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Off The Scale - By Tim Smith Summary: An exiting, moving, and humorous account of events of a relative beginner to carp angling, that hopefully will cause a few inward smiles, and some happy reminiscences. After moving from near the Sea about a year ago, I put down my beach rod and took to fishing the Basingstoke Canal. I had been following the guidance of a goodly mentor from my local tackle shop. I have had no other tuition save for books, which has lead to some unfortunate mistakes, but on the whole had been a blessing. For example, the first fish of each species that I have ever seen caught, was caught by me. This means each new little achievement is hard-come-by, but very rewarding. From my first attempts at course fishing with the float, and later to a simple ledger, the year had brought me roach, perch and bream, tench……….but not a single carp. Carp were the next challenge……….. My 4 year old boy was a bit of a distraction, so the bite alarm and swinger were the next purchase. Funny how every time I buy angling gear, I always say to myself "right, that's it! I've definitely got all I need now", and yep, you know the drill - within the week I'm back shopping for more "essentials". On telling my friendly guide at the shop, that I'm ready for the next lesson, he shows me and junior how to tie a hair rig. What a piece of poetry this device is. The way the tiny dumbbell soundly defies the tugging, shaking and twisting of the smaller fish, and the way the rig somehow seems to give the perfect lip hook on the bigger character, almost every time. "What ledger do I use with the hair rig please?" - my guide disappears behind the counter and produces a mini method feeder, - "A couple of bits of sweet corn on the hair rig" he says, planting a bag of method mix in my mits, "mould this round the feeder and you'll be well away". "Where?" "Tight under the rhododendrons at the back of the local pub" So off I went. A week passes and the Rhododendrons under which the carp allegedly thrive look like Christmas trees. Why?. Because they are beautifully decorated with an array of method feeders that I've managed to snag every night. As my casting gets more accurate, I begin to get some bites - tench - very nice, but not carp. I see in a book that I should bury the hook in the method feeder - great - less snags on the bushes too! "Another bag of carp method mix please" - and then bream - nice, but not carp. "Another bag of carp method mix, oh and a scale to weigh my catch please!" - And then 4 ½ lb tench. Nice but NOT bloomin Carp!! "keep trying sir - you'll get 'em" I'm told. Alas, more bream. The bite alarm does a nice little ditty each time, I casually pick up the rod, and it's anything but carp. I though tench were great fighters at the time, and bream? - well what can I say: I do not want to show disrespect to any fish, but I am sure that even the heavenly guardian of bream will forgive me for observing that these are not the most intelligent of fish. And what about the hang-dog expressions they wear from the second their hooked? as though to say "alright, so you caught me again…, I give up…., lets get this over with shall we". I swear I saw one bream yawn and shake his head in dismay as I was reeling him in! Then Thursday night seamed set to be worse; not even a knock. Surely the fish must know about the regular serving of sweet corn by now?. Suddenly, having been poorly rehearsed on previous sessions by "lesser" fish, I am snapped out of my slumber and overwhelmed buy a lot of things that seemed to happen at once. It was all such a shock that looking back, I kind of blacked out for a second. There was a sound of cracking branches as a "steam train" pounded through the overhanging rhododendrons; there was some splashing; I think the bight alarm went off, although I shall never be certain. One thing's for sure - the sight of my bank sticks falling over and my rod making for the water was plenty enough bite-indication, with or without bite alarm!. In my memory it seamed like an eternity between registering the event, seeing my rod doing a runner, my hand stretching out toward it and finally connecting with it. The absurd vision I had of myself wading in after my rod disappeared as I realised I'd managed to catch it. My 8lb line was being taken from my budget Kingfisher real in a way I had never seen before. It seamed that one click on the drag made it too easy for the steam train to take line, and one click the other way, threatened to break my line or rod. First I erred on the light side, but it was no use, I would have to get firm. Click. Ok, I was in control. Fortunately the fish had headed into open water. My heart was pounding, my head spinning. I heard my son scrabbling to get the net into the water. Good God,….we got a glimpse as it surfaced in mid swim before making another dash……… the size!… the colour!… the weight!…. the strength!…the majesty of the creature! He was heading back to the rhododendrons. He tired against the drag just before reaching them. The hunter and the hunted locked in combat He bolted again, this time to the left. Nothing else existed but my son, the prey fish, our feelings, and me. I pumped the beast nearer, but he bolted again to the right. The exhilaration seemed to simplify everything. I pulled him to the left. We were just like our ancestors for thousands of years, who'd felt the same exhilaration when they fished. He buried himself in the reads. There was a brief moment of pause as the fish and the hunter considered their next move. More force on the line and he began to swim, I pulled him clear of the reads. He thrashed in front of us, daring me to land him. Inches from the net the worthy adversary was away again with an almighty run. Finally he turns and succumbs. He is over the net - "Now"! I shout, and junior lifts up the net. YES! The hunters are victorious. The hunted gives up his liberty. The modern day spoils of weight and photo are taken. Eyes are bright, and grins are wide. The newly purchased scales are exceeded in their first week of use. The glorious common carp that had threaten to break the line, real, rod, net, and nerve of the novice, was heavier than the scale's maximum of 15lb. By how much? we will never know! Back in the shop, and my experience is causing a few chuckles. Lessons are being learnt, -I was lucky -I should never leave the rod even slightly unattended -always leave the drag light so that it's the fish and the alarm doing the screaming run rather than me.. -patience is a virtue -ensure the tackle is up to the job -yes, carp put up a much bigger fight than their housemates ("didn't I mention that?" says the shop keeper!) and finally………… -always be optimistic when choosing which scale to buy! Best wishes, Tim |