The Final Chapter - Gaz Fareham

Just 3 days after wrapping up my little Berkshire campaign I was heading back down the M5 again, this time bound for the Wiltshire Park lake ready for the traditional June 16th kick off. It had been a good few years since I’d fished the ‘off’ anywhere and I was buzzing with anticipation. I know spring is such a good time to be out angling but there is something really quite special about the old 3 month close season break on the waters that still enforce it. The last 4 weeks of observation and pre-baiting had my confidence sky high and I’d seen most of the venues big fish at one point or another, both the big mirrors putting appearances in and feeding on my bait.

The parks big girl, The Resident, was never quite as happy feeding as any of the other mirrors though, it seemed naturally cagier and always hung about well behind the others, seemingly not too happy about venturing into the shallower water. The couple of times I did see her I could only just make her out by the sheer bulk and width of her shoulders, the huge plated scales on her shoulders standing out whenever the sun caught them. She would sit out on her own, and only once was I able to watch her pass over the spot and snatch an odd couple of baits up before returning to the safety of the slightly deeper water. I was desperate to get a better look but it never obliged, she seemed like a wise, solitary old girl and that just make me even keener to see her on the bank. I must have looked at the shot on the cover of Mike Willmott’s book a thousand times since first seeing it; that big overslung mouth, solid steely blue shoulders, creamy belly and massively thick wrist on her tail. She was the sole reason I had embarked on the campaign in the first place and was undoubtedly the one I really wanted.

I pulled in to the car park on a warm, busy June 14th all stocked up for a 3 or 4 night session. Throwing a blanket over my kit to hide it from prying eyes I grabbed a water bottle and set off for a slow circuit. The lake was bustling with the usual walkers and joggers and the summer ‘park life’ was well and truly underway. As I’ve mentioned previously the fish often aren’t keen on showing themselves, half a dozen during the course of a day would be a pretty big ‘show’ and unless they are up on top it is generally pretty tricky to get a fix on where they are. I wasn’t worried though as I already had a pretty good idea about where I wanted to be come midnight on the 15th as I’d baited half a dozen particular areas quite heavily. As expected I didn’t find any fish on my circuit but had yet to have a look in the bay. I’d trickled a little bit in there but not much really, especially not in close to the bank where the fish could be seen easily.

I hopped up the fence overlooking the corner to get a better view and it was obvious there were a number of fish in there, the water was well coloured and straight away I could make out at least half a dozen fish. Within a few minutes another smaller group of fish materialized from the right following the edge of the reeds and immediately I recognised the leading fish as The Rudder, the other of the park’s big mirrors and unmistakeable in both appearance and size, being at least low 40’s. A couple of the other fish present were 30+ mirrors and already my mind was working and hatching a plan. The carp get in the bay regularly during the close season regardless of whether there is any bait there or not, you can generally get them feeding most days if you want to but because it is such a visible spot, anyone else walking around the lake can see them too. The thought of them getting poached is always a big worry and I know there is always a few caught during the close each year so encouraging them with extra bait generally isn’t the brightest of ideas. Aside from other anglers looking, it is obvious when they are in there in numbers as there will always be a little crowd of park goers, dads with excited kids on their shoulders and astonished dog walkers peering over the fence pointing and trying to take pictures on their camera phones, it becomes like the little local ‘aquarium’.

Although they can get in the bay in numbers they have a habit of doing the off as soon as the season starts, or even just before; it is like they have some innate ability to sense that the season is about to begin, somehow they just ‘know’. The other downside of fishing right in the bay is that you have very few options if they do disappear, it is an all or nothing swim and if they are not there you are just left twiddling your thumbs with about 20ft sq of water. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem as you’d just move, but with it being busy at the start of the season and swims at a premium that wouldn’t be an option. As there were so few people down I still had plenty of choices so decided I’d just bait the spot and see what happened, I had a night and another day to watch them before the off so I walked back and fetched my kit from the car before my windows got done and it got nicked...

I sat and watched the group of fish milling around all evening right up until the light failed and baited the spot after dark, putting a good few kilos of chops and whole 18’s out. The night passed quietly aside from the occasional deep slosh out in the darkness and I spent it tucked in the trees with just my bedchair laid out under the stars, my kit stashed away in the bushes behind me. I was up early and took my tea kit up the bank to a spot that gave me a better view of the main body of the southern end of the lake and watched for a few hours, aside from a few bream rolling it was quiet though and as the light levels picked up I was keen to see what was going on in the bay.

Even though the harsh early morning light made it difficult to see anything I could still make out the big area of colour over the spot I’d baited. As the sun climbed I began to see a few fish gliding in and out, occasionally the tip of a tail would be visible through the murk and it was obvious they were having it big time, The Rudder was still there and with a 40 and a few other 30’s feeding heavily it had to be worth a shot, surely? The day seemed to take an eternity to pass and I spent it all sat above my spot watching them clearing up my bait and answering questions from the passers by ‘you should have been here last week, I saw a chap catch a huge one!’ Really? great....

I got everything sorted well in advance and sat and patiently waited with the rods propped on the brolly as the hours slowly ticked away, it seemed that the fish were melting away too but I told myself they would be back in the morning and I’d get my chance, after all I only wanted the one bite.

Right up until dark I’d seen the odd one swirling over the spot but the majority of them had definitely done the off, leaving just an odd one mooching around and suddenly it just didn’t feel right anymore. It was too late by now as all the main swims had been taken during the course of the afternoon so I stuck to my plan, waited the last few agonizing hours out and manoeuvred a single 24mm bottom bait into position a few minutes after midnight along with another kilo or so of bait. It was an eerie experience out there in the pitch black with no torch, the lake as calm as glass and the squabbling herons clattering through the trees behind and making the most horrendous, unearthly screeching noises. It was like a scene from Jurassic Park. It didn’t take long for something to happen and before I’d even got the rod back to the swim the line started to pluck through my fingers, in the pitch black I was confused as to whether it was a liner, a bird or caught in a tree but suddenly it snatched from my fingers and I was attached to a fish, a bream… Nightmare, and really not what I needed as it was ever so awkward to get a bait on the spot and the last thing I wanted was any extra disturbance. I wouldn’t mind but I’d watched the spot all day and not seen any bream whatsoever!

Knowing full well how cagey they can be in this particular area at the start I had opted to limit myself to two rods, one of which was nowhere near the baited spot and just covered the near margin to my left. During the night I had another few bream, each time repeating the laborious process to walk the hookbait around into position. By morning I was bleary eyed and not a happy camper. As the sun rose and I began to make things out it didn’t look good either, the water had cleared and instead of a nice coloured area there was a big, bright clear spot and not a carp in sight! My heart sunk and I had to have a chuckle to myself, knowing full well there was every possibility this was going to happen. As a consolation it was a bright sunny day and I knew there would be a few fish getting back into the corner as the day progressed. I watched and hoped but during the course of the day the few I did see approach the spot stopped dead in their tracks and skirted around the edges, pecs out and definitely on edge The odd one that got too close to the over protective coot that lived in the reeds and had now become quite partial to my boilies got chased out of the area or ran the risk of getting a beak in its back! It was a sight I’ve never witnessed before, even the swans started pecking and chasing the carp off. It quickly became obvious the spot was a non-starter before it had even started. I had to have another little chuckle to myself that morning, a lad called Joe had come down to fish, it was his first trip down and he was just doing the days and kipping in his car and had set up opposite me in the bay. The ranger was around early and keen to exercise his authority with it being the 16th and poor old Joe had left his wallet in the car so he’d had to pack up and head off to get his fiver to pay the bailiff. He left his barrow with me and disappeared back to his motor, when he returned there was a pretty blonde in the skimpiest little black g-string bikini wading about over the margin spots he’d baited on her way out for a swim! The look on his face was priceless, as was the view through the bins! It didn’t do the spot any harm mind as he bagged a couple that afternoon, a 27 mirror and 27 common, maybe it was the pheromones…ho ho.

I begrudgingly did another night in the bay as the entire lake was pretty much stitched and moved the following morning up to the bowl after a few of the lads had vacated swims up there. Mark had a right result next door to me the following morning but a couple of them were as much as 6lb down. With no weed in the lake the carp really beat themselves up when they spawn, knocking holes out of themselves and it seemed they’d dropped properly this year having had a really good go. In all probability the big girl would be low in weight and probably looking quite tatty so I decided to cut my loses and leave the lake alone for a month or so, after 2 years of hard work I wanted to catch them in their prime, not just for the sake of it. I felt a bit dejected on the drive home, especially after the month of baiting and build up but I knew it was the right idea, my heart just wouldn’t have been in it. There were a number of fish caught over the next month but I just put the blinkers on and got on with my work, I was well prepared to wait it out until the time was right.

I flitted around for the next few weeks having a couple of overnighters on Redesmere and a dabble on the rivers for a change of scenery and species. We even had a trip down to the Severn for a weekend barbel hunting, Charles bagging a lovely specimen in really difficult conditions with baking temperatures and a low river. We got quite excited about the whole thing actually and went off searching out new stretches and planning little campaigns, suddenly it seemed way more exciting than the carp fishing! I re-spooled all my reels with fresh line and had a box full of fresh rigs and leadcore leaders tied, all sat ready and waiting in preparation for getting back on the park. The big girl was still yet to put an appearance in but the more weeks that passed, the more I knew it was likely to happen. Finally after what seemed an age of high pressure systems and relentless hot weather there was a big low forecast along with plenty of rain and some decent south/south westerly winds, big fish weather… I was sat in my studio working away trying to get the last of my work polished off when my phone bleeped twice, a text came through – Resident out 41.14. I was chuffed for the captor, but it was a repeat for him and understandably I was a bit gutted.

The weather was due to arrive on the Monday or Tuesday so I had pulled all the stops out to get down there on the Sunday afternoon but it turned out I was just a few days too late. What to do now? I decided to go anyway. I arrived on the Sunday afternoon and had a chat with the lads who’d been on and they filled me in on the meagre couple of sightings and weekends events. Other than the big un and a low twenty from the sluice area nothing had really happened so after a bit of deliberation I decided to do a night in the Island and see what occurred the following day, planning to move onto anything I saw. I got the rigs in position nice and early that evening, without any dramas for a change. 2 bait stringers and my usual snowman set-ups were felt down just on the edge of the hard ground and followed with a few hundred baits spread into the rings and around the general area. I settled in for the night, stuck the kettle on and sat and watched the water, hoping something would give itself away in the flat calm water. By midnight it was looking good as I’d had a couple of proper liners so I knew there were fish about. Even though it was my first night back on for about 6 weeks I got my head down feeling really confident of a chance. At about 2 o’clock in the morning I got my chance, a nice steady take with line ticking slowly off the tight clutch. I pulled into it, the fish pulled back and then before I knew it there was that awful, sudden lack of pressure and my lead came skipping back across the surface, my heart pounding in my ears and the fish lost. I was gutted to have dropped my first bite of the year and naturally assumed the hook had pulled, which I was gutted about too, still having a 100% record on the Wide Gapes. Switching my torch on I could see it was actually the hooklink that had parted, presumably having been nicked or damaged on one of the sharp bits of flint and gravel that are in the lake.

A fresh rig and stringer was quickly dispatched back to the mark, the second cast getting the dull thud I was looking for and I crawled back into my bag feeling more than a little dejected. I’d barely drifted back off to sleep when the Delk was screaming at me again out in the blackness and I couldn’t believe I’d been given another chance already, the re-cast rod ticking away with another park carp attached to it. This time there were no dramas and after a hard fight I struggled under the low trees to manoeuvre the inky black swirls over the cord, there was an almighty thrash as the fish touched the net and the handle wrenched in my hand, the first fish of the year was mine. I flicked my phone on to check the time and being only half an hour from first light I quickly slipped the fish into a sack and sorted the rod again.

We weighed and photographed the fish at first light, recording a weight of 27.04. It was a very recognisable fish known as the Little Resident, having the same big plated scales on its shoulders and a similar shaped frame to the big girl. I was well chuffed to have gotten off the mark and my tea tasted so much nicer that morning, happy days! Other than the occasional liner to let me know there was still one or two about there was no more action that day, which was surprising as it is generally the nights that are quiet down the bowl end. The weather came in as forecast that afternoon and a lovely warm southerly was now pushing through the swim down to the café corner, prime conditions for the spot. Despite it looking so good and watching intently all day I saw nothing, if it wasn’t for the liners I’d have sworn they weren’t there. Even though I had no visible signs to go on I still knew it was right for the area and re-did my rods just before dark with fresh rigs, stringers and a kilo or so over each rod, my faith as ever being put in the trusty little Fusion/‘northern special’ snowman set-up that had done me so proud. At the last minute I had a slight change of heart on one of my rods, I’m not sure why but I decided to alter the spot taking another 2 rods lengths of line off past my marked clip, for some reason I just felt I wanted one slightly further out into the silt for the night with the weather as it was. The breeze didn’t drop as darkness fell and by now there was a fine drizzle in the air, it was proper carpy weather and one of those occasions when you just know something is going to happen.

I was sat up chain drinking tea and listening to the tunes on the radio when out of the blue the bobbin on the re-positioned ‘long’ rod smacked into the buzzer and was literally ripped out of the rest. I dropped my brew and pulled into the fish, barely daring to slow the run with my finger. It must have taken a good 20-30 yards before slowing and then as I tightened the clutch slightly and gained a few turns it promptly flat rodded me and tore off on another run into the darkness. It was raining heavily now so I pulled my hood up and just hung on, shouting for Shaun to come and help who was a little way up the bank in the next swim. Whatever I was attached to was angry and deep down I knew it was a big fish, the runs were just so heavy and determined. It was almost impossible to tell what was going on but I felt the fish start to kite right and knowing where I’d hooked it from, and roughly where the edges of the island snags would be, I knew I had very little to play with. I had no choice other than to clamp down and wind so buried my tip and pumped, as hard as I dared.

Begrudgingly it was letting me gain line but it was still kiting, determined to reach the sanctuary of the island snags. From what I could tell by the angle of the line It must have just skirted the edge of the island but the wind and rain was making things ever so difficult, the cloud cover was thick and heavy and being tucked well back in the trees it was utterly pitch black, I was fighting it completely blind. After another 10 minutes of plodding around and deep, heavy lunges it suddenly surfaced way down the margin. Shaun flicked his torch on and we caught sight of a flash of carp, literally just a few yards from the bank. He grabbed the net and I wound down to the fish, walking as I went. It was wallowing around on the surface clearly ready for netting and walking backwards I edged it closer. The nose touched the spreader block and due to the sheer length of it the tail end had to be ‘shuffled’ in, it was obviously a big fish but which one we weren’t yet sure… I dropped my rod and lifted the net, rolling my prize onto its side. My heart was pounding in my ears as the realization sunk in. The little patch of 3 scales on the right flank and huge thick wrist couldn’t belong to any other fish than the Resident. It looked huge in the torchlight and after a brief moment to catch my breath I let out a shout. I punched the air and shouted again into the rain and blackness at the top of my voice. The big girl was mine.

I threw my chesties on and jumped in to hold her away from the rough margins in deeper water while Shaun sorted the kit. We rigged up the net pole to weigh her and recorded a weight of 43.02 on the Ruebens. Carefully slipping her into a sack I staked it out in nice deep water while I got my head together and we decided where to shoot the pics. Being so early on in the night I wasn’t prepared to sack her for 8 hours, I just didn’t think it was fair to the old girl so flash shots it would be. I knew they would never do her justice, big light coloured mirrors and flash photography never mixes, but really the pics were immaterial, I’d bagged her and that was all that mattered. She beat me up on the mat just as she had done in the water and refused to settle for the shots, flinching every time the focussing strobe came on from my camera. As it was, Shaun did a sterling job in the awful conditions and I’ve got say a huge thanks for the help, top man. He even stuck the kettle on for me while I climbed out of my sodden clothes and into some dry ones.

After a brew Shaun disappeared back to his swim and re-appeared shortly after with a bottle of red wine and a freshly rolled smoke, now it really was happy days! We celebrated the capture tucked under my brolly sheltering from the rain and I sat up long after he’d left, chain drinking tea and going over events again and again in my head. On that dark, wet and windy July night my obsession was met and the final chapter of my park life played out. All those nights on edge sleeping with one eye open, worrying about my kit and motor, listening to the youths smashing the play area up and setting fire to the bins suddenly faded away, the immeasurable satisfaction of having achieved my target outweighing everything by a country mile. Looking back I was so close to not setting off for that session too, and also so close to not moving that rod the extra 15 yards out into the silt. My mate Charles has always said to me how incredibly fine the line is between catching and not catching on these big fish waters, it needing such a huge number of variables to coalesce at once, in the right place, at the right time, and in the right conditions. Given that the fish has only seen the bank twice since I started on the lake in the winter of 03/04 you can roughly calculate that there has been upwards of 100,000 rod hours put in between all the anglers for those two captures, when you look at it like that you realise just exactly how fine that line is. All you can do is be there as often as possible and do everything as right as you can, as consistently as you can, and wait for it to all fall into place.

As it was, there was still a bit more to add to the chapter and over the course of the next 2 days and nights I banked another 3 of the parks fickle residents, a long 27.06lb common, a lovely chunky 28.10 mirror and an old friend from last year in the shape of a 32.02 mirror, all from the same areas on the edge of the hard ground, the only take I had from the slightly longer, deeper spot being the big un, makes you think doesn’t it? After the close season observations of watching her in the bay hanging back away from the rest of the fish it suddenly seemed almost obvious.

The next few days at home were spent relaxing and celebrating, the lads taking me out for a few beers and toasting the capture with me. Suddenly I felt at a loose end, and with my target achieved on only my 5th night of the season I knew this would be my last year on the venue. After spending a few days working at home in my studio I sorted my kit and headed back down there for another session. As it turned out it was an absolute disaster, for some strange reason I had decided to go heavy on the bait and took a sack of big 22mm Halibuts with me as well as my usual 18mm Fusions. 30 odd bream and 30 new rigs later I was doubting the wisdom of the change in tactics…

I reverted back to my normal tactics the following week and latched into a good fish on the second day of the trip. After a tense 20 minute battle I finally slid the net under a solid looking mirror, a low 30 being my first thoughts. On the scales it was actually just under at 29.10 but that was immaterial and I was made up, it being an immaculate part linear on one side and as ever, with not a mark in its mouth. The bait and rigs were still working a treat, the fish being hooked a good inch or so back and the splodge of reddy goo passed onto the mat letting me know they were well on the bait. I got a passer by to take some snaps for me as there were no other anglers about and sat back with the kettle on, rather chuffed with myself.

It was quiet for the rest of the day with no liners and no sightings and for some reason I was itchy and felt like a move was in order. One of the young local lads, Daniel, popped down for a chat and to ponce some bait off me so I sent him on an ‘errand’ to go and see if he could find any fish in the bay. 5 minutes later he was back, out of breath, and bumbling on about there being half a dozen in there mooching about! I gave him a bit of bait and a handful of my little yellow ‘uns for his troubles, pondered for 5 minutes then wrapped up, deciding to take the gamble. I threw the kit on my barrow and jogged off around to the bay, keen to stay on my toes and force a chance rather than just sitting tight and hoping.

There were a number of fish in evidence moving in and out of the bay so I got sorted as quickly as possible, the dark, heavy clouds and distant rumble of thunder looking ominous. Stringers were felt down for thuds and quickly followed by a few pouchfuls of bait into the rings. I tucked myself away in the reeds and stuck the kettle on, feeling a little on edge with the lightning illuminating the trees in the distance. Please, just let there be no bream tonight I remember saying to myself. I slept fitfully with the odd few bleeps, rain and occasional crack of thunder keeping me from settling. At about four in the morning I was woke by a short burst of bleeps, pulling the cover from my head I looked over, the bright white led on the receiver lighting up the back of my brolly. It was the open water rod, probably the most likely candidate for a bream capture. Because I was a fair way from the rods I couldn’t see what was happening and was reluctant to get out to go and check, after all it could well have just been the breeze. Another 3 or 4 bleeps made me jump and I decided it must have been a bream. I pulled the bag back over my head and rolled over, hoping it would fall off. 10 minutes later there was another short burst of bleeps and I cursed the dreaded snot encrusted creatures. I threw my torch and jacket on, sat and quickly whipped up a 2 bait stringer ready to nick straight on and braved the elements.

It was a typical bream bite if ever I’d seen one, the bobbin twitching up and down erratically. I picked the rod up, nicked the line into the line clip on the reel ready for the re-chuck and wound down. 20 turns later I was still winding, 30, 35, 40, 50 turns, 60 turns… The line cut right around and all the way down to my left, deep into the bay, if it was a bream he’d had his weetabix that morning! That will teach me for fishing slack lines and little bobbins I thought! Ho ho. Instead of cursing the bream I was now cursing my complacency! Eventually I connected with a solid weight and it promptly took off, charging straight back out of the bay. Thankfully it had slowed by the time it had reached the clip and the rest of the fight was played out a bit more normally, although with the lightning still about I did keep my tip buried in the water until the very last minute so it was hardly normal at all. As it slid over the cord I giggled to myself, knowing how fortunate I’d just been and a pretty, deep chestnut coloured mirror with a paddle for a tail lay sulking in my net. I slipped her straight into a sack and dived back under the relative safety of the brolly.

It went 24.08 on the scales and as we took the shots in the wet, thick grass behind the swim I had a funny feeling that it might well be the last park carp I would be grinning from behind. With my campaign complete I mentally said my goodbyes and fished the day out in the Bus Stop, having moved again one last time. I actually managed to snarl one more that day, one of the little spawned fish, at about 8 pound it was smaller than most of the bream but a very promising sign for the future of the venue and, who knows, maybe in 20 years it will have grown on to be a scarred, elusive old park forty pounder.

Gaz Fareham