Quarry Bank Fishery - Part 5

Fennel continues his 12-part series about carp fishing at the fabulous Quarry Bank Fishery in France, this time arriving at the lake.

This is four blogs in one, so grab a cuppa before you begin reading!

With Shaun and I travelling to France via East Midlands Airport, and Tim flying from Southampton, all we had to do was meet up at Limoges Airport, collect our hire car, get some food, then drive to Quarry Bank Fishery. We'd be arriving late, so Neil's wife Lin had offered to cook us an evening meal. We'd then have a leisurely social evening and (so the plan went) a good night's sleep before taking a proper look at the lake the following morning.

As this was a holiday, we were in no hurry to begin fishing. Better, we concluded, to immerse ourselves in the holiday spirit first, make new relations with the lake and its owners, before rising to the angling challenge. So, nine hours travel with the promise of a good meal, fine company and a glass of something red at the end of the journey. That's how to do things in style.

Landing

The 'budget' flight was a new experience to me, but I'd adjusted to it and got into the vibe by counting some pennies and thinking about the potential for a French water to be a regular thing rather than a one-off holiday treat. I knew that I was about to be commencing something that would change my perspective on fishing, but it was also a holiday.

I was reminded of the holiday when, after a spine-jarring 'bump-thump' of a landing, the aeroplane arrived in Limoges. The sunlight was bright and golden outside, with heat haze on the tarmac runway. When the aircraft doors opened, we were hit with a blast of sticky-humid hot air.

Yeah, baby.

Limoges had delivered a sweltering thirty degrees for our hand-rubbing delight. We were on holiday for sure. This would be a real, proper, 'iced-beer on the brow' and 'melt into a sunlounger' experience where we would gently and lazily toast like almonds in a pan yet erupt like popcorn when a fish took the bait. 

Englishmen abroad? Yes. Though we would do our best not to go out in the noonday sun.

Driving in France

Limoges airport is small, so it didn't take long for Shaun and I to collect our bags, get through passport control, then meet Tim in the lounge area. Shaun and Tim got our luggage together while I headed twenty yards over the road to the car hire collection point. The car, a Renault Captur, was bigger than the Fiesta I was expecting, though still small for a fishing wagon. 

After inspecting the condition of the car (and videoing it for insurance evidence), we loaded it with our nine bags. These filled the boot and spare seat in the back. So, with Tim sitting in the back seat and Shaun sitting in the front (he was in charge of the satnav for directions) I sat in the driver's seat of this strange 'foreign' car. 

I'd never driven outside of the UK before, so it felt incredibly weird to be sitting in the passenger seat and yet have a steering wheel in front of me. Fortunately I'd booked an automatic car, so I didn't have to contend with using a gear stick with my right hand. The pedals were as normal, though it took a bit of adapting to 'look right' for the rear view mirror.

I shut the driver's door, gripped the steering wheel, pressed the ignition button, put the gear in drive and then released the handbrake. Never since I was an inexperienced teenager have I felt so nervous about needing to perform. There were others expecting me to get this right, first time. Yet all I could think of was that I would just lunge forward, nudge into something, then look down and realise that it had all ended way too soon...

Fortunately I was not going to take any chances, so I eased off slowly, taking a quick lap around the car park before heading out onto the right-hand side of the road. Keeping the correct line was tricky, especially as I'm left eye dominant (a constant challenge when shooting) as the car kept drifting towards the nearside curb. Shaun did a good job of not looking too panicked by the odd bump and rumble, but soon I found the hang of it and was heading into the outskirts of Limoges in search of a supermarket.

This was my first time driving in the passenger seat. I was rather focused, with both hands on the wheel, though I had absolutely no idea of the speed limit or what "107 D" meant on the dashboard. I figured that so long as the engine didn't rev too loudly, I was probably driving at an acceptable speed. 

Drink! Drink! And some food...

Stopping off at the Cora Limoges supermarket, just a ten minute drive from the airport, we gathered enough food for 'a couple of days'. (Intending to do another food run on Monday.) But when we wheeled our rather overlaiden shopping trolley back to the car, and saw that it was a quarter of a size of the vehicle, we realised that we either: a) had enough food and wine to last a month or, b) might have a slight problem fitting it all in.

Hmm. On reflection, €300 probably was a lot for two days' worth of food and drink. A quick look over the contents of the trolley was needed.

Sausages? Check. Enough to feed everyone at Oktoberfest for a decade.

Cheese? Check. 'Nicely ripe'.

Bread? Check. Crusty, oh so crusty.

Wine. Yup. Yup. Yup. Yuuuppp.

Green stuff for "veetaymins"? Maybe. Probably crushed beneath the ridiculous amount of sausage.

The provisions looked right, but packing it all into the car would be challenging. Being a child of the seventies, when families often had only one car and loaded it to the roof to go on holiday, I knew what to do. I asked Tim to sit nicely in the back seat and then proceeded to pack all the shopping around him until we could only see his neck and head. Shaun then loaded up the parcel shelf and then, sitting in the front seat, filled any spare room he could find between his feet and the roof, and I stuffed all the cans of pop and boxes of beer under my legs. I could move my ankles, which was fine for driving, and would have easy access to a soft drink if I needed it.

The road to Adilly

The sun was still high when we left Limoges, but I knew it would be setting as we drove to the lake. As we'd be heading west, I was excited to have the sense of 'following the setting sun' to discover our dreams. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn." So, as we drove ever onward into the twilight and saw the horizon turn amber, gold and purple, we knew we were in for a treat. Fishing at Quarry Bank Fishery would be our new dawn of fresh new adventures and familiar longings for carp, starlit skies and a silent sun. 

The lack of traffic and road-rage urgency that typifies UK roads was wonderfully absent from the roads in France. The two or so hours of driving, along predominately straight main roads and dual carriageways, was most leisurely with hardly a car to be seen. (We passed only five cars during the entire 104 miles from Limoges to the lake. And this included the main N147 Limoges-Poitiers and N149 Poitiers-Parthenay highways.) 

Shaun, Tim and I commented on how this part of France is in a 'different league of quiet'. It was less busy, less bustling, less noisy and less polluted than almost anywhere in the UK. Tim, having been able to worm his hand free from beneath a half hundredweight of 'exotic sausage', found his phone and did a quick Google search. "Cor, look 'ere," he said, "it says that France has a population density of 319 people per square mile, whereas the UK has more than twice that at 710 people. What's more, there's only 132,000 people in the entire Limoges region, and just 2,000 in Poitiers. That's just 10,000 more than my hometown of Winchester. No wonder we haven't seen anyone. There's no one here to be seen!"

We could understand why so many people, like Neil and his wife Lin, retire to France. It's not just about the fine weather, good food, sleepy countryside and comparatively low cost of property, it's about the lifestyle. To be and live in France, particularly this quiet backwater, is to 'exist out of time'. Just what's needed for slowing down in retirement. Thankfully, Tim, Shaun and I were 'experiencing it young', like a fruity wine. Though, we're not as young as we'd like to be. But there's wisdom and assurance attained through age. As French author Jules Renard said, "La vérité vaut bien qu’on passe quelques années sans la trouver." Truth is more valuable if it takes you a few years to find it.

La Carrière

Our drive took two hours longer than expected, partly due to us getting so much food and partly to a road closure near Poitiers. After meeting the road closure, we'd decided 'follow our noses' along winding country lanes rather than using satnav, which kept trying to bring us back to the closure. So we'd turned it off and used the old navigator's trick of following the last glow of the sun to find our way west. We did get a bit 'diverted', but once we realised that we should have been heading north-west rather than due west, we found the road we were meant to be on and quickly got back on track. We made up for lost time with some daring driving, although each of us winced at least once at the deafening screech coming from the 1-litre engine and Shaun's shouts of "You're drifting off the road!"

It was dark and past 10pm when we arrived at the gates to La Carrière (the proper name for 'the quarry'). Shaun opened the gates and we drove down a tree-lined drive towards the house. Shaun mentioned that the lake and quarry were to our left, though we couldn't see them through the dark.

The driveway ended by a wonderful French farmhouse and outbuildings. We parked the car, then Shaun and I exited (stretching our backs and rubbing our knees after sitting down for most of the day). We then helped Tim to crawl free from his 'containment' of shopping.

We heard a warmly spoken, "You made it then?!" coming from behind us. We looked up and saw Neil Shipman, Quarry Bank's owner, walking towards us. He had the relaxed and welcoming look of a long-time friend, maybe even a family member. So I was somewhat taken aback when Shaun said, "Hello, Dad!"

Of course, Neil isn't really Shaun's dad. Neither is he old enough to be. Just that they've known each other for forty years and have very much grown up together. I sensed a great deal of mutual respect and love for each other that can only come from those special friendships where everything's already been said and done, so there's nothing left to prove other than maintaining friendships and 'keeping on, keeping on'.

Neil showed us to the anglers' building, especially to the storage area containing a freezer and fridges. "It's been 32 degrees all day," he said, "with night-time temperatures of 18 degrees. So let's get all that food in the cold before it goes off." Then, as we showed him the food on the back seat, he said, "What? Is all that for you? For a week?" "Yep," we replied, "we sure do like our sausage."

Having unloaded the car, we decided that the air was so warm, and the night sky so star-filled and majestic, that we would sleep in the open rather than in one of the permanently erected bivvies. Neil brought us three carp bedchairs which we placed on the lawn beside the anglers' lodge. Then, while we were unrolling our sleeping bags, Neil said, "Fancy some supper?"

We walked with him into his farmhouse, where his wife Lin greeted us and showed us to our places around a huge farmhouse table. Remarkable cook that she is, she'd prepared an incredibly tasty dinner of shepherd's pie, beef casserole, cauliflower, and French beans. What's more, she'd worked her magic by not letting any of it burn during the two hours' delay while she awaited our arrival. 

Sitting around the table, enjoying our third helpings of 'glorious food' and spying a large apple crumble and custard in the wings, we each glanced over to Neil and muttered, "You lucky bugger..."

The food really was delicious, made all the more enjoyable by Neil and Lin's company and the conversations that went on into the early hours. Not all of which were human.

Dinner for five, and a parrot?

Okay. So it might not have been a parrot. It might have been a cockatiel. Or an inquisitive midget covered in green feathers. But, as hazy as one's memory is after nine hours of travel and a 'conveniently placed' box of red wine during dinner, I definitely remember there being a bird of some description in the room. It was in a cage in the corner of the dining room. And it wanted to talk to me. Yes. It was definitely there. I remember its occasional squawking and requests, if I remember correctly, to "Gizzusakiss".

Our feathered friend sure added to the laughter and warmth of our welcome to Quarry Bank. It was perfect, the imagery of which will stay with us forever. There was just so much wonderful food, such great conversation, and such instant chemistry between us. It felt like sharing Christmas dinner with long lost family.

Moonlit musings

When the meal ended, Neil presented Shaun with a bottle of his favourite Bushmills whiskey. Actually, that's not entirely accurate. He handed a glass to Shaun and the whiskey to me, giving me the instruction of 'doing the honours' in pouring the whiskey for Shaun. It was, after all, him who had brought us together. "Fennel," said Neil, "Be a good chap and pour three fingers of whiskey, no more, no less." Which, of course, I did, while quickly apologising for the generous helping that gushed from the bottle. "I'm sorry," I said. "I've never been good with numbers, and I have very fat fingers." Shaun, staring down at his glass, grinned like the cat who'd got the cream. He knew, as did we all, that it felt good to be home.

"A toast," said Shaun, "to Friendships and Carp."

We thanked Lin for her wonderful cooking and hospitality, then Neil walked with us into the garden, to a pagoda that overlooks the lake.

"This is where I sit and think," said Neil, "while watching the lake and its wildlife." We stood with him and looked out into the darkness. There, detectable by moonlight reflecting upon water, was the faint outline of a lake. Of course, being anglers, we knew it was there. We could sense it, through the nighttime scents and the occasional clucking of waterfowl.

"Feels good," I whispered, as though trying not to disturb the moment.

"What do you feel beneath your hands?" said Neil.

I'd been leaning on a railing on the edge of the pagoda and, now Neil had mentioned it, became aware that it didn't feel like the metal structure I'd seen by car light when arriving.

"That's carp history," said Neil, "right there beneath your fingertips."

"Eh?" I replied.

"Sixty-seven years ago, almost to the day," said Neil, "the most famous carp angler in history leant on that, much in the same way you're doing now, after catching a record fish that changed carp fishing forever."

Neil then showed me the bar of wood that he'd fixed to the metal railing of the pagoda. 

"That's part of the original dam rail from Redmire Pool," said Neil. "It was rescued during the renovation works in the late 80s and given to me as a present. Having it here reminds me that carp fishing – and owning a carp lake – is an exercise of optimism and self-belief, made all the more exciting by the presence and promise of monster fish."

As if one queue, a huge catfish slapped its tail on the surface then a huge fish leapt clear of the water. Both sent 'cabooshes' echoing around the lake.

"Cor," said Tim. "Big fish!"

"The second one was a grass carp," said Shaun. "Big one, too."

"We've got them to fifty in here," said Neil, "though no one's landed one yet. Came close, but the biggun slipped the hook at the net."

Nobody said anything more. We just stared out at the lake, then up at the seven stars of the Plough above, then back again to the water to lose our sights and thoughts in the dark depths of 'nothing and everything'.

We couldn't see the pool, but we could sense its presence in the moonlight shadows and reflections upon the water.

Nightcap

Neil said goodnight, then returned indoors. Tim, Shaun and I stood for a while longer, sipping our drinks in the pagoda before walking back to our makeshift campsite. 

Tim, having endured two hours of sausage-chaperone duty in the back of the car, went straight to bed. I'd intended to do the same, but while I was straightening my sleeping bag, Shaun produced a bottle of Connemara peaty whiskey from his rucksack and said, "One last nightcap?" 

Ooh. A peaty Irish whiskey. It would be rude not to...

Shaun and I sat together, drinking our whiskeys and looking up at the cosmos. We both commented on the beauty of the stars and how shockingly and captivatingly expansive the night sky appears, even on a full moon, once we're away from light pollution. Whilst nature is being stripped from our planet at an alarming rate, it's saddening to see that our night sky is also being robbed of its natural beauty. One forgets just how many stars are up there, with their ability to make us look up in wonder and question our existence.

We talked about everything and nothing, while listening to owls hooting (including a long-eared owl, which I'd never heard in the wild before) and wild boar squealing and squabbling while rummaging for acorns along the old stream-bed in the wood behind us. Every now and then we'd hear the churr of a nightjar and the 'chew-eek-eek' of a startled curlew, and strange rasping noises coming from up in the pine trees that we concluded was the snoring of a red squirrel.

Our conversations drifted from sensible to ludicrous, such was the power of the whiskey. Mostly I remember us discussing the diverse appeal and peculiarities of angling, especially the ways in which anglers are very finicky about what they fish for, how they fish for it, and where they do their fishing. Both Shaun and I fish for different species using different tactics, switching between old and new tackle depending on our mood, and do our best not to be labelled as a certain 'anything', especially if it leads to us being pigeonholed in a predetermined mould. Angling, to us, is freedom. We cannot be free if we are constrained by convention or dogma. Better to do what feels right, while knowing that fishing is really an excuse for 'being there'. (Which in my and Shaun's case means a lot of outdoor cooking and camping, and reading and writing, while 'waiting' for a bite.)

I spoke to Shaun about the notes I made on the aeroplane, about how fishing in France needn't be a rare treat, that it could replace one's regular fishing if the angler was organised and could take holiday to enable long weekends away.

"Ooh," said Shaun, "that sounds like an idea. Perhaps a 'Le Traditionale' French fishing syndicate, either dedicated to one fishery as per your calculations, or as a roving syndicate to different waters. Both would enable a group of friends to meet up regularly and experience some outstanding fishing and adventures together."

I questioned whether my traditional angling chums would be interested in such fishing, in that for some it would be too distant from their usual ways of fishing with vintage tackle, let alone too far to cycle with a creel over one's shoulder. Shaun reminded me of my old BBC showreel where I talk about traditional angling and explain that it's a mindset more than anything to do with tackle*.

*Being founded in pleasure fishing, traditional angling is a state of mind and being. It's about appreciating and understanding the natural history of a lake, being able to relax and slow down the urgency of modern life and appreciate the fine things that enrich the experience. That doesn't mean we don't seek to catch fish, or big fish at that, just that the experience of catching is but one of the great many pleasures of our time by the waterside.

"We're still us," said Shaun, "regardless of whether we're fishing in the village pond with a stick, string and bent pin, or fishing overseas with our 'big guns' for even bigger fish. So even if our surroundings or tackle change, through time or distance, we're still the same person inside."

Of course, he was right. It proved the old adage that when travelling, the one thing we're guaranteed to find when we get there is ourselves, even if we couldn't find ourselves at the beginning.

"Neil's travelled all this way," said Shaun. "Heck, he's even living here now. But he's still the same old mate I knew who came into the tackle shop when I was a lad; he still loves his fishing, in fact probably more so now he's retired and can go when he chooses."

Shaun and I agreed that Neil is very much a traditional angler and – as we raised our umpteenth glass of whiskey to the stars – toasted his good health as "Honorary President of Le Traditionale."

First light

A new traditional? Maybe. Perhaps even a new form of modern. A blending of old and new, with a diamond centre that favours the broader experience of 'being' amongst nature.

Oh for the power of an idea, especially one formed beneath the stars, fuelled by a tipple or three...

But it was a good idea.

"Be still my beating heart," I thought. "This could be what carp angling has needed for a decade; something to bring it back to its roots while enabling it to move forward."

Such prophetic thinking during a night on the juice? Yes. But whilst Shaun and I were tipsy, we were by no means drunk. To be in such a way when fishing is irresponsible, and neither of us would ever wish to be identified on the Lager Lout Scale of Shameless Behaviour. We were just 'nicely merry', drunk enough to giggle and think, while still being sober enough to pay attention should the headmaster wrap our knuckles for being 'a little too chatty' in class.

The last time that Shaun and I had fished together was on opening night back in June. We'd met at our chosen lake, assembled our tackle, then retired to our base camp to cook supper and catch up on old times. Two bottles of wine and "another nightcap?" later, and we had begun to complain about the really appalling light pollution in the sky, in that the night sky wasn't dark any more. Shaun then noted that it was 4.30am, and the reason it wasn't dark was because the sun was rising. We'd talked though the night.

Apparently, staying up all night without realising it was now standard fare for Shaun and I.

Just as the whiskey bottle emptied at Quarry Bank, we heard a wren clicking, then a robin sang, then a blackbird, then woodpigeons and then woodpeckers. Before we knew what was happening, all the trees around us were erupting in birdsong. Shaun checked his watch. It was 6am. He and I began chuckling at how time had once again slipped by so smoothly. (Rather like, but nothing at all to do with, the whiskey. Honest.)

With Tim still sleeping, Shaun and I made a cup of tea then strolled round to the pagoda so that I could see the lake for the first time.

First light at Quarry Bank Fishery, France. My first proper view of the lake.

Character of the pool

The lake's dark, still water, and towering cliffs and trees above, made it seem smaller than I was expecting. Much like when I fished at Redmire Pool for the first time, I thought, "Is this it? How could so many big fish possibly live in a water as small as this?" But I quickly reminded myself of Quarry Bank's great depth and cauldron-like magical ability to grow huge carp. "It's four times deeper than most lakes I've known," I thought, "four times the amount of water, four times as big. It's the same as looking out across a twenty-acre lake, only it has four times the ability to conceal its monsters, thus four times the mystery." I chuckled at how easily I'd been deceived by my eyes. I should have looked down for my answers, not outwards to the obvious.

The lake was wonderfully calm and sheltered, as if nestling away from whatever was going on outside. I couldn't see any farm fields or surrounding woods, only the trees and walls of rock around the water. It was, therefore, beautifully intimate – with everything in the detail for those who cared to look. Even the pondweed and lilybeds along the nearside margin has a look of 'hidden life' as though a whale could appear at any moment and soak us with water from its blowhole. 

There was fun in the lake's ability to conjure up the ridiculous, but it's leviathan carp and catfish were very real. But when combined with the intimacy and 'scalable depths' that meant the fish could be caught very close in to the bank, mean that the lake didn't appear intimidating. I had no apprehension towards the fishing, even though there were fish in here that were twice as large as anything I'd caught before. Indeed, as I sipped my cup of tea and breathed the cool morning air, I just had a sense of 'being there'.

Waking from the depths

The quietness and serenity of the pool was in utter contrast to what the quarry would have been like forty years earlier, when the rumble of machinery and explosions of dynamite would have shaken the landscape. I felt my thoughts stand upon the edge of the lake and dive deep into the water, to swim about the bottom and see the leftovers of such heavy industry. I wondered whether there were still pickaxes and shovels lying on the bottom, perhaps an abandoned railway track and heavy barrows for transporting rock, maybe a hydraulic winch and several hundred feet of cable to pull the excavations up from the depths? Perhaps, under the rocks at the base of the cliffs, were the remains of quarrymen who lost their lives beneath explosions of falling rock? 

I felt a presence, as though the ghost of a man long departed had awoken to stand beside me. But it turned out to be Tim, who had risen from his slumber and looked 'strangely refreshed', as though he'd woken from a trance rather than a sleep. Quarry Bank's magic was working already, with all three of us hearing our silent calls in the mists of the quiet dawn.

 

Shaun enjoys a cup of tea in the pagoda, leaning on a piece of the original Redmire Pool dam rail, while gazing out across Quarry Bank Fishery.

The original Redmire Pool dam rail, in situ at Quarry Bank Fishery, France. I wonder how many great carp anglers have leant on this rail while thinking about huge carp?

Tim Pike at Quarry Bank Fishery. I sensed that his night asleep under the stars had been his first good rest in many a distant moon. 

Scene of the adventure

Neil emerged from the farmhouse at 6.50am, carrying a mug of coffee and smiling as he saw us.

"Morning, gents!" he said as he walked towards us. "Not too many sore heads this morning, I hope?"

Shaun looked at me, and me at him, and we realised that whatever hangover was due would not kick in for a few hours. 

"We're fine," I said. "Maybe a bit wobbly from lack of sleep, as Shaun and I stayed up all night putting the world to rights, but we're absolutely loving our first view of the lake."

Neil nodded and smiled, then gave us an introduction to the lake and its features, explaining that he and Lin bought the property four years earlier. He'd since spent time renovating the house and outbuildings, digging access paths around the lake and building the swims, and 'getting things right' to ensure that Quarry Bank would be a first rate fishery.

"The lake depths vary from 1.5m on the shallows to 11m deep in the middle," said Neil, "with plateaus, marginal shelves, a deep gully and channels making for plenty of fish-holding features. The lake bottom is clean stone with small patches of silt. The depths present a challenge to some, but not the thinking angler. The fish move and feed all over the lake, at all depths, and show themselves more than you'd think. The bubbling that appears has to be seen to be believed. The challenge is to intercept the fish, then hook and land them."

Almost on queue, a large carp crashed in the far left corner of the lake. 

"They often show there," said Neil. "It gets the first of the morning sun."

Tim asked Neil if he could explain any rules or pointers for the fishing, as being a fly-fisherman in the main, he didn't want to unknowingly do anything that might be frowned upon.

"You'll be fine with these guys, Tim" said Neil. "I'm sure that Shaun will put you right with rigs and suchlike. The main thing I ask is that you respect the lake and treat the fish with great care. Each swim comes with its own carp cradle, flotation sling, landing net and weigh tripod. I've also put a bottle of propolis antiseptic in each of your swims for treating any cuts on the fish. As you can imagine, being a quarry with lots of stone on the bottom, the fish can get scuffed if they swim past something rough."

Tim nodded and said that the guidance made absolute sense.

Shaun asked about outdoor cooking, given that in the UK he'd be cooking over a hobo stove and making his tea in a Kelly Kettle. 

"Sadly, we cannot allow any open flame at this time of year. We've gone months without any rain, so the local mayor has forbidden any burning. Instead, I ask that you cook in the kitchen of the anglers' lodge. Though I have also put a gas stove in each of your swims. This will be safe to use so long as it stays on the decking."

"Okay," said Shaun, "it's a matter of common sense. Same goes for making the most of the facilities here." He looked at Tim and I, then said, "There are two shower rooms, each with toilets, so no excuse for peeing in the bushes."

"Finally," said Neil, "remember that this is a quarry. It's deep! Be careful on the edge of the platforms, especially at night, as you don't want to fall in. Life buoys are there for your safety if needed. And the boat should only be used with my permission, for freeing snagged line or fish."

The scene of our adventure: Quarry Bank Fishery in France. Such tranquil water, hiding great depths and truly enormous fish.

"It's deep!"

Gazing out across Quarry Bank Fishery, one could be forgiven for thinking that its depths are much the same as any other lake – with a gently sloping lake bed that sinks to about ten or twelve feet. Not so here. The cliffs around the lake are near-vertical and continue straight down into the water to depths of 40ft or more.

Here's a contour map of the lake, with the depths showing in feet:

And here's how the contours translate into a working quarry:

The maps reveal an old quarry where a roadway enters from the westerly end, then turns clockwise as it descends into the base of the quarry. The roadway, being higher than the rest of the lakebed, is a fish-holding spot though it has very steep wall-like sides meaning that casting accuracy is important, else you can get snagged on the drop-offs. 

On the left of the roadway is an old lagoon, a deep channel pocketed with silt, and a gully that previously drained the water into a nearby river. Near to where the gully exits the quarry is a concrete dynamite store and pump shed. This is a fish holding spot, as the water on top of the store is only 6ft deep, whereas the water around it is 12ft.

At the top end of the map is the working face of the quarry. The base of this appears to have gently sloping mounds of unwanted rock or gravel washings, with screefall at the base of the cliffs. 

The centre of the quarry is relatively flat and smooth – typical of quarries that have borne the weight and movement of heavy machinery.

Vertical sides

"When standing on the platforms," said Neil, "You don't immediately appreciate the depth of water at your feet. It's only when you cast in and count the lead down that you understand how deep it is."

Here's a usual view of the lake, taken while Tim was retrieving his line in the boat:

Here's an artist's interpretation of the same scene but with the water removed. 

Here's the same picture with Neil's two-storey house included for scale:

Incredible, isn't it, how the presence of water gives us a sense of comfort? Without the water, the floating swim on the left would be just bolted thirty feet up a vertical cliff. Fear of heights? Yes. Fear of depths? Not really. They add greatly to the mystery and majesty of the lake, drawing us closer to its secrets.

Making the most of the depths

Neil explained that, under normal circumstances, such a deep lake – with so little sunlight reaching the bottom – would be rather stagnant and cold at its base and not especially fish-holding. Yet his pump system, which circulates and aerates the water, had enabled near-consistent water temperatures and dissolved oxygen levels at all depths, meaning fish can be caught perfectly well in 40ft of water. And, because of the gentle water movement, Neil can prevent the lake from freezing in winter, making it an excellent winter venue – great when the fish are in such peak condition and showing their golden winter colours.

At the time of our visit, the water temperature at 1m (3ft) depth was 22.4c, with 120% dissolved oxygen. At 11m (36ft) depth, it was 22.1c and 97.4% dissolved oxygen. That's a remarkable achievement for such a deep lake, especially after months without rain and air temperatures in excess of 30 degrees.

Here's a sonar read-out showing the fish at all depths. (The deepest fish, at 13.9m, is in 45ft of water. And it still has 7ft more to go...)

Making the impossible, possible

To enable access to the water via the steep banks, Neil explained that he had worked tirelessly to undertake "a rather major construction effort," digging paths, building steps and erecting wooden platforms and bolting them to the cliffs. Most were cantilevered, enabling them to hang over the water. One platform was even built as a floating pontoon to enable fishing in one of the deepest parts of the lake. The scale of the effort needed to have done this was staggering.

Neil's career was in construction, so he knew exactly what to do and how to do it. That said, very few people could have completed the task so successfully, or with such attention to craftsmanship and detail, proving the quote paraphrased from Shakespeare, "It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves."

Neil had shaped the lake's character and future in ways that only he could, demonstrating that he was meant to own and care for this place. As Anna Sewell, author of the feel-good children's book Black Beauty said, "It is good people who make good places." It certainly shows the 'depths' that that some very rare and special individuals such as Neil will go to in order to please others. For whilst Quarry Bank is Neil's home, it is also a fishery intended to provide anglers with a unique and unsurpassed experience. Neil could have done things easier, on a smaller scale or more cheaply, but this is not his way. 

In short, Neil Shipman is an expert builder and perfectionist. He wouldn't offer anything to a customer if it didn't meet his exacting high standards. He knows that, in building Quarry Bank Fishery, he was realising a dream. Not just his dream, but the dreams of everyone who would visit his lake.

Neil Shipman, owner of Quarry Bank Fishery, France. "Part man, part legend." It was his vision and skill that transformed an old flooded quarry into a truly phenomenal multi-species big fish water. With carp to 50lb+, catfish to 70lb+, grass carp to 50lb+, roach to 3lb+, rudd to 3lb+, asp to 10lb+, plus specimen perch, pike and tilapia (even freshwater jellyfish!), the fishing potential is extraordinarily high and the facilities are outstanding.

Safety first

Because of the deep water, all of the platforms were built with a 'safety first' policy. Hence they were large, level, fenced from the deep water where required, and carpeted with a non-slip material to prevent anglers tumbling into the depths. This showed great foresight and understanding of angling, to the extent that only an experienced angler could have designed them in this way. Neil had worked out the size of the bivvy and all the kit that would likely be housed on the platforms, and still allowed enough room to move about safely on the staging.

Whilst practical, I was initially concerned that these platforms might have a jarring aesthetic. I tend to favour waters that give me the illusion of timelessness with very little evidence of anything manmade. Robustly engineered platforms covered in green carpet would, on first review, seem a little distracting to the eye. But in thinking it through, I realised that they were congruent with the quarry's history.

None of this landscape was natural. It had been entirely shaped by the hands of Man. Indeed, it had once been a very industrial setting. So, congruent with its origins as a quarry, Neil's industrious solution to make it fishable was most appropriate**.

And it would all weather and blend in over time. Nature always reclaims her own, much as she was doing at the quarry. And, besides, who wants to be covered in mud and grit when they're on holiday? The extra comfort would be a welcome treat.

Ultimately, given the potential for someone to fall or drown, safety had to – and should always – come first. 

**I mentioned this to Neil, discussing the imagery and architecture of a quarry, suggesting that a characterful alternative to bivvies and staging would be old miners' cabins dotted around the lakes with a hessian-based carpet over the staging. "Fennel," he replied, "I wish you hadn't given me that project, as now my mind is racing with ideas. Perhaps we could settle on a little stalking swim in the sunny corner, where you could fish quietly and write your books?" "Yes," I replied, "but I'd still need a cabin in which to type them up..." 

Tour of the swims

Neil explained that there are four swims at the fishery. Each is for one angler, with the exception of a large floating pontoon which houses two bivvies and is designed for two anglers to 'double up'.

(Catching a carp while afloat sounded really, really exciting. Whilst I strive to be grounded in everything I do, the idea of floating on a pool for a week seemed rather grand, like taking a fishing rod on a cruise ship and dangling it in the swimming pool while sipping cocktails under a parasol. No one can doubt that when Neil Shipman puts his mind to something, he does it with style.) 

With our tea and coffee cups empty, and our heads clearing, we decided to walk around the lake to inspect each of the swims. Here's a summary of what we found, along with Neil's descriptions of them.

Swim 1: The Beach

"This is a large cantilevered wooden platform," said Neil, "set back amongst the trees. It's near to where the old road entered the quarry and so has shallow water to the left. You can see the marginal drop-off, where water falls away from 10ft down to 30ft, marked by the edge of the lily beds. This gets plenty of sun during the day, so is very cosy, and gets the evening sun. There's a small bay to the right, with overhanging trees, and open water in front. With a careful cast you can find the end of the old road, which fish use as a patrol route. That said, the fish patrol right in front of the platform so you only need to drop a bait off the end of your rod."

Shaun liked the look of this lake, so would fish here, casting one rod out to the end of the old road, while putting the other two along the nearside margins. Like me, he'd be using a centrepin on at least one of his rods, so the deep margins would be perfect. (He also wanted to catch a big roach, and the lily beds looked like a suitable holding spot.)

Looking out to the Beach swim at Quarry Bank Fishery. The white thing you can see in front of the platform is an ingenious slide for pulling catfish from the water rather than netting them.

Swim 2: The Steps

Taking a long walk up through Neil and Lin's garden, and back along the driveway up to the main gates, we arrived at the far end of the lake. Here we were introduced to the most impressive of Neil's engineering works: the Steps swim, where he had climbed down the cliff using ropes and ladders and chiselled out the rock to make 31 steps that led down to the water's edge. It was here that the two-man floating pontoon swim could be found.

"This is a good swim," said Neil, "it's mostly open water, with depths up to 30ft, with various shelves closer in on the left and right of the swim. It gets the sun for most of the day, so can get hot, but this attracts the fish which can be found basking here in warm weather. It's a long way from the house and the other swims, so is nice and quiet. This doesn't suit everyone, hence why it's a double swim in case two people want to fish together. And because it's slightly cut off, there's a portable toilet at the top of the bank, and a mountain bike available for getting back to the lodge or to catch up with mates. That said, if it's your thing, I've boosted the Wi-Fi so that you can chat on your Whastappy thing from anywhere on the lake."

We decided to keep this swim in reserve, as we wanted to fish close together. The other three swims would enable us to see one another and rush round to net fish if needed.

Looking out to the Steps Swim at Quarry Bank Fishery, France. It's a floating pontoon that's accessed by 31 steps down a near-vertical cliff.

Close-up of the floating pontoon. I like the way that the two bivvies have faded to a grey colour in the sun, reminding me of an old quarryman's steel hut.

Phenomenal engineering – the 31 steps down to the aptly-named Steps swim at Quarry Bank. Neil cut into the cliffs with hammer and chisel to make these steps. How the quarry must have smiled, knowing that it was once again being worked.

Tim ponders the depths of Quarry Bank Fishery. There's 27ft of water, straight down, beneath the floating pontoon of the Steps swim.

Swim 3: Little Hole

"This one's got Fennel written all over it," said Shaun as we arrived in the swim. "Not that he's a 'little 'hole', rather it's the cosiest of all we've seen." He was right. The swim, set back amongst the trees and bathed in the morning light, was immediately appealing. 

"It would also suit his fishing style," said Neil, "as the water is really deep in the margins. You've got 30ft right in front of you, perfect for fishing a centrepin, plus 40ft on the left where the old lagoon used to be. The water a bit farther out shelves up to where the old road is, so the gully in between has a lot of fish moving up and down it. If you want to cast further, there's a plateau about 50yds out that's also a good spot."

This, then, would be my swim.

The view from Little Hole with the morning sun catching the golden early-autumn hues of the trees. The left-hand corner is 40ft deep as it's the site of the old drainage lagoon.

Swim 4: Trappers

The final swim, which we'd passed on the way to my swim, had caught Tim's eye. It was nicely open, meaning a lot of water could be covered from here, and was close to my swim affording us the luxury of being able to chat and make cups of tea for one another. 

"There are shallows to the right," said Neil, "especially a 6ft deep area above the old dynamite store that attracts fish. In front of you, about 30-40 yards out, is the old road that runs all the way in front of the swim. It's effectively a large plateau, about 10-20ft deep, with deep open water beyond and a deeper (30ft+) channel running in front of it. The marginal shelves immediately in front and to the left of the swim are about 12ft deep. With so many features, you'll nearly always find fish patrolling here."

Tim would fish here, casting to the shallower water above the old roadway into the quarry.

Trappers Swim at Quarry Bank Fishery. The main fish-holding spot is an old sunken road forty yards out, just beyond the reflection line, which is 20ft higher than the surrounding water.

Back for breakfast

With our tour of the lake complete, we returned to the lodge and made another cup of tea. We could have 'got going' straight away, but it was only late morning. We still had breakfast to consider, then lunch, and maybe an afternoon nap.

We each knew that it would be dusk before we cast in. That gave us plenty of time to take things easy, drink another cup of tea, and continue talking.

But before anyone had chance to speak, I had laid down, closed my eyes, and drifted into another very pleasurable dreamland. 

I can't remember anything about the book, or why my nose was so red (sunburn, or whiskey?), but I do remember that after a day of travelling and a night of drinking and chatting, I really, really enjoyed a long nap.

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In Part 6, Shaun, Tim and Fennel start fishing.

Quarry Bank Fishery is a 5-acre water in southwest France, about a two-hour drive from Limoges airport. It is set within 14 acres of private grounds, which are sensitively managed for their wildlife interest. This makes it a haven for both anglers and fish. The fishery is available for exclusive bookings only, for up to five anglers.