strip lamp and drank a toast to the first twenty of the trip. Was it a portent of things to come? We certainly hoped so. That was not our only action of that night and carp continued to splash occasionally out in the darkness. I felt it was only a matter of time before we had another fish, and sure enough, at five o'clock in the morning I lost a fish that felt like a good lump - don't they all. It took a bait off the plateau, a feature that was plainly fast becoming a hot spot. Then just as the dawn was breaking, Carole had a take on a rod that was fishing in the gully to the left of the plateau, a nice upper double mirror.
Carole picked up her run, struck and was greeted by dour but not frantic resistance. She said, “I'm going to need that net before you, I reckon.” She was right. In a few minutes she had worked the fish into her feet where it lay, beaten awaiting the net. Carole hoisted her prize ashore, sacked it quickly, then came back in time to net my carp, now almost finished with its antics. Now we had two fish on the bank, Carole's a very pretty 19lb 4oz common, mine a blistering near-thirty pound (29lb 40z to be precise) common. What a scrap it put up. I wondered what a big thirty or, dream on, a forty might scrap like! I sacked it for it's dawn appointment with the camera.
We sat in the bivvy in the warm light of the strip lamp and drank a toast to the first twenty of the trip. Was it a portent of things to come? We certainly hoped so. That was not our only action of that night and carp continued to splash occasionally out in the darkness. I felt it was only a matter of time before we had another fish, and sure enough, at five o'clock in the morning I lost a fish that felt like a good lump - don't they all. It took a bait off the plateau, a feature that was plainly fast becoming a hot spot. Then just as the dawn was breaking, Carole had a take on a rod that was fishing in the gully to the left of the plateau, a nice upper double mirror.
In reply to Post #335
At first light we re-baited the rods and I took to the boat to top up the bait on the plateau. The marker was miles away down the lake to our right, obviously moved by that first furious charge of my common. It was easy enough to find the feature again by the landmarks I had taken, so I popped the marker back in place and baited the area liberally with boiled baits. I'd no sooner got back to the shore when I had a blistering run from a rather tatty scattered/linear mirror that took a bait fished on the top of the plateau. They must have been feeding while I baited up over their heads.
We were going to need groundbait after all if this carried on. The daylight blossomed to a sun-kissed morning. It became hotter and hotter and soon the wind picked up again from the south. I wanted to anticipate their arrival today, so I rowed a bait up towards the shallows where the fish had shown the previous afternoon, before sitting down in the shade of the poplars to enjoy a breakfast of French bread, Camembert and garlic sausage. Very anti social!
As the morning passed by a couple of local carp anglers that we'd met in May called in to see us on their way to another lake not far away. They were happy to hear that we had caught but were a bit surprised as they said that for the past couple of months the lake had been a bit moody. They put the improvement down to the moon! Yes, they were quite serious, and why not: I know of quite a few French anglers who firmly believe that the phases of the moon influence the fishing and these guys were adamant that the last quarter was by far the best. They French guys left but said that they would be returning at the weekend as there was a fish-in planned at the lake. I liked the sound of that!
It looked as if the lake had died on us for the time being, so, leaving Carole on the rods, I drove into town to try and get some groundbait ingredients. Would you believe it? They'd sold out! I bought a bag of Frolic and some jumbo-sized tins of sweetcorn, but wasn't happy: the bream would play merry hell with that.
It took me an hour or so to do the shopping. While I was at the checkout I had a strange premonition. I can't explain it but Carole often cracks a fish out when she's on her own while I'm away on some errand or other. I couldn't get out of the hypermarket quickly enough and I drove back to the lake as fast as I could. Sure enough, as I pulled up onto the grass behind the swim Carole came across to meet me, hopping up and down with excitement. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.
“Shopping! What have you caught?”
“A sodding great thirty three pound linear mirror!” she replied, beaming all over her face. “My personal best!”
The fish had taken about half an hour previously, just when I'd been queuing in the hypermarket feeling odd about something!
We did the photos in the bright afternoon sunlight. What a magnificent fish! And it was just a start...!
Tat had just put back the big linear, which actually weighed 34lb 2oz, when I had a run from a fish that I managed to bump off almost straight away. Clearly they were stacked up out there and I just knew that we'd get some more action imminently. The fizzing and bubbling out there looked like a Jacuzzi!
At first light we re-baited the rods and I took to the boat to top up the bait on the plateau. The marker was miles away down the lake to our right, obviously moved by that first furious charge of my common. It was easy enough to find the feature again by the landmarks I had taken, so I popped the marker back in place and baited the area liberally with boiled baits. I'd no sooner got back to the shore when I had a blistering run from a rather tatty scattered/linear mirror that took a bait fished on the top of the plateau. They must have been feeding while I baited up over their heads.
We were going to need groundbait after all if this carried on. The daylight blossomed to a sun-kissed morning. It became hotter and hotter and soon the wind picked up again from the south. I wanted to anticipate their arrival today, so I rowed a bait up towards the shallows where the fish had shown the previous afternoon, before sitting down in the shade of the poplars to enjoy a breakfast of French bread, Camembert and garlic sausage. Very anti social!
As the morning passed by a couple of local carp anglers that we'd met in May called in to see us on their way to another lake not far away. They were happy to hear that we had caught but were a bit surprised as they said that for the past couple of months the lake had been a bit moody. They put the improvement down to the moon! Yes, they were quite serious, and why not: I know of quite a few French anglers who firmly believe that the phases of the moon influence the fishing and these guys were adamant that the last quarter was by far the best. They French guys left but said that they would be returning at the weekend as there was a fish-in planned at the lake. I liked the sound of that!
It looked as if the lake had died on us for the time being, so, leaving Carole on the rods, I drove into town to try and get some groundbait ingredients. Would you believe it? They'd sold out! I bought a bag of Frolic and some jumbo-sized tins of sweetcorn, but wasn't happy: the bream would play merry hell with that.
It took me an hour or so to do the shopping. While I was at the checkout I had a strange premonition. I can't explain it but Carole often cracks a fish out when she's on her own while I'm away on some errand or other. I couldn't get out of the hypermarket quickly enough and I drove back to the lake as fast as I could. Sure enough, as I pulled up onto the grass behind the swim Carole came across to meet me, hopping up and down with excitement. “Where the hell have you been?” she demanded.
“Shopping! What have you caught?”
“A sodding great thirty three pound linear mirror!” she replied, beaming all over her face. “My personal best!”
The fish had taken about half an hour previously, just when I'd been queuing in the hypermarket feeling odd about something!
We did the photos in the bright afternoon sunlight. What a magnificent fish! And it was just a start...!
Tat had just put back the big linear, which actually weighed 34lb 2oz, when I had a run from a fish that I managed to bump off almost straight away. Clearly they were stacked up out there and I just knew that we'd get some more action imminently. The fizzing and bubbling out there looked like a Jacuzzi!
In reply to Post #336
Sure enough, I was still rebaiting the rod on which I had lost the fish when Tat had another run, this time on the right hand rod cast well off to the side of the gully. Putting a hookbait well off the main bat carpet is a tactic we often use as it can sometimes trip up loners that like their own company and do not appreciate being crowded out by hordes of smaller fish all battling over dinner.
The fish took off on a steaming run belting up the lake to her right, heading for the dam wall like the hounds of hell were after it before kiting in towards the margins about 120 yards away. Now it was my turn to run up the bank and this time I took one of the oars and thrashed the margins to a foam with its blade. This seemed to do the trick and the fish headed out into deeper water again. Slowly but surely Tat worked the fish in towards the net and I scooped it up first time of asking. It was another lovely great linear, three pounds lighter than her first. This was getting silly!
In fact, this was fishing beyond our wildest dreams. Here we were landing fish of a size and quality we could never have imagined back in deepest, darkest Cornwall when we had been catching doubles and low twenties at College and Rashleigh.
Out I went again, rowing like a madman to bait up the plateau and gullies leading to it. By now it was clear that there were loads of fish in the general area and we didn't want them to drift off for lack of free food. I unloaded half a bag of Frolic, a jumbo tin of sweetcorn and a couple of kilos of boiled baits onto the area around the plateau. We were going to run out of boiled bait at this rate so we spent a tedious hour cutting each bait into quarters to make it go further.
The sun continued to beam down on us with the temperature pushing thirty degrees. It was a perfect autumn afternoon; sun, beer, wine and carp, and what carp! Here's a lovely common from the plateau. Could life get any better?
Sure enough, I was still rebaiting the rod on which I had lost the fish when Tat had another run, this time on the right hand rod cast well off to the side of the gully. Putting a hookbait well off the main bat carpet is a tactic we often use as it can sometimes trip up loners that like their own company and do not appreciate being crowded out by hordes of smaller fish all battling over dinner.
The fish took off on a steaming run belting up the lake to her right, heading for the dam wall like the hounds of hell were after it before kiting in towards the margins about 120 yards away. Now it was my turn to run up the bank and this time I took one of the oars and thrashed the margins to a foam with its blade. This seemed to do the trick and the fish headed out into deeper water again. Slowly but surely Tat worked the fish in towards the net and I scooped it up first time of asking. It was another lovely great linear, three pounds lighter than her first. This was getting silly!
In fact, this was fishing beyond our wildest dreams. Here we were landing fish of a size and quality we could never have imagined back in deepest, darkest Cornwall when we had been catching doubles and low twenties at College and Rashleigh.
Out I went again, rowing like a madman to bait up the plateau and gullies leading to it. By now it was clear that there were loads of fish in the general area and we didn't want them to drift off for lack of free food. I unloaded half a bag of Frolic, a jumbo tin of sweetcorn and a couple of kilos of boiled baits onto the area around the plateau. We were going to run out of boiled bait at this rate so we spent a tedious hour cutting each bait into quarters to make it go further.
The sun continued to beam down on us with the temperature pushing thirty degrees. It was a perfect autumn afternoon; sun, beer, wine and carp, and what carp! Here's a lovely common from the plateau. Could life get any better?
In reply to Post #337
The afternoon remained hot and sunny. At the hypermarket I had bought a stack of barbecue grub and several bottles of bottles of wine but the carp seemed determined to keep us hungry, if not themselves! The rod on the shallows produced an eighteen pound common for me while I was cooking the steaks, then Carole had another small common of about eleven pounds from the right hand gully. When a further five doubles came our way we thought the kindergarten had arrived...Enough is enough; this was hard work so we pulled the rods in so we could eat in peace! I guess that will sound weird to some of you but the fish ain't everything!
Refreshed and ready for more, I topped up the bait carpet and the rods went out once more. Night fell and it seemed as if the fish had eaten their fill. A few hours went by before yet another pristine common came along for Tat.
Strangely, though conditions were identical to the previous night, after Tat's fish it went dead and we spent the majority of the dark hours in fishless anticipation. I'd just dropped off to a proper sleep when I had a run. Dawn was an hour or so away when one of the plateau rods had a take. Another furious fight, another fabulous fish, another thirty plus common for me. While I was weighing it the other rods on the plateau was away. I popped my common into a sack while Tat ran to hit the run. Here's the thirty photographed after the commotion that followed Tat's run was over and done with. (This fish was actually deemed worthy to be used as a cover shot for Carpworld.)
Now it was Tat's turn to shine big style. This one really gave her the run around, mostly on a long line in the deep water towards the middle of the lake. At last she got in to the edge and I sank the net under it. What a fish...a magnificent gurt big common. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. When it all comes right in France, it REALLY comes right.
...and just look at the girth on it!
Lunch! Time for a for a beer, a bottle of white wine for Tat and maybe a bottle of Champagne or something. We reeled in and walked up to the village to celebrate a new personal best for Our Lass. For some reason this took us longer than expected and by the time we got back to the swim we had company.
The afternoon remained hot and sunny. At the hypermarket I had bought a stack of barbecue grub and several bottles of bottles of wine but the carp seemed determined to keep us hungry, if not themselves! The rod on the shallows produced an eighteen pound common for me while I was cooking the steaks, then Carole had another small common of about eleven pounds from the right hand gully. When a further five doubles came our way we thought the kindergarten had arrived...Enough is enough; this was hard work so we pulled the rods in so we could eat in peace! I guess that will sound weird to some of you but the fish ain't everything!
Refreshed and ready for more, I topped up the bait carpet and the rods went out once more. Night fell and it seemed as if the fish had eaten their fill. A few hours went by before yet another pristine common came along for Tat.
Strangely, though conditions were identical to the previous night, after Tat's fish it went dead and we spent the majority of the dark hours in fishless anticipation. I'd just dropped off to a proper sleep when I had a run. Dawn was an hour or so away when one of the plateau rods had a take. Another furious fight, another fabulous fish, another thirty plus common for me. While I was weighing it the other rods on the plateau was away. I popped my common into a sack while Tat ran to hit the run. Here's the thirty photographed after the commotion that followed Tat's run was over and done with. (This fish was actually deemed worthy to be used as a cover shot for Carpworld.)
Now it was Tat's turn to shine big style. This one really gave her the run around, mostly on a long line in the deep water towards the middle of the lake. At last she got in to the edge and I sank the net under it. What a fish...a magnificent gurt big common. We looked at each other and burst out laughing. When it all comes right in France, it REALLY comes right.
...and just look at the girth on it!
Lunch! Time for a for a beer, a bottle of white wine for Tat and maybe a bottle of Champagne or something. We reeled in and walked up to the village to celebrate a new personal best for Our Lass. For some reason this took us longer than expected and by the time we got back to the swim we had company.
In reply to Post #338
It was Friday, the start of the sacrosanct French weekend and the anglers were gathering for the social. Jean-Louis, Carl, Jose and Francois I knew from the previous visit but Tat had not met them before. I warned her about Jean-Louise's charm offensive, which was deployed full bore when ever a member of the opposite sex was around.
The guys had been good company back when I was at Boffin's with Nige and Colin, and it looked as if they were going to be good company again. They set up a large picnic table just down the bank from us and once it was set, copious amounts of wine, beer and food appeared as J-L built a rudimentary barbecue out of rocks and bricks. Then Giles the lake owner drove up in his rattling old Citroen and began unloading yet more grub, a repeat performance of the hospitality we'd enjoyed earlier in the year.
And still the carp fed out there on the fabulous plateau and I added another small mirror to my list. This was too good to be true. We were eating our way through a mountain of chicken when Carole's next run sped off. With an audience surrounding her, watching her every move (they don't see many women carp anglers in France) the assembled company was prepared to be critical. It didn't get the chance! Carole played to the gallery in fine style, in fact, I thought she was putting on too much of a show and told her, “Stop mucking about, and get the bugger in!”
“I can't,” she exclaimed. “It's a bloody good fish!”
And so it proved to be, a stonking great mirror, another linear. The gallery applauded, more wine was poured, the fish toasted in fine Bordeaux. If I didn't have the pictures to prove it, I'd assume that 'd been dreaming, but the action was by no means over. A run, this time from the left hand gully gave me my own personal best common, a fabulous fish of 35lb 2oz that fought like a demon from start to finish, first in the water, and then for a further fifteen rounds on the bank. I'd died and gone to Heaven, surely!
The guys gathered round and snapped loads of photos. Giles said that this same fish had been caught by Rod earlier in the year. If that was the case it had healed wonderfully well as its mouth looked like it had not seen a hook in all its days...and just look at the size of those pecs!
Not to be outdone J-L had a good common...
...while the barbie continued in full flow...
It all got a bit much for Tat who took to the tent for a brief siesta. I knew she would come back to the fray full of beans and ready to go again, so I let her have her beauty sleep.
It was Friday, the start of the sacrosanct French weekend and the anglers were gathering for the social. Jean-Louis, Carl, Jose and Francois I knew from the previous visit but Tat had not met them before. I warned her about Jean-Louise's charm offensive, which was deployed full bore when ever a member of the opposite sex was around.
The guys had been good company back when I was at Boffin's with Nige and Colin, and it looked as if they were going to be good company again. They set up a large picnic table just down the bank from us and once it was set, copious amounts of wine, beer and food appeared as J-L built a rudimentary barbecue out of rocks and bricks. Then Giles the lake owner drove up in his rattling old Citroen and began unloading yet more grub, a repeat performance of the hospitality we'd enjoyed earlier in the year.
And still the carp fed out there on the fabulous plateau and I added another small mirror to my list. This was too good to be true. We were eating our way through a mountain of chicken when Carole's next run sped off. With an audience surrounding her, watching her every move (they don't see many women carp anglers in France) the assembled company was prepared to be critical. It didn't get the chance! Carole played to the gallery in fine style, in fact, I thought she was putting on too much of a show and told her, “Stop mucking about, and get the bugger in!”
“I can't,” she exclaimed. “It's a bloody good fish!”
And so it proved to be, a stonking great mirror, another linear. The gallery applauded, more wine was poured, the fish toasted in fine Bordeaux. If I didn't have the pictures to prove it, I'd assume that 'd been dreaming, but the action was by no means over. A run, this time from the left hand gully gave me my own personal best common, a fabulous fish of 35lb 2oz that fought like a demon from start to finish, first in the water, and then for a further fifteen rounds on the bank. I'd died and gone to Heaven, surely!
The guys gathered round and snapped loads of photos. Giles said that this same fish had been caught by Rod earlier in the year. If that was the case it had healed wonderfully well as its mouth looked like it had not seen a hook in all its days...and just look at the size of those pecs!
Not to be outdone J-L had a good common...
...while the barbie continued in full flow...
It all got a bit much for Tat who took to the tent for a brief siesta. I knew she would come back to the fray full of beans and ready to go again, so I let her have her beauty sleep.
In reply to Post #339
That just had to be it. We couldn't believe the fishing that we'd experienced over the past 48-hours. Surely there were no fish left out there on the plateau...Wrong! In fact the day was far from done with. A common of just over twenty pounds came my way so once it was landed I tore out to the marker with another bucketful of bait. Before I got back one of our rods was away and with Tat sparko in the bivvy the French guys had a scrap to decide who would take the run. As it turned out, Giles emerged the winner and by the time I got back with the boat the fish was in the margins where it was netted by Jose, while J-L looked on.
As if the social side needed any boosting another group of French guys arrived. They were there more for the craic than the fishing, I suspected. As the night progressed, the noise level rose, but we couldn't complain. We'd had our day and no mistake. If we never had another fish on this trip we'd be happy.
So we joined in the very rowdy party that lasted most of the night, interrupted, astonishingly enough, by a steady stream of carp both big and small for the assembled revelers/carp anglers. Carole now fully refreshed caught two smaller commons, while I had a common of about sixteen pounds. I was joined by Giles and Jean-Louis for the photos. It is a happy photo that always brings a smile to my face whenever I recall those great memories.
By the early hours of the morning we were both wilting under the strain and took ourselves off to the comfort of our sleeping bags. I was awoken by a screaming run at just after five in the morning and with only an hour's sleep under my belt it took me what seemed like forever to get myself sorted out. It was still dark but muggy and warm with a fresh but very hot breeze blowing down the lake. I was joined on the rods by a very inebriated Jean-Louis, bottle of wine in hand, who emptied much of it into my mouth and down my chin and neck as he tried to persuade me that playing a very angry carp in the darkness of a cloudy French dawn was best accompanied by at least a gallon of Bordeaux. After the first couple of glasses, I came to the conclusion that he was probably right!
Half an hour later it was Carole's turn. We were getting almost blasé about low twenties; this was another. Two more followed, both commons, one each. Was this for real, or what? I consigned the last of our bait to the plateau and its surrounds and we sat back with a beer and a few bottles of wine in the company of our French friends to await the final 24-hours...which just had to be an anti-climax, didn't they? Yes, indeed! We had just one more carp between us, a small mirror for Carole. To be honest were out on our feet. The party had taken its toll on both of us, though the French just carried on partying.
French carping? I love it!
So ended the return trip to Boffin's Pond. Since then we have both caught more carp and bigger carp but I don't think we've ever had such enjoyable carp. We'd be back! Next up I would like to tell you about the trip when Bill C and I went to Rainbow to make a film with Liam Dale. Has anybody seen a horsebox?
That just had to be it. We couldn't believe the fishing that we'd experienced over the past 48-hours. Surely there were no fish left out there on the plateau...Wrong! In fact the day was far from done with. A common of just over twenty pounds came my way so once it was landed I tore out to the marker with another bucketful of bait. Before I got back one of our rods was away and with Tat sparko in the bivvy the French guys had a scrap to decide who would take the run. As it turned out, Giles emerged the winner and by the time I got back with the boat the fish was in the margins where it was netted by Jose, while J-L looked on.
As if the social side needed any boosting another group of French guys arrived. They were there more for the craic than the fishing, I suspected. As the night progressed, the noise level rose, but we couldn't complain. We'd had our day and no mistake. If we never had another fish on this trip we'd be happy.
So we joined in the very rowdy party that lasted most of the night, interrupted, astonishingly enough, by a steady stream of carp both big and small for the assembled revelers/carp anglers. Carole now fully refreshed caught two smaller commons, while I had a common of about sixteen pounds. I was joined by Giles and Jean-Louis for the photos. It is a happy photo that always brings a smile to my face whenever I recall those great memories.
By the early hours of the morning we were both wilting under the strain and took ourselves off to the comfort of our sleeping bags. I was awoken by a screaming run at just after five in the morning and with only an hour's sleep under my belt it took me what seemed like forever to get myself sorted out. It was still dark but muggy and warm with a fresh but very hot breeze blowing down the lake. I was joined on the rods by a very inebriated Jean-Louis, bottle of wine in hand, who emptied much of it into my mouth and down my chin and neck as he tried to persuade me that playing a very angry carp in the darkness of a cloudy French dawn was best accompanied by at least a gallon of Bordeaux. After the first couple of glasses, I came to the conclusion that he was probably right!
Half an hour later it was Carole's turn. We were getting almost blasé about low twenties; this was another. Two more followed, both commons, one each. Was this for real, or what? I consigned the last of our bait to the plateau and its surrounds and we sat back with a beer and a few bottles of wine in the company of our French friends to await the final 24-hours...which just had to be an anti-climax, didn't they? Yes, indeed! We had just one more carp between us, a small mirror for Carole. To be honest were out on our feet. The party had taken its toll on both of us, though the French just carried on partying.
French carping? I love it!
So ended the return trip to Boffin's Pond. Since then we have both caught more carp and bigger carp but I don't think we've ever had such enjoyable carp. We'd be back! Next up I would like to tell you about the trip when Bill C and I went to Rainbow to make a film with Liam Dale. Has anybody seen a horsebox?
In reply to Post #340
In reply to Post #341
fab read thanks Ken
fab read thanks Ken
Tat and I wish you all a Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.
See you again soon...don't get too pithed!
See you again soon...don't get too pithed!
In reply to Post #343
Merry Christmas to the both of you, and all the best for the new year
Merry Christmas to the both of you, and all the best for the new year
In reply to Post #344
Thanks, Forest guy! And back at you. Great win for your team yesterday. You've got one of the best managers in football IMO. Keep up the good work...Nobody wants Leeds back in the premiership!
Thanks, Forest guy! And back at you. Great win for your team yesterday. You've got one of the best managers in football IMO. Keep up the good work...Nobody wants Leeds back in the premiership!
In reply to Post #345
Tat and I hope all your carpy dreams come true in 2019. I'll pick up on the thread soon but first we would like to share this with you:
We always have rib of beef on new year's eve. It's a tradition that goes back nearly fifty years and dates from a time when we had briefly flirted with going veggie. Bad mistake. Awful idea IMHO!
We both missed beef so much that after a couple of years on Nut Roast and Rooshti with Eggs, we decided to kick the veggie habit in style on NYE 1971 and did so with a fine cote de boeuf...And that set the trend for us. This year we bought a lovely rib of Dexter. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
While hunting through the cellar to find a suitable red to drink with the beef I discovered a bottle of 1995 Graves, which I thought had all gone after drinking what I believed was the last in the case the previous year. But on lifting a case of a decent but not superior Medoc, I discovered, tucked away almost out of sight a dust- and cobweb-covered bottle of this 1995 Pressac-Leognan. What a surprise and a lovely way to see out the old year.
We hope you net an equally satisfying surprise this year...
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
Tat and I hope all your carpy dreams come true in 2019. I'll pick up on the thread soon but first we would like to share this with you:
We always have rib of beef on new year's eve. It's a tradition that goes back nearly fifty years and dates from a time when we had briefly flirted with going veggie. Bad mistake. Awful idea IMHO!
We both missed beef so much that after a couple of years on Nut Roast and Rooshti with Eggs, we decided to kick the veggie habit in style on NYE 1971 and did so with a fine cote de boeuf...And that set the trend for us. This year we bought a lovely rib of Dexter. Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!
While hunting through the cellar to find a suitable red to drink with the beef I discovered a bottle of 1995 Graves, which I thought had all gone after drinking what I believed was the last in the case the previous year. But on lifting a case of a decent but not superior Medoc, I discovered, tucked away almost out of sight a dust- and cobweb-covered bottle of this 1995 Pressac-Leognan. What a surprise and a lovely way to see out the old year.
We hope you net an equally satisfying surprise this year...
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
RAINBOW LAKE - or EXCUSE ME BUT HAVE YOU SEEN A HORSE BOX? – April 1995
Rainbow Lake! The very name sends shivers down the spines of carp anglers across the world and with good reason. In fact, it has been hard to keep the name of Rainbow Lake out of the news over the past few years, what with the great and the good of carp fishing beating a path to its door, photo after photo of the lake's fabled monsters appearing online and in the press, in articles and videos. Indeed the Kevin Ellis vids have revealed much of the wonder of the lake. There are probably more carp over sixty pounds in weight in Rainbow than in any other lake in the world. No wonder getting a booking on there is harder than getting **** from a rocking horse!
Some of you may well have been lucky enough to go there, while others will sit with fingers crossed in the hope that they will get a swim one day. My own history with this super-lake is nothing like as well blessed with monster carp as that of others, but in some small way I believe I was among those who were responsible for putting the lake on the map.
But first a little back tracking...Tat and I had been on a tour of south west France looking for likely lakes, rivers and gites and after stopping at several likely looking spots we eventually found ourselves on the terrace of a nice restaurant overlooking a large lake that lay in the valley below us.
A decent meal was on the cards and as we sat in the sunshine looking down on the lake, we noticed the odd splash or two disturbing the surface. I asked the guy behind the bar if there were carp in the lake and he told me that there were a few but they were not fished for as the lake was more widely known for its predator fishing. I filed the lake away as a 'maybe' and that was that!
We move forward to the early autumn of 1994. After a nightmare few days moving from venue to venue looking for the sun, we found ourselves once again at the restaurant overlooking the lake, this time not so much for a nosebag - that might come later - but more to fish the lake for a week or maybe two if all went well.
Ha! As if...
When we got there we found that the lake had been drained and there was no fishing. Apparently the local authorities were fed up with cleaning the lakeside of litter and excrement left behind by so-called anglers after the name of the lake became well known on the circuit. This was the lake where Liam Dale of Hyperactive Films had done a video called Half a Ton of carp, featuring Kevin Maddocks and friends and following the video's release the world and his wife had beaten a path to the lake's door. Their resulting mess was the reason for the lake's eventual closure. Apparently the carp had been sold to stock a private lake south of Bordeaux called Lac du Curton. The lake's name was changed to Rainbow Lake later that year when it became a commercial venue and the rest is history...
We skip forward now to the winter of 1995. The phone rang as I looked out on a dreary Cornish winter, wet and miserable, with summer carp fishing just a memory. “How do you fancy a trip to France in March then, youth?” said Big Bill.
“Nah! Sorry but I doubt if I could afford it.” I replied.
“It's free!” came the voice on the other end of the telephone.
“I'm on!” I said.
“Right. The good news is that Liam has been asked to do a video of Rainbow Lake, but he wants to combine this with an hour or so of how-to-do-it filming, focusing on the nuts and bolts of fishing in France."
I'd met Liam before when he filmed a promo video for Nutrabaits, which never saw the light of day and found him to be a good laugh so if that was the good news what was the bad? I asked Bill. “Mike Willmott's coming.” Ah! "The bugger will probably empty the place," I said to Bill.
“Yeah, I know. Don't worry though, you won't have much time for fishing. You're not only acting as Liam's personal technical advisor during the making of the video - and don't go thinking that means anything because it doesn't - you're also writing the script. As if that ain't enough, you and me are acting as consultants to Liam and the crew.
“No wonder it's free then," I said. "Will there be a chance of a beer or two?"
"I expect so," said Bill!
Rainbow Lake! The very name sends shivers down the spines of carp anglers across the world and with good reason. In fact, it has been hard to keep the name of Rainbow Lake out of the news over the past few years, what with the great and the good of carp fishing beating a path to its door, photo after photo of the lake's fabled monsters appearing online and in the press, in articles and videos. Indeed the Kevin Ellis vids have revealed much of the wonder of the lake. There are probably more carp over sixty pounds in weight in Rainbow than in any other lake in the world. No wonder getting a booking on there is harder than getting **** from a rocking horse!
Some of you may well have been lucky enough to go there, while others will sit with fingers crossed in the hope that they will get a swim one day. My own history with this super-lake is nothing like as well blessed with monster carp as that of others, but in some small way I believe I was among those who were responsible for putting the lake on the map.
But first a little back tracking...Tat and I had been on a tour of south west France looking for likely lakes, rivers and gites and after stopping at several likely looking spots we eventually found ourselves on the terrace of a nice restaurant overlooking a large lake that lay in the valley below us.
A decent meal was on the cards and as we sat in the sunshine looking down on the lake, we noticed the odd splash or two disturbing the surface. I asked the guy behind the bar if there were carp in the lake and he told me that there were a few but they were not fished for as the lake was more widely known for its predator fishing. I filed the lake away as a 'maybe' and that was that!
We move forward to the early autumn of 1994. After a nightmare few days moving from venue to venue looking for the sun, we found ourselves once again at the restaurant overlooking the lake, this time not so much for a nosebag - that might come later - but more to fish the lake for a week or maybe two if all went well.
Ha! As if...
When we got there we found that the lake had been drained and there was no fishing. Apparently the local authorities were fed up with cleaning the lakeside of litter and excrement left behind by so-called anglers after the name of the lake became well known on the circuit. This was the lake where Liam Dale of Hyperactive Films had done a video called Half a Ton of carp, featuring Kevin Maddocks and friends and following the video's release the world and his wife had beaten a path to the lake's door. Their resulting mess was the reason for the lake's eventual closure. Apparently the carp had been sold to stock a private lake south of Bordeaux called Lac du Curton. The lake's name was changed to Rainbow Lake later that year when it became a commercial venue and the rest is history...
We skip forward now to the winter of 1995. The phone rang as I looked out on a dreary Cornish winter, wet and miserable, with summer carp fishing just a memory. “How do you fancy a trip to France in March then, youth?” said Big Bill.
“Nah! Sorry but I doubt if I could afford it.” I replied.
“It's free!” came the voice on the other end of the telephone.
“I'm on!” I said.
“Right. The good news is that Liam has been asked to do a video of Rainbow Lake, but he wants to combine this with an hour or so of how-to-do-it filming, focusing on the nuts and bolts of fishing in France."
I'd met Liam before when he filmed a promo video for Nutrabaits, which never saw the light of day and found him to be a good laugh so if that was the good news what was the bad? I asked Bill. “Mike Willmott's coming.” Ah! "The bugger will probably empty the place," I said to Bill.
“Yeah, I know. Don't worry though, you won't have much time for fishing. You're not only acting as Liam's personal technical advisor during the making of the video - and don't go thinking that means anything because it doesn't - you're also writing the script. As if that ain't enough, you and me are acting as consultants to Liam and the crew.
“No wonder it's free then," I said. "Will there be a chance of a beer or two?"
"I expect so," said Bill!