Colne Valley carp
AN old friend, Keith Wesley, had invited me to a pit that still held an air of mystery. As we wandered the banks, big, bronze backs broke the surface, tempting us to make a cast.
The margins seemed an obvious place to fish and I laid a rig on to a small gravel spot surrounded by Canadian pond weed. A dense krill boilie sat on the hair, over which I scattered 50 similar baits and a pint of dead maggots.
With the trap set, I sat well back and waited, watching for tail patterns and bubbles. My camp for the night had been discreetly arranged out of view of the carp, and a few hours later, as I lay on my bedchair, the alarm screamed. I reached the rod quickly enough to stop the weed grabbing hold of my prize.
With the lead ejected on the take, landing the carp amid the vegetation wasn’t an issue and soon the mesh of the net held a leathery yellow flank and withered fins.
In an ever-growing carp world of processed perfection I have come to appreciate these old characters even more, and despite it not being a monster I was as pleased as Punch.
The evening was spent socialising with Keith, and when the last bite of the week came it was to be his, from a scaly beast of 34lb. We laughed as he declared victory.
Treasured memories indeed!
I loved this ancient warrior of a carp.
Keith’s 34lb scaly mirror – some fish!