"What was your first carp...?"

[Davyr]

I've previously posted a photo of my first carp (a common of about 1lb) on page 2 of the Jack Hilton "Quest for Carp" thread on the "books" sub-forum. It was a very long time before I caught another one - about 10 years, in fact!

[MGs]

It seems that it took many of us quite a time to catch our first, or at least the first to require a landing net. Not a bad thing in my book. Having ponds jammed full of frequently stocked fish takes some of the magic away from catching what should be something special. I fished a lake which contained carp, on and off during the 1970s but never caught one, lots of roach, rudd, bream and tench came my way. Reports of anyone catching one were few and far between. I went back about 10 years ago and carp are now the predominant species.

[GloucesterOldSpot]

A little diddler of about 4oz. A perfectly marked linear mirror with quite a silvery sheen that surprised me. Took float fished maggots in 2ft of water under my top tip. I had sat totally still for at least ten minutes as a common of about six pounds was working its way towards me. When the float slid away I stuck expecting solid resistance only to realise this little scamp had nipped in and taken the bait. Then it rained for the rest of the day and that put the carp down so I sat in a hedge shivering, soaked to the skin waiting for a lift home. I was nine.

The first big carp I caught was a total, but fortuitous, accident and from that moment on I was hooked.

Mine was also a little linear mirror of around 4oz, from a small pond on the common near home. I'd fished it on and off for a few years without catching anything, though older, better equipped and more knowledgeable anglers occasionally caught tench and pike from there. One day I saw a tremendous perch roll on the surface, the spiky dorsal clearly visible. Thirty years on I still reckon that fish was upwards of three pounds, but I never caught it.

One misty afternoon during half term a friend and I had cycled over there to try our luck. M fished from one bank and I opted for the opposite side, float fishing with bread paste. I can't remember whether it was first cast, but it wasn't long before I had a bite (which in itself was an amazing event) and hooked something that scurried around purposefully and tried its best to bury into the weeds, but I got it out and swung in what I at first took to be a roach. Closer inspection revealed its true identity. I didn't have a keepnet with me so put it straight back, even though I knew M wouldn't believe me. I was right; he didn't. He wandered over after a while to see if I'd had anything, and when I told him he looked incredulous. Nevertheless, he moved his tackle over and sat next to me, and shortly after I hooked another perfect little carp, and so proved my point. I think I had four in all, and he had one.

The following spring my mother and I moved to a cottage some two miles away from the pond, and it wasn't until the summer that I returned and settled into the same swim, with a tiny piece of breadpaste on a size 20, 1lb line and a crowquill. It was a dull day and I hoped there'd be plenty more little carp eager for the bait, but an hour passed without so much as a flicker of interest. I got up and wandered round the pond, leaving the rod to fish for itself. When I returned the float was nowhere to be seen and the line stretched taut into a patch of weeds. I pulled as hard as the light line would allow and felt something pull back; then it was free and running hard for the middle of the pond. I played it carefully, convinced I'd got one of the mythical tench (had I not seen with my own eyes a fish of fully two pounds being returned to the pond the year before?) but when it surfaced I saw it was a carp - but what a fish! I managed to get it into the landing net and out onto the grass. It must have weighed at least one pound!

I caught no more that day, but returned as often as I could for the rest of the holidays, usually arriving at tea time and staying until dusk. I stepped up to 5lb line straight through to a number 8 hook (I can thus pinpoint exactly my first conversion to specimen hunting!) and caught maybe half a dozen more over the following weeks, on both paste and redworms. As the summer wore on the weed became very thick and one had to fish into little holes, getting the float and bait to settle tight against the far side of a hole for best results. My friends sometimes joined me, but they were always too noisy and scared the fish away, though eventually they cottoned on to the fact I always caught if they weren't around, and learnt to crouch down well back from the bank and talk softly.

As the years passed those carp became incredibly difficult to catch, though most days in summer someone would be trying for them. I witnessed first hand the evolution of carp fishing on that pond, from our early days with paste and worm, through floating crust, dog biscuits, particle baits and - for some enterprising fellows - boilies. An average of two carp per year was caught, apart from the first time D tried dog biscuits and caught four in one evening. They learnt pretty quick! The average size grew each year until they were all between four and six pounds, though I recall one evening when a newcomer to the pond hooked a big one on crust in thick weed on 2lb line, and my then girlfriend (later my wife - now my ex-wife - there's a potted history for you!) volunteered to wade out with the net. It was eight pounds - the biggest we'd seen from there.

Sadly the pond was polluted by some development works taking place on the adjacent land (the site of a formery brewery, from which the pond took its name) and all the fish, save a few little roach, perished. The pond was drained by the council and the dead fish buried. When it refilled a few of us began the long process of restocking, gathering carp, tench and crucians from various local waters (don't tell the EA!). One morning D and I caught thirty odd crucians, two tench and a small common from a nearby lake and brought them back in a dustbin filled with water (which took some carrying between us, especially as we had to cross a field of cows who all thought the bin was a terrifically exciting object and determined to shove their noses into it at every opportunity. Incidentally, the carp weighed two pounds, and was put into the pond in May. The following March I caught it on bread flake - it weighed eight pounds.

The pond is still there, twenty years later. I visited the area last summer to see family, and decided to take a stroll over to the pond, for old times' sake. It looked so small, but it still had that character I remembered. I watched as some bubbles broke surface, and thought I saw a shadow pass by, though the water was pea-green - unlike the old days when it was crystal clear. As I turned away a truck pulled up by the side of the common, next to my car, and two chaps began unloading an odd assortment of tackle from the back. I walked towards them. Suddenly I recognised them. It was D and A - two of the old crew!

I stopped with them for half an hour whilst they set up and filled me in on the current piscine population. D had had a near twenty pounder the previous summer. Whilst we were chatting a woman walked over with a dog and sat next to D. I didn't recognise her at first, but then it dawned on me. It was L - A's sister, and now D's girlfriend. Then I noticed how all three were sat well back from the bank, and talking softly. Funny how some lessons, once learned, remain with you for life!

[Gary Bills]

A wonderful account, GOS!

[BobH]

" Carp "

It would have been about 1957, I was 12 years old and into Real Fishing, I would sit for hours on the banks of the Warren Pond listening to the older boys talk all things " Walker " and the wonders of the Mk IV Carp Rod, Floating Crust and Silver Paper indicators.

It was all I thought about, Carp Fishing was in it's infancy and I loved every minute of it !!

You have to remember, Dick Walker was the Terry Hearn of today, the reason why so many dedicated anglers left behind their match rods and took up arms as Carp Anglers.

Youngster like me were transfixed by the changes in fishing, it was a revolution and I was there at the beginning of it all ( well I thought I was ) ?

There were a couple of lads in my class at school who joined me on the banks of the Warren Pond, Peter Harper and Alan Chinnock who were also fasinated by Carp Fishing and we watch in wonderment as the older lads managed to cast a bit of crust out to the small island in the middle of the pond.

This of course was beyond our limited skills and tackle at that time, we were religated to the Tench fishing in the margins and fishing by cycle lamps shone on a small section of quill floats.

Good training for greater things too come.

One day Alan suggested that we try an easier water than the Warren and go before school, so I arrived at Alans house at 3am in the morning, there were no lights on so I climbed up to his first floor window and gave it a sharp tap, this not only woke Alan, but his older brother who was not best pleased I had disturbed his slumbers.

Alan was soon up, dressed and we were cycling towards the Mint Sauce pond at Goldings Hill, Loughton, it must have been about 4am when we arrived and the expectation was almost touchable !!

It was a small Epping Forest pond, some 100yds from the main road,covered in Mint Sauce floating weed (not the correct name) but thats what we knew it as and it had a very distinctive smell on a warm misty morning.

There was just enough room for two young lads to fish out to the line of Norfolk reeds about 15ft from the bank and we knew we had a chance of Carp.

Why, well because Alan and I had checked out all the local ponds and we knew it held Carp, because we had seen some carp crusing on the surface and we wanted to catch a proper Carp.

The Mint Sauce, was our best chance and this was our very first early morning trip.

Our Tackle was basic, Intrepid reels and modified cane leger rods, tough enough to land smallish Pike and Barbel, hopefully tough enough to cope with small carp.

9lb Sylcast Line, 1/2ozs Arsley Bomb, a Split Shot and a eyed hook size 6 as used by many of the Proper Carpers at the Warren and a great big bit of bread flake as bait.

The bait, were cast out gently to the edge of the reeds and placed on our home made rod rests, metal work classes were our favourite at school ( a Secondary Modern ) because the Metal work Teacher was a fisherman and let us make all sort of fishing related items.

The Line was pulled down to the ground between the first eye of the rod and the bale arm, then a carefully folded piece of silver paper was placed over the line at the apex of the V.

Time to sit back and wait events, time that goes so quickly when you are 12 years old and know you have to be off the water by 7am to cycle home and change for school ?

Suddenly Alans siver paper indicator, started to move and within a second it hit the first eye of his rod, Alan was as shocked as I, but he grabbed the rods handle and was playing his first ever proper Carp.

The fight lasted only a few minutes, before I slid the landing net under his prize, a small Mirror Carp.

It was light now, we weighed it at 2lbs and took some pictures of the Carp on Alans Brownie Camera, but they did not come out too well.

Alan was now a Carp Angler !!

The next day we were back and it was my turn to to have a bite and hold a small Carp.

We were both Carp Anglers now !!

Bob

[The Sweetcorn Kid]

Brilliant stuff guys, what an excellent thread!!! :hat: :thumb:

[Rutilus.Bobicus]

Like most, I think my first carp was a small one of barely a few ounces. I think it may have been at Furnace Mill near Kidderminster on a light waggler set up a couple of rod lengths out. In the days when I used to fish with my old mechanic mate, Nigel and his son Chris on a Thursday afternoon.

My biggest carp came some years later on one of my many trip with my late dad, to Haye Farm near Bewdley. The bottom pool has an island along the centre and I fished luncheon meat on a running ledger right on the point. I had a four or five carp from this swim all double figures, the biggest was around 15lbs, a common, which was perfectly scaled and put up some kind of scrap. this was in the days before I'd bought any 'proper' carp gear, so I was using a 12ft ledger/feeder rod with fixed spool reel. Probably 6lb reel line with size 10 hook to 2lb hook line and a 1/4oz lead.

[Moving Shadow]

My first carp, well my first encounter with a carp, was as thirteen year old...

It was a breezy bright morning and I was fishing a large old gravel pit down next the Thames in Stanford le Hope. I’d chosen a swim as far away from the bailiff’s eye as possible, as I’d do anything to avoid paying him money, in fact I’d actually created the swim by trudging with all my gear and my bike too, through a dense reed bed and then folding back all the reeds at the waters edge back upon themselves to create a firm platform to fish from. It wasn’t that muddy as the water in the reeds was just a few inches deep and so my platform was as comfortable as could be and more importantly I was invisible enveloped within it, but I could still see out and spy the approaching bailiff as he walked across the network of boardwalks connecting island to island, and island to mainland.

I’d thought it’d be a good tench swim, as that was the only fish I ever fished for seriously at age of twelve or thirteen, having discovered them early and learned the how, the why and the wherefore of the species and knew full well that in this lake that ‘reeds’ meant ‘tench’. Here I had reeds sloping away to my left in a thick bed with enough water between the stems to hold them. It looked perfection.

I’d a load of old bread dumped at the end of the day’s sport by other anglers and gleaned from the large blue oil-drum bins dotted around the place. I never bought bread with me knowing that I’d always get enough out of these convenient larders for a whole day’s fishing. In went my standard ground bait of a couple or three big handfuls of the older, mouldier stuff mashed up in lake water and then I baited my hook with a fluffy piece of nice fresh bread, cast out and then arranged my tackle all around me in anticipation of tench sport by late afternoon.

At noon I had my first bite of the day and struck fully expecting a tench but what came in was a fish I’d never caught, or even seen before - a mature bronze bream of three pounds or so. I’d caught a few small silver-coloured bream (that we all called ‘silver bream’) whilst roach fishing in the past but never had encountered a bream that was almost black! I had my keep net about me and it was carefully strung out in the water and the fish made captive. I didn’t expect another but the very next cast I hooked a second, and this the same size as the first but if anything, darker still. I was dumbstruck.

These were the kinds of bream I heard of match anglers catching by the hundred-weight from big rivers like the Nene or the Thames. Bream were the backbone of match weights in those days and the angling papers would be full of such reports but I never ever considered that I might have found such a monstrous shoal myself and didn’t think my boy-sized keepnet could cope if I had! Nevertheless, catch more bream was exactly what I did that afternoon. But soon I was trapped in a dilemma – should I stop fishing because the thought of catching more and more with no prior experience of such catches was making me afraid of my own capacity to handle them all – or carry on regardless and take the risk of being completely overrun and out of my depth with a man-sized haul of man-sized bream?

I couldn’t escape the situation though. I was being driven along by circumstances, ones that had long slipped through my hands into the laps of the gods, to keep on fishing, but luckily I’d gone through all my bread ground bait in just a few hours and as the sport didn’t seem to be slowing up and my keep net, containing at least ten fish so far, still seemed to have plenty of room up top, I saw an opportunity for a break from the action, exited the swim and went back to the blue steel bins in search of every crumb of old bread I could lay my slimy hands on. I came back with as much as I could carry and hastily mashed up a big stack of it next to the rod rest. It seemed that the more I threw in the more the bream wanted of it – they seemed quite insatiable, like a machine hoovering up the fallen autumn leaves in a park, and soon my new supply was halved again but with no sign of a let up as every ten minutes I’d have another fish in the net, and they were getting bigger, and bigger, and bigger!

And then, as if someone had hit the red stop button on the hoovering machine at the end of the days work, the bites stopped. The float now stood stock still where all afternoon it had been dithering about as bream brushed past in their relentless search for bread and inevitably sailing under when a fish found the morsel with the hook in it. I was relieved, and more relieved than you can imagine, that at last I could stop my feverish activity and for the first time in what seemed like hours and hours, relax, come down, and be still.

I didn’t want to pull the net, just yet. I was afraid to. Terrified to have that great flapping haul on the bank where I’d have to confront the enormity of a catch so vast that my mind would cave in and I’d cry or do something irrational, run away perhaps, and perhaps I’d killed them all in confinement there being so many in there.

The water was becalmed now that the breeze of morning had wound down to nothing. The air was heavy, stifling and now darkening to the south with what looked like the precursors of rain clouds. The net was the only thing that moved – every now and then it shuddered as bream jockeyed for space deep down. I hadn’t killed them then – but that only made things worse. I thought I’d caught all the shoal, that no more remained to be caught and I was glad of that. They’d eaten what must have been ten partial loaves of bread and now the bailiff approached clumping and clattering noisily across the rickety wooden planks of the boardwalk. I wanted to call him, pay up, and have him help me out of my dilemma, but just as I was about to stand up and get his attention, I sat down again, even though I’d never got up, and waited as he passed me by.

I don’t have a clue why I did that thing. Perhaps I thought he’d think I’d stolen the net full of bream from an older angler, or even that I killed one and done it! It didn’t seem feasible that I’d caught all those bream. I was just a boy. They couldn’t be real. They were unreal.

And then, the float dithered as a fish brushed past and I thought that the bream dream, or nightmare, was about to start all over again. But it didn’t sail under, not for five or even ten minutes more, but still it dithered about, and every now and then the water swirled around and to one side of it in ominous boils, an effect that the bream had never created. Finally the float rose in the water, and then settled back. And then it rose again, and slid under to the left.

The bite was struck as if it were nothing. A calm well-practiced sweep of the rod over my right shoulder, the hook banged home and then for a fraction of a second all was solid, as if I’d hooked bottom, but before I knew what had happened a vast surge of unstoppable, incredible power tore the rod back level as whatever it was I’d hooked made a tremendously rapid lunge for the reed bed at left.

I tried my hardest to stop it but the little float rod seemed incapable of even slowing it down and it hit the reeds with an almighty crash, the stalks parting and shaking, the huge bow wave of the run spreading away and ricocheting of the bank, the line parting company and drifting in the thick air making pretty arabesques as it slowly fell slack to the surface of the troubled water. I would never have believed a fish could do such a thing. Tench did similar things but on a far smaller scale but in my experience they could be stopped in their tracks quite easily by holding firm but that fish, just now, had been so strong that I was as if I’d hooked and tried to stop a runaway train from crashing into the terminal buffers at Liverpool Street Station. My heart was pumping in my throat and my whole body as electrified as the air was now becoming. A storm had passed, but another storm was on its way in. To the South I saw an occasional far away flash as lightning arced somewhere deep into Kent and illuminated the cloud tops.

I hated thunderstorms, and I now had a six-mile ride home to make and probably only an hour to make it in, before it got me. The day may have been incomprehensible and the last fish, which could only have been my first encounter with a first carp, had shocked and scared me silly, but now a more urgent surging primal fear was mounting fast. The gear was hastily broken down and the sticks pulled, bags packed and rod and pole lashed to the crossbar and then last of all, was the pulling of the net full of fish that had terrified me all afternoon, but that I could no longer delay. It shuddered in the oily water, full to capacity with a great weight of bream that now must be released, or I would sit here and die by lightning strike.

I no longer feared the net …

[BobH]

Moving Shadow,

Lovely Story, well done !!

Bob

[The Sweetcorn Kid]

Just devine MS!!!! :hat: