Reliving The Perfect Day
If you could relive just one day from your angling career, which would it be, and what made it so memorable?
The Oxford Park Lake Big ’Un
Fish, friendships and favours: Dave Ellyatt turns the clock back 23 years to recall a capture that left its mark
Whilst fishing Dorchester Lake, I’d got chatting to an angler who’d told me about an old, 33lb mirror he had caught the previous year from an Oxford park lake. It was apparently the biggest among just a handful of carp. I had heard of the lake but had never seen it, so intrigued, I went for a look. It wasn’t the most attractive of settings, being an old reservoir of 10–12 acres which once supplied the city’s water. It was almost hidden away, sandwiched between old Victorian terraced streets running off one of Oxford’s main arterial roads and the busy railway line which hugged its far side. The lake itself was long and relatively narrow, and was spanned by a footbridge. This allowed you to look into its tantalisingly clear water and view the dumped motorbikes, bicycles and other junk that littered the lakebed.
A small boating lake and an outdoor swimming pool bordered the opposite side of the lake to the railway, along with a pocket of green space, complete with trees and a playground, as you might expect in a municipal park.
I was keen to give it a go, and the following Sunday saw me return to the park armed with my gear. The visit was intended more as a bit of a recce than anything, and I took with me 3kg of boilies to deposit, should I find any likely looking spots.
I chose a relatively quiet area towards the far end of the lake, off the main footpath. I had a feel around with the marker, and as you would expect for an old reservoir, the depth was very uniform. It averaged about 9ft, and the bottom felt very soft and silty. However, I found what felt like a slightly firmer, smoother area, around fifty yards out. I cast a couple of rigs to it, accompanied by a bit of bait.
Nothing happened, but before leaving that evening, I put all the remaining bait I had with me out on the spot, vowing to return the following week, on April 21, Good Friday, 2000.
I had good intentions of arriving at dawn, before the park opened, but I overslept and didn’t get there until after nine. Heading straight for my baited swim, I was relieved to find it empty—I was, in fact, the only angler on the lake. I cast a couple of pop-ups out to the spot and scattered a few freebies around them. I then put the kettle on and sat back to wait for something—anything, really. I wasn’t feeling especially confident. I didn’t know much about the place, and although I was in a pre-baited spot, I really felt like I was just chancing my arm.
I was pleasantly surprised, then, when only an hour after casting out, the right-hand bobbin pulled up tight. I lifted into something which initially didn’t really feel anything special. I had heard that the lake held some big bream, so thought it could be one of those. I kept it coming towards me without too much resistance. Then, this huge, pale shape appeared just below the surface about ten yards out and my legs turned to jelly. It rolled around on the surface for a bit before I scooped it up in the net.
The whole fight must have lasted only a couple of minutes, but there I was with a whacking great mirror looking up at me. At that moment, an old man who used to come down every morning on his bike to feed the ducks pulled up behind me. I don’t think he was too impressed, because I was occupying one of his daily feeding spots. Rather dismissively, he asked me what I’d caught. With a degree more excitement I said, “It’s a carp, mate!”
“How big is it, then… about 10lb?” he asked after considering my response for a few seconds.
I looked up at him surprised. “It’s a bit bigger than that!” I replied confidently. He still didn’t look impressed, and after mumbling something to himself he cycled off down the path, looking for some ducks to feed.
Leaving the carp in the net, I fumbled for my sling and scales before I recorded a weight of 35lb 14oz. I really couldn’t quite believe my good fortune. I sacked the fish in the margins and then, after considering who I should call to come and take some photos, I phoned my mate, Adam.
Adam was fishing up in Bedfordshire, on Elstow, but whatever I said conveyed to him that is was of the utmost importance that he drop everything and get back to Oxford in record time. Luckily, he agreed.
Adam arrived an hour or so later and we marvelled over the gnarly old mirror. She looked ancient, her stubby fins explaining the plodding fight. It was then that we christened her Stumpy. Adam did me proud with the photos, the slides coming back a few days later. I sent a couple off to Carp-Talk and was extremely surprised when they chose one of them for the front cover.
A couple of years later, I returned the favour and landed the big mirror for Adam, the take coming whilst we sat drinking tea. The fish completed a fine campaign for him, during which he’d caught most of the lake’s other special residents—it later became apparent that the lake held just seven carp. I think Adam’s capture was Stumpy’s last, as she was found dead the following year.
