Carping Allegedly - December 21

I PROPER… LIKE WHAT I DO!

It hasn’t escaped my notice, of late, that an increasing number of people who are interviewed on television and on the radio, begin their answers with either ‘so’, or by saying ‘yes’ before giving their actual response… even if their response is ultimately a no! I just don’t get it…

“What’s your name?”

“So… my name is Bill Cottam.”

“Have you caught anything?”

“Yes… no, I haven’t caught anything!”

The latter of the two examples of incorrect grammar reminds me very much of one of my all-time heroes, the sartorially elegant Jim Trott from The Vicar of Dibley. Thankfully, ‘so’ and ‘yes’ don’t appear to have crept into the carp angler’s vocabulary too much, as yet, but addressing your partner in slime as ‘dude’ or a ‘man’ sadly has.

The ‘man’ thing strikes me as particularly odd, given that an increasing number of ladies fish for carp these days. Surely the same people wouldn’t approach a lady on the bank with an opening gambit of, “So… any joy woman?”

THE FORGOTTEN HOOKBAIT

Although Kryston Bogey remains popular amongst those in the know, it must be right up there with some of the most underused products out there. Admittedly, using it to create a highly original hookbait does take a bit of time, and a little practice to get right, but I assure you it is worth the extra messing around.

Simply dampen your thumb and forefinger, snap the required amount from the pot and carefully mould it to the shape you require. The whole thing can then be plunged into dry seed a couple of times until it’s covered. And there you have it: a particle hookbait to die for!

It will sink straight from the pot, but your hookbait can be transformed into a buoyant offering by simply moulding the Bogey around a corkball first. Bogey hookbaits take on a wide variety of soaks superbly well, although my personal preference is to cover them with seeds in the normal way, dampen the whole thing, and then dunk the hookbait in Green Lipped Mussel Extract or, as has been the case more recently, RG Baits’ GLM-based Maxi-Mussel Powder.  

NOT CARPY

I have to confess that I broke one of my golden rules a couple of weeks ago, and in doing so, I brought shame on my family and friends. In my defence, though, I have already had to postpone four overseas trips this year due to Covid travel restrictions and I was pretty desperate to wet a line in anger, so my love of all things carpy simply got the better of me.

It was a Thursday, hot and muggy and without a cloud in the sky. On top of that, I had been to the lake the previous day and had seen four carp slurping bits off the surface from amongst the weed. Against my better judgement, then, I rustled up a bit of surface fishing gear, and I sneaked it into the van under the cover of darkness so as to ensure none of my neighbours saw the error of my ways. Not wishing to blow my own trumpet in any way, but I think it’s fair to say that I am the most successful carp angler on our street, and with that in mind, I obviously have a reputation to keep!

Down at the pond, the carp were a little further along the bank this time around, but they were once again giving it the big ’un off the top, so I immediately surmised that an opportunity to catch a wrong ’un might be on the cards.

In Brian Skoyles, I was taught by one of the best when it comes to surface fishing, so I did as he invariably does and sat in the grass feeding them an occasional pouch of floating pellets. They seemed to like ’em, and after half an hour or so I had managed to move them closer into where I could present a bait much easier.

I flicked out the hookbait and followed up with about half a dozen freebies. I watched in disbelief as what I estimated to be 60lb of carp drifted in from the left… but before you get too excited, this estimation was based on two fish being around 15lb, one around 12lb, and three mid- to high-singles in a group of six! Immediately, two of them began to pick off the freebies. After one refusal, my hookbait vanished and the water erupted—I was in!

The scrap was a lively, albeit relatively short affair, and I slipped the net under the fish I had estimated to be about twelve-pounds, accompanied by an equivalent weight of weed.

Buoyed by my success, I slipped her back, gathered my bits and pieces together and headed further along the bank in search of another potential victim. As I rounded the next clump of trees, I could see movement in front of me in the shape of a young keenie in full Terry Hearn garb. Much to my disappointment, there was also a bivvy in exactly where I thought I might get another surface opportunity. As I drew closer, I recognised the angler, a local carp tiger whom I had chatted to in the past. Result… he’s always good for a brew!

As luck would have it, when I got there, our man had what I was assured was a rather pretty mirror of around twenty-pounds secured in the net. I suspected, therefore, that my photographic skills might be needed before a cuppa was on the cards, and I wasn’t wrong.

On the mat, the fish was indeed a very nice, heavily scaled mirror and at just under 21lb, a very good result from a South Yorkshire water. Our man gave her a bucket of water, covered her with the flap of the mat and disappeared into the bivvy, only to reappear thirty seconds later complete with his bait company-branded hoodie, and an iPhone. I resisted the temptation to enquire as to why he needed a hoodie in such ridiculously high temperatures, and watched somewhat bemused as he pulled his humongous hood up over his head.

The fish looked magnificent in the early morning sun, and I said as much as I rattled a few pictures off. I also pointed out that having his hood up was prohibiting me from seeing his face.

“That’s fine,” he responded, “it’s carpy!”

Now, I have been fishing for carp and taking pictures of them for forty-five years, and I think that puts me in a position to offer small pieces of advice where relevant, so here goes. Taking on the guise of someone about to rob a sub-post office, whilst having your picture taken with a fish is not one bit carpy… what it is, is utter bollocks!

FLIP-FLOP MALFUNCTION

I have never made any secret of the fact that I spend most of my life in flip-flops. Indeed only last month, and in this fine magazine, I sang the praises of the ever-so-carpy new camo ‘flops’ which Crocs launched recently. I suspect my propensity to wear flip-flops so regularly probably comes from the fact that I began my working life as a lifeguard, and as a consequence, I do class myself as something of an aficionado.

Flip-flops are not without their issues, though, one of which being that when a pair gets old and tired, they get a bit less ‘flippy’ and a bit too floppy, and they become what the health and safety executives amongst you would regard as a potential trip hazard.

I have experienced this very problem with my favourite pair for quite a few months. My daughter Becky warned me, saying that I should say goodbye to them before it ended in tears. I ignored her advice, though, and persisted with the love affair I had had for so many years with my favourite flip-flops.

My flip-flops and I went out for a beer a few Fridays ago and I came home in the early hours, not totally spannered, but certainly a bit worse for wear. I headed for the kitchen, the aim being to make myself a coffee. I tripped, went arse over tit and landed with an almighty crash on the tiled floor. The pain in my right shoulder was excruciating, and I lay spreadeagled on the deck, unable to move until Becky eventually heard my cries for help and came to my rescue. 

I can only assume the alcohol in my system had nulled the pain a little, as by morning things were even worse. I was convinced that I had broken either my shoulder or my collar bone. After sitting in A&E for five hours the next day, and after a series of X-rays, the doctor gave me relatively good news: I had badly torn a muscle, and had chipped the bone in three places. I was out of action for a couple of weeks, but it would take more than that to keep me down.

On the plus side, I did win a prize for the best bruise in Rotherham! The even sadder part of this story is that I have finally accepted that my fall signalled the end of the road for my favourite pair of flip-flops, and a new pair have consequently mysteriously emerged from the stash. Farewell my friends. We travelled many a mile together over many years, and we shared many great carpy memories. You will be sadly missed!