freeline-27 - Page 58

Made in England
est of donks, and as he returned I
immediately mentioned that I was
gonna have another one.
His response was blank; I could tell
by the look on his face. “Whatever.
This is Wraysbury, let’s just get on
with the photos!” With the pictures
done I was over the moon, especially
as Adam was there and listening to
my ever-annoying mind, giving me
reassurance and self-belief. Leaving
my baits out for four days then getting a take – now that’s awesome! We
sat back and discussed the prior
events, laughing and joking, when the
same rod bleeped, again dropping
backwards. I hit it immediately and
found myself yet again winding down
frantically as the carp swam from
right to left, heading towards me and
the snags deep down into the bay.
Before I could even grab the net,
Adam was there, all wadered up, net
in hand, stomping out into the margins, advising me to guide the fish
around the bush that was situated to
the right of the swim.
“It’s alright Trev, there’s no snags
down our margin, just coax her in, I’ll
get her for you.” My rod buckled as I
tried to pump the fish in. “It’s fine
Followed by a massive 49lb 10oz mirror.
mate, take your time, enjoy yourself,”
he said, taking over the situation
calmly. I still continued to pump,
gaining yard by yard, until I could see
its head. It was another common,
which looked this time surprisingly
bigger. My legs went to jelly as I paid
particular attention to Adam, who had
the net. “Net it! Net it!” I shouted, as
the carp wallowed at arm’s reach.
Sure enough, first time of asking he
did me proud as I released another
overwhelming joyous cry. In fact I
went mental – talk about emotions.
”You’ve never had a forty pound common before, have you, mate?”
“Shut up. No it’s not, is it?”
“Not far,” he replied as he carried
the fish over towards the unhooking
mat. It looked mint and at 39lb 6oz an
outright personal best – I really
wasn’t fussed about the odd ounces. I
recognised it straight away, as I’d
caught it two years earlier at thirty six
pounds in October on my mate’s
birthday. He sadly passed away some
time ago, so it felt right that I named
it after him, “The Beast of McEwen”.
Wo w, a b r a c e o f t h i r t y - p o u n d
Wraysbury commons in forty-five
minutes. Adam and I were totally
gobsmacked but had to keep it real,
as I was certain more fish were in the
vicinity. Another rod had to be moved
into the equation, so without hesitation one was placed 15 yards away
before settling into the evening celebrations with Adam, Tom and Tony.
Thanks fellas, and as certified, my
head felt like it had been smacked
with a scaffold pole when I managed
to open my eyes the following morning.
I glanced over at the rods; they
were all poised and were looking
good as my mind drifted off, reliving
yesterday’s events, bringing a happy
smile to my face when the “other rod”
I’d moved gave three single bleeps. I
struck instantly and just when I
thought I had control of the fish the
rod pulled down, pulling me forward,
and just as I gave an inch the rod
flung backwards. “**** It!”
‘Gutted’ was an understatement,
and on retrieval I noticed I’d been cut
off; there wasn’t anything I could
have done about it. With a bit of puffing and panting the rod was soon
reassembled and cast back to the
same area, then I fell back onto the
bed chair, sulking. I hadn’t really had


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