Brutus Maximus

Two trips to wrap up this time and I'll start with the second and most recent of the two as it's tonally the most difficult to address, make my point, and come out of it not sounding like a cock. I do hope you get it.

I may have mentioned previously that I've half an eye on a nearby gravel pit which is reputed to hold the odd crucian carp to colossal proportions. And that before I invest probably a whole day there in their pursuit I first need to practice. 

You may also have noticed the pattern I form when approaching specialist or specimen angling - which in more down to earth terms is going fishing and trying to catch a particular type of fish, and almost certainly angling for a big one. First off identify your ultimate venue, practice your methods on lesser cousins somewhere else and until you are confident in them and finally go and sit all day without a bite knowing deep down that if that big one turns up in your swim you are ready. Oh yes, and dress in olives and greens as that's our uniform.

So to practice my crucian fishing I headed to the nearby Riddings Fishery Crucian Pool with the hope of snaring a few.

This where it becomes tonally tricky.

I need to make it clear at this point that the Riddings is an excellent fishery. Plenty of fish, sensible rules and all laid out amongst gravel paths, accessible pegs and mown grass. Pretty.

To assist in the support of my case let's abstract the argument from any particular venue too as it seems a well trodden story almost everywhere nowadays. Simply put it goes along the lines of, "Yes this used to be the Crucian pool but people weren't interested so we put in nine hundred and seventy five tons of carp to keep them happy". Or, to make use of my hyperbole license, "Yes this is the Crucian pool, but it doesn't come out very often!".

It is only my aims and objectives steering me towards this particular brand of fish. It is only my perspective obscuring from view all but crucian carp. Only I can go for an evening's fishing, catch a shit ton of fish and leave disappointed not to have caught what I came for. I impose that lens of failure upon myself whereas others do not. A focused specialist angler becomes quite snobbish towards other species of fish regardless of size were they not caught by design, only to next week target the lesser species and shout about his captures. Strange world. Look at that carp angler who recently slipped back a tench weighing in excess of twelve pounds. He was carp fishing wasn't he so what interest did he have in tench!?

If I'd caught a crucian yesterday evening I am in no doubt it would have been my finest angling achievement of the year thus far. There were so many Brutus king carp marauding about it would have taken skill to have picked out the shy and retiring fish I was after. I likened it to bookish Velma from Scooby Doo trying to get to the library on the other side of the football ground at five o'clock on a Saturday afternoon when it is kicking out time.

I still made mistakes last night though so here are a few...

I thought it would be nice to fish the lift method and so rigged up a Drennan antenna float only to realise fishing this style under the rod tip is carnage for tangles. Every time I struck and missed a bite the tell-tale shot a few inches from the hook wrapped around the rod tip and made a right birds nest. Back to the pole float.

I loose fed the margin whilst I was setting up. By the time I looked up after tying on my hook  the whole swim was dusted-up with silt and I could see three paddle tails aloft waving at me for more food. Vortex galore I tell you. 

After plumbing the depth I took off the plummet and swung out with a bare hook just to see how the float sat. I caught two carp like this before I'd even put a bait on! I think they mistakenly thought the lowermost No.6 split shot was a hemp seed.

After those first few free handfuls there was no more loose feeding all evening. In addition I dispensed with the tell tale shot on the hooklength and fished dead depth, using the weight of my bait to pull the float down that last centimeter.

And there I sat for two hours staring intently at my float, fishing over no loose offerings and with either a single grain of corn or a pea-sized blob of cheese paste on the hook.

I soon became amazed at what the small section of visible float could communicate to me. Small silvers playing football with the bait were signaled by juddery sideways movements emanating from the stem of the float. Carp quickly sucking the bait in and blowing it out, testing it for a line, was indicated by lighting quick submersions followed by equally quick reappearances. Occasionally there was a more delicate bite, a dither or a dip and I struck.

All the while the big dark shapes scudded this way and that under the surface. They tried to eat sticks floating by and were often seen rustling every bit of undergrowth in sight.  

Many carp came to the net but the one below was the closest I came to my target all evening.  

The week before I'd returned to Frolesworth after roach. I caught one, along with some perch but once again Brutus was in full effect.

Once I saw they were patrolling my windy margin I started to feed them. I drew the bait ever closer to the edge seeing just how close to me they'd dare to venture.

 

Until next time then.