FL02 PDF (212pp) - Page 205

Making The Most Of It
of my raked-out channel I piled on the
pressure and lead them through the
gap and into the waiting net.
The situation was far from perfect,
though. I was limited to one area that
seemed to produce takes, and my
hard work in hauling aside the weed
would easily flag-up the swim to others. As I said earlier, I had baited here,
then reaped the rewards a couple of
days later but it was really too restrictive. Hence, I made the deal with
myself that, on this last session, I
would fish for carp I had located first
with the big one obviously uppermost
in my thoughts.
The first place to look was the
snaggy bay, of course, and I sat there
in the early morning light for over an
hour before the first promising signs
appeared. As the sun began to get
higher, I could see several dark
shapes weaving between the weed
beds. Then, several sheets of bubbles
dimpled the surface as a fish pushed
through the waving fronds. It was
clear that the weed was bad but I felt
this would assist me in some ways.
I knew from a cut-off earlier in the
year that hooked fish always powered
off towards the exposed metal of the
old cars that littered the far side of the
bay, but having a good drift about in
the boat the previous week I was
unable to see any of this as it was all
covered in solid weed. What I couldn’t
afford to do, was to smash the bay up
with marker floats because the fish
were already there. To this end, I was
tackled up with the chod rig on and
small, one-ounce leads tied on. I
could see from my swim, which was
several feet above the water level, a
couple of clear holes at underarm distance and, on flicking two pop-ups
into these, I felt the satisfying feeling
of the leads touching the bottom. Not
hard ‘donks’ but they went down and
that was the best I was going to ever
get. I introduced a jar of CC Moore’s
Hot Chilli hemp and about a kilo of
whole and broken boilies over the
next couple of hours and sat back
watching the odd fish show out in the
weed, happy that I hadn’t appeared to
have messed it all up.
I had a fair idea that, if I was fortunate to hook anything I’d be out in the
boat, so this was prepared in readiness. A lifejacket and a spare landing
net with a short pole were placed
ready and I mentally marked the locations of the weed beds before the
light was gone. At 3 am the left-hand
rod tore off and I was out of the bag
and on it. As I picked up the rod I
instantly had the feeling it was solid.
Sure enough, nothing moved and my
line was pointing directly into a
clump only a few feet behind where I
(Top) The elusive common as a
(Right) Rods out, come on Rick.


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