I am not a carper, but..

The Dorset Stour, where I learned to fish as a boy, was home to a variety of species.  There were good chub, roach, dace, perch, pike and gudgeon but no carp that I ever saw. 

Since my recent return to fishing I have caught only a few carp, and most of those accidentally.  It has been hard to understand why some anglers would choose to camp on a bank, seemingly with all their worldly goods, for days on end in the hope of landing one fish that weighed as much as a packed holiday suitcase.  Even more difficult to understand is why they would choose to ignore all the other species available to them.

Two fishing trips this week have given me a small insight into the obsessive mind of the "carper".

On Monday I paid my first ever visit to a small privately owned lake barely ten miles from my home.  This place is not advertised and I only discovered it by accident when looking for interesting stretches of water on Google Earth.  An internet search took me to a web page where the lake was described and after a brief email exchange with the web page author I had the postcode and directions.  I was told, "Just turn up and start fishing.  John will collect a fiver from you some time during the day".

John turned out to be the owner and he told me that he had dug the lake about twelve years ago and stocked it with perch, roach, bream and carp.  The fish have bred successfully and have never had to be restocked.

A chat with the other anglers on the bank resulted in some good advice on choice of swim at the shallow end.  It was early afternoon.  The weather was fine and sunny with a chilly breeze from the east which was, thankfully, tamed by the surrounding trees.  I set up the 13ft float rod, tried a few baits on fine line and small hooks and caught a few skimmers.

By the time the sun started to dip down to the west I noticed some small carp slurping floating groundbait crumbs from the surface.  Throwing in a few dog biscuits and bits of crust soon had them feeding enthusiastically.  The fine tackle was obviously not strong enough for the job.  On went a spool of 6lb mono (the heaviest I had with me) and a size 8 hook. 

It didn't take long before the first lump of bread crust disappeared with a loud "gloop" and the coils of mono sitting on the surface suddenly straightened as the fish pulled the bait down.  After a few tense minutes of worrying about the hook parting company with the line I had the first carp in the landing net.  Over the next few hours I teased another nine carp from the swim.  All the fish were between three and five pounds, which I was told was typical for the lake.

Those ten fish represent my largest bag so far.  My puny office worker arms were aching from the effort of heaving the forty pounds or so to the net.  The grin did not leave my face for the remainder of the day.

On Friday I decided to try another unknown venue.  This time I chose a well known complex of lakes that lie between the fairways of a local golf course.

The weather was much the same as it had been on Monday; sunny but with a fresh easterly breeze.  I noticed that the most popular lake was a rather featureless long oval with no shelter from the wind.  All the pegs are on one side and all the anglers were sitting, jackets on, facing into the wind.  I saw no floats and can only assume that they were casting feeders to the only available feature - the opposite bank.

The other side of the club's pro shop is a bigger, seven acre lake with a few pegs in amongst some shrubbery.  I soon found a spot out of the wind, facing south and set up the float rod again.  Small bits of punched bread seemed to be acceptable to the roach and I was soon pulling out fish of a few ounces each.

In the next swim were a young boy of about ten, his uncle and his grandfather.  The boy was the only one catching (roach, like me).  As I was about to settle into an afternoon of tiddler bashing there was an excited shout from the lad.  I caught the words "net" and "big one" so decided to leave my rod and be a spectator for a while.  It soon became obvious that the youngster was connected to something substantially bigger than a roach.  Each time the fish broke surface he became more animated.  By this stage we could see it was a carp.  Uncle was giving instructions on how to play the fish while grandfather and I offered encouragement and tried to keep him calm.  He was worried about being broken off in the reeds and concerned that his little arms would tire out but after ten minutes or so the carp was in the net.  "It's at least ten" he said, "maybe twelve!".  It looked more like five to me but I thought better of saying so.  After patting him on the back I left him to celebrate his new personal best with his family and went back to my swim.

As I carefully approached my secluded spot I could see that a shoal of carp had moved into the calmer water in the shelter of the shrubbery.  This time I had sensibly decided to bring a feeder rod and heavier reel which I now set up with 8lb line and controller float.  The carp did not seem to be too fussy about the choice of bait; they were hungrily sucking down bread, crust and dog biscuits.  Within a few minutes I had the first one on but the hook pulled when it was only six inches from the net; it was more than five pounds, too.  By this stage it was early evening and the boy and his family were packing up for the trip home.  My feeling of disappointment contrasted with the excited satisfaction I had seen on the face of the enthusiastic boy.  Never mind, there was still an hour of light left.

I put another lump of crust on a size 6 hook, cast out to the waiting shoal, catapulted out a half dozen dog biscuits around the crust and stared at the controller float.  Two of the dog biscuits were noisily slurped followed quickly by my crust.  The controller float torpedoed after the crust and I lifted into the fish.  I was careful to avoid the reed beds either side of my swim and the large jagged boulder near my feet.  Disciplining myself to stay calm and not hurry the carp, I slowly coaxed him to the waiting net.  Once it was on the bank I could see that it was a very healthy mirror of about five or six pounds.  By the time the setting sun signalled the time for packing up I had caught another three.  The largest was just shy of ten pounds, which is my personal best.  Another dopey grin stuck to my face for the rest of the day.

So, I am not yet a committed carper.  However, a few more experiences like this week and I may find myself in the tackle shop lusting over bivvies, rod pods, alarms and all things camo.

It used to be so simple...

As a schoolboy I regularly fished the river Stour in Dorset with friends.  In the summer we would ride our bicycles to Hammoon with our rods tied to the crossbar with string.  A reel and some bread would be stuffed in the saddle bag as anything else would be too heavy to carry.  In the winter we would persuade an adult to drive us down to the bank, in which case we could afford to take a landing net and a selection of bait, too.  Fishing was simple, then.

I moved away from Dorset in 1971 when I finished my 'O' levels.  Work and the busy social life of the young adult distracted me from rod and line.  Later, marriage and children provided further distractions.

In early 2013 my daughter, who is a wheelchair user, asked me if I would take her fishing.  I knew nothing about fishing for the disabled so did some research.  It turns out that just a few miles from my house is a small reservoir owned by Wessex Water which has been specifically set up for use by disabled anglers.  We bought some EA licences and enough tackle to get us started.  On the first day of the new season we drove down to the reservoir and were soon unhooking small roach and skimmers.  After a gap of 42 years I was fishing again.  It was as if I had never stopped.  The only difference, it seems to me, is that it has all become so complicated.

As a boy I had only two rods; a 6ft spinning rod for lures and live baits and a 10ft hollow glass float rod for everything else.  One cheap Intrepid reel was loaded with 10lb mono for pike and another, even cheaper, Intrepid held 4lb mono for float and leger use.  Hooks were tied directly to the main line.  We caught every species of fish that swam in the Stour; dace, roach, perch, pike, gudgeon and chub.  Most were caught with either bread or worms.

Now the tackle shops are stuffed with a mind boggling variety of tools, gadgets and bait.  During my first six months as a fishing returnee I have acquired, without even trying, two spinning rods (6ft and 9ft), two feeder rods (medium and heavy) and a 13ft float rod.  My four reels, with spare spools, carry various diameters of mono and braid.  We never seem to go down to the bank without a choice of at least five choices of hook bait and several bags of ground bait.  Does this increase our enjoyment of a day's fishing?  Of course it doesn't.

New Year's resolution:  I must keep my fishing as simple as possible.

On the other hand, how could I possibly do without a short Avon-style rod for bullying chub out of a weedy river swim?

A brother's advice

My brother recently recommended that I try drop shotting for perch so I decided to give it a try.
I had no suitable rod so went to a popular outdoors discount shop and bought a 6 ft spinner for pocket money. 
My cheap Chinese fixed spool was filled with cheap Chinese 15lb braid (you may notice a theme developing, here) and I set off with a box of small rubber lures down to a free stretch of the Avon.

The Avon at Bath is running fast and deep after the recent rain.  The river itself did not look promising so I switched to the calmer water either side of the Weston Lock.
Watching a few videos on Youtube had acquainted me with the basic technique.  A few meters of 8lb fluorocarbon would have been suitable for the end tackle but, as I didn't have any, a length of nylon mono had to suffice.  A size 4 hook was tied with a palomar knot about 2 feet from the end of the hooklength and a small soft plastic grub hooked so it stood at right angles to the hooklength.  There are specially made drop shot weights available but I don't have these, either.  A few SSGs squeezed on to the bottom of the mono seemed to do the same job.

The whole rig was plopped into the water close to some boat moorings.  After about fifteen minutes of experimenting with a variety of jiggling and twitching movements of the rod I felt a few taps and smartly lifted the rod.  A few seconds later, my first perch in over forty years was resting in my hand.  Although it weighed only a few ounces, to me it was a triumph; a milestone on the long path back to angler-hood.

It took another two hours to explore the rest of the cut back to where it joined the river during which time I tried both red and white grubs.  My rusty technique resulted in one lure in an overhanging tree, where it still sits waiting to trap any passing flying fish, and some SSGs stuck under a submerged shopping trolley.

As it the sun started to set I made my way back to the lock.  A luminous blue kingfisher flashed past in the opposite direction - the first I have seen in over twenty years.  The red grub was swapped for a white one and flicked in to the large eddy between the lock exit and the weir.  A few knocks on the line, a lift of the rod to set the hook and the second perch was soon swung to hand.  This was slightly bigger than the first but still only as long as my hand.  Nevertheless, a second fish of the target species proves, to me anyhow, that the first was not a fluke.

The whole trip was successful in several ways:
Firstly, I set out to catch perch and caught more than one. 
Secondly, the simple plan involved more thought and preparation than money.  A trapper-style hat, thick jumper, thick welly socks and a weatherproof jacket kept me warm and comfortable.  Being cold and wet is a distraction which keeps you from being in the moment - essential for a satisfying angling experience.  My cheap tackle was adequate for the job at hand; I doubt that the perch were much interested in the quality of the whipping or decals.

So, thanks Bro for pointing me towards drop shotting.  I now have plans for exploring the Kennet and Avon, where I hear there are many perch.