Traditional Angling Perspective (The Big Fish Dilemma)
This week I did something I’d never done before: I posted a question on Facebook.
“Nothing dramatic about that?” I hear you say. But it was a big deal to me. Why? Because I needed guidance from my friends. Posting on my ‘wall’ was the best way to help me make a quick decision on something that had troubled me for days.
My troubles began at the start of last week when I asked around for quiet places to fish while I was working down south. Visiting a lake or river after work seemed a better option than sitting alone in a business hotel. I was pointed in the direction of some lovely club waters and then, totally out of the blue, I was presented with an opportunity that stopped me in my tracks and then forced me to go for a long walk to clear my head.
The dilemma? Well, in case you missed the Facebook post, I’ll repeat it here:
Guidance needed: 'Just suppose' I'd been offered a ticket on a carp water that contained four fifty-pounders, a dozen forties and forty thirties. All home grown. It's fifty acres, with a total head of approx. 60 fish. I can expense the ticket and all my bait, and fish it four nights per week. BUT I'd need to tool up with long range carbon rods and hide in a bivvy while fishing alongside those 'on the scene'. Should I do it?
Can you see my issue?
First of all, I just couldn’t do maths like that in my head. (And I’d only shared some of the numbers I’d been told, which also included 59.12, 185, 3.5 and 400.) What to do? Should I add, multiply, subtract or divide them?
Then there was the challenge to a traditional angler like me, that to fish this water I’d seemingly have to abandon my usual ‘softly-softly’ stalking tactics and vintage tackle and go undercover by using modern tackle and tactics to get throughly 'butch' with my fishing. If I didn’t, then I might get flung out of the syndicate with the ‘oomph’ of a five-ounce lead being cast to the horizon.
Thirdly, and most importantly, ‘why’?
Why, oh why, oh why, would I want to do it? Why should I fish for such enormous creatures in such a vast lake? Why would I want to abandon the style of fishing that defines me? And why worry that my traditional fishing tackle might be deemed ‘inappropriate’ by others?
Then, on the other hand, why wouldn’t I want to do it? Those fish were growing and could soon break the British record. I could double my personal best with a sixty pound carp. Who wouldn’t want such glory?
Surely I didn’t need to think about it at all? It was a no-brainer? An overwhelmingly generous opportunity to fish one of the country’s top waters, where I’d learn loads and have more fun than sitting in my hotel room watching TV.
But it did make me think. And lose sleep. And wonder whether I ‘should or could’ fish like that. Because it unlocked something within me that had lain fallow for years.
The last time I’d had such an opportunity was in 1994 when I was invited to join the Jade Lake syndicate. This was a sixty acre water that, at the time, contained carp that could comfortably break the British record. It also held more twenty and thirty pound carp than could possibly be counted. And all of them were uncaught. But that’s not why I joined it. I fished there because it was virgin water – true pioneering fishing in an idyllic wilderness. It was heaven. To begin with.
Soon, after seeing some of the colossal carp, I started obsessing about the fish. I wanted to catch them. I adapted my tackle and tactics, removed the smile from my face, and went in search of monsters. I became very serious about my fishing. But during the winter of 1998-9, I realised that I’d lost the plot. I'd woken in the early hours of the morning with an intense bruising sensation to my face and eyes – which were puffed out like frog-eyes – and my clothes were covered in frost. Why? Because it was -9 degrees centigrade and I was sleeping ontop of a lightweight sleeping bag rolled out on the ground. No bivvy. No thermal clothing. Just the least I could carry. It was my usual approach to travelling light and staying mobile as I followed the fish around the lake. But it was winter. The lake was part frozen. Nobody had seen a carp in months.
Sometimes one's obsessions can blind oneself from the truth and obviousness of one's situation. This week’s opportunity had brought back those hand-rubbing feelings of seedy intent that cloud my better judgement. I'd felt the adrenaline of desire and the stomach-rumbling flutters of greed. I wanted it. I wanted it badly. Whatever the cost.
I knew that the lake had succumbed to pressured fishing and that, if I fished there, I might too. Angling pressure had apparently forced the carp out to the centre of the lake, so the only way to catch them – I was told – was to cast two-hundred yards using a five-ounce lead and a 5lb test curve spod rod. And then you’d have to wait an average of 90 nights to get a bite.
Hmm. Pressure for the fish and the anglers. But, with so many anglers fishing there for such extended periods of time, surely they’d be catching more than that? Big fish have to eat a lot to sustain their weight. So what were the anglers doing wrong? It seemed to me like the dots weren’t fully connected. Maybe the recommended tactics weren’t right? Maybe the anglers were casting over the fish? Either way, would I want to be fishing in the middle of such a circus?
I’m Fennel, the one who encourages us to ‘Stop – Unplug – Escape – Enjoy’, to ‘never do anything that offends your soul’, and to ‘balance the scales’ in one’s fishing and life. Well, given that my soul seeks the Quiet Fields, wouldn’t I find the whole scene at that lake rather offensive? What the hell would I be thinking if I were to fish there in the prescribed fashion?
The mindset bothered me more than the fish, the lake, the tactics or the anglers.
I’m a pleasure angler. A traditional angler. A gentle and, if I’m honest, lazy angler. I enjoy catching fish and am delighted if it’s a big one, but this isn’t my primary reason for going fishing. I seek something more, something different. I yearn for quiet and peaceful times. Ones that don’t involve holding a scaffold pole-of-a-rod, gritting my teeth and then doing a run up to cast.
The tackle needed to fish in that manner would have to be far more heavy duty than my bamboo or fibreglass rods would permit. I’d need to go fully over to the ‘dark side’ of carbon rods. But this didn’t bother me too much (neither did the prospect of using a bivvy, big pit reels, bite alarms, and diesel-powered six-wheeled carp barrow to carry it and my therapist in). Because I knew that traditional angling has nothing to do with tackle. One can use whatever tackle one chooses, so long as one’s mindset is traditional – in that it knows there’s more to fishing than catching fish.
But I absolutely, addictively, love a challenge.
This, really, was the crux of my dilemma. I knew that the presence of so many big carp would encourage me to obsess about catching fish, distracting me from my goal of enjoying somewhere quiet, intimate and peaceful at the end of a day’s work. Would I be able to switch off when awaiting a bite from a fish that could well be a sixty pounder? And would I be able to focus on my day job when my mind would be working overtime on the puzzle of how to ‘crack’ this new water?
A cracked vase doesn’t hold water for long. Soon it empties, leaving its flowers to wither and die. If I did fish there, would I show signs of breaking? Would Fennel, as you know him, lose his integrity?
You can see why I asked my friends for guidance. I was in a spin, knowing that I shouldn’t fish there but obsessing that I should.
True to form, my friends were quick off the mark with guidance.
Nigel Evans was first to reply, with a ‘Piscatorum non solum piscatur’ (‘There is more to fishing than catching fish’ – motto of The Flyfishers’ Club of London, of which I sit on the General Committee). This was supported by Peter Whipp, who also pointed out (in so many words) that it’s physically impossible for a traditional angler to fish without using his or her Kelly Kettle. Good point, and a well proven fact. Terry Theobald concurred, with a swift and definitive ‘no’.
These friends knew that changing my approach was too big a compromise. We traditional anglers 'fish how we fish'. And we're proud of it. Sounds idealised, but it’s very practical advice, especially when Jakobus Durstewitz reminded me that carbon rods are lightning conductors. Would the spirit of Izaak Walton strike me down from the heavens if I handled one? I’d have to count my odds of that happening. No wonder John Summers thought my dilemma reminded him of a GCSE Maths exam.
However, Chris Shackleton and Tim Pike rightly pointed out that a traditional angler’s mindset is more important than his or her tackle, and that fishing is what you make of it. Barry Fisher, Matthew Tanner and David Evans agreed, saying that one should always do whatever feels right. And Christopher Kirkham joked that I should compromise by using a remote-controlled bait boat to send out my baits, then reel in the fish using my old cane rods.
Andrew Paul Green, Luke Hull, David Powell and Nobby Clark all encouraged me to fish there, but to fish in my usual manner (stalking, mobile approach, using watercraft to locate and go to the fish). This would mean I could still use my regular tackle. ‘Being different’ would produce different and potentially extraordinary results.
Steve Sanderson identified the scale of the challenge, and warned me to prepare for endless blank trips. Peter Carol noted this, recommending that I’d be better off carving spoons. And Mal Baird questioned why I had to ask – alluding to it being an obvious decision to either fish there or not. Either way, I’d be back carp fishing again. It’s the arm of the sport I’m most associated with, given my time at Jade Lake and my fishing with The Golden Scale Club. So Stu Harris welcomed me back to the fold, harking the return of ‘Bank Tramp’. This was a lovely gesture given that I’ve spent recent seasons fishing mostly for trout.
All great (and surprisingly balanced) advice from my friends. But given in response to the information I’d provided. Which wasn’t the full picture.
I’d been a bit naughty. I’d withheld certain bits of information so that I could focus on the issue behind the dilemma. If I’d provided all the information, and reframed the opportunity by changing my perspective and mindset, then I’d have received different guidance.
So how about I give you the full picture, seen through a traditional angler's lens, and see if it influences the guidance you might give me?
Here’s an alternative Facebook update:
Thanks to all those who’ve been so helpful in recommending places for me to fish while I'm down south working during the week. I’ve been directed to some beautiful waters where I’ll be able to relax and soak up the atmosphere. The best of these, which I visited today, is a lake that’s surrounded by willows, alders and poplars. It’s fifty acres, so there’s plenty of space for me to unravel after work, and it’s super-rich in weed and invertebrates. As you can imagine, the fish grow big in this environment. The tench go to 14lb, bream to 17lb, perch to 4lb, and there are whopping great carp that could someday break the British record. I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t like to catch these fish, but I’m not bothered if I don’t. It’s the sort of water that I could happily sit next to and just watch the wildlife. It has more birdlife on it than anywhere else I’ve seen, and the scent of balsam on the breeze is intoxicating. Night fishing is allowed, so I could listen for owls and see stars reflecting in the lake’s surface as I drift off to sleep. And the fun bit? I’d be the only angler there using traditional tackle and tactics. The lake's mostly fished by modern carp anglers using long range methods. So the tench and bream fishing is untapped and the anglers will inevitably be casting over some of the carp. Which means that I, with my love of stalking and preference for short-range fishing, could fill my boots while savouring the joys of being 'proudly different'. What do you reckon? Have I found somewhere special? Should this be my place to unwind after work?
What guidance would you give me now? It’s the same opportunity, albeit with more information, but viewed with the traditional angler’s mindset and perspective.
Somehow I don’t think I’m going to be staying in a business hotel, do you?
If you like this blog, you'll like Fennel's book Traditional Angling.
Please also subscribe to the Fennel on Friday weekly email. You'll receive either a blog, video or podcast sent to you in time for the weekend.