Carp Fishing Trilogy

By Steve Graham

The Carp Fishing Trilogy consists of the first three books written by Steve Graham, and many people consider them to be three of his best.

From Gudgeon to Carp - This is Steve’s first book. It is the story of an angler and the journey through his fishing life, plus all of the adventures along the way. It describes his progression from catching small fish on the canal as a young boy, through many different species of fish, and larger and larger quarry. But all these different fish lead on to the ultimate - Carp.
Although predominantly about angling, this is a book that can be enjoyed by non-anglers too, as page after page reveals all the ups and downs that he experiences in search of his obsession.
Names have been changed to protect the innocent, but the story is almost totally true, or as near as the authors fading memory would allow.

More Carp Fishing - ‘More Carp Fishing’ is Steve’s second book and carries on his story from where his first book ‘From Gudgeon to Carp’ ended. It continues the story of his fishing life and describes the many exciting experiences in his quest for those most elusive of fish – BIG CARP.
There are chapters on a real diversity of different waters including two very low stock lakes in England, other English syndicate and club waters and also several different venues in France where Steve caught some huge fish. The chapters relating to the largest low stock lake in particular are absolutely gripping. At the outset the stock of carp in the water was totally unknown, which is exciting enough in this day and age. The amount of natural food in the lake was extremely high and the fishing was to prove to be very difficult, but the results were well worth the effort.
Most of the French lakes were not commercial venues and they had that extra spice of the unknown that Steve enjoys so much, but they were also very testing at times. Once again though, the effort was well rewarded with the capture of some spectacular fish.
This book describes the many tremendous highs and also the devastating lows that he experiences in search of his obsession, and also all the people that he has met along the way.
Page after page describes the journey through his fishing life in gripping detail, some parts full of humour, other parts tragic and some filled with pure elation.

Carp Fishing Tips and Theories - Steve’s first two books described the journey through his fishing life, but this book is entirely different. It is crammed full of tips and theories which he has accumulated during his fifty years of angling.
The book contains twenty different chapters including two fascinating sections on rigs and hook-baits, and many tips that have seldom been seen in print before. No secrets have been held back and with over 130 pages, the reader cannot fail to find some tips that will help them to put more Carp on the bank.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Steve Graham
• Release date: Dec 5, 2020
• ISBN: 9780463612064

Steve Graham

Steve Graham is a retired financial adviser, who now lives in Staffordshire. He is married to Anita and they have four children – Lynne, John, Diana and Gary, and three grandchildren – Logan, Dylan and Sami. Not forgetting their dog Stan, a Springer Spaniel / Border Collie cross, that is loved by them all. Now that he has retired, Steve spends most of his time doing the things that he enjoys most, which includes writing, walking. Carp fishing, and looking after his grandchildren.

Book preview

FROM GUDGEON

TO CARP

Steve Graham

First published in 2013

by Smashwords.com

CHAPTER ONE – IN THE BEGINNING

West Bay in Cornwall was where it all began. I was just eight years old, on holiday with my family, and my friend Ian was there with his parents too. Ian and I had been friends all of our young lives and our families often went away together.

I can remember it as though it was yesterday. It was a lovely warm sunny day as we walked along the pier, ice cream in hand. It’s funny how I seem to remember all the days back then, being warm and sunny with clear blue skies. It probably rained just as much then, as it does now, but I suppose you just remember the good days, and time helps to blot out the bad.

At the end of the pier there were a couple of men fishing, and we stopped to watch for a while. I don’t recall them catching anything, but I watched in fascination all the same. As we turned away to walk back down the pier, I looked up at my dad and asked the fateful question – ‘Dad, can we go fishing?’

‘But we haven’t got any tackle son.’ he replied.

‘Oh please dad, we could get some, couldn’t we? Please.’

He turned to Ian’s dad and said, ‘what do you think George? Do you fancy it?’

‘Well, if it’s a nice day tomorrow, I suppose we could give it a try.’ he replied. ‘We passed a tackle shop up by the beach. We could pick up a few bits from there.’

So that was it, my first fishing trip was arranged, and I couldn’t wait.

The next day dawned, and the sun shone again. After breakfast, the four of us – Dad, George, Ian and I, set off to the tackle shop. George bought himself a small rod and reel, and Ian and I were kitted out with crab lines. Off we went to the pier, Ian and I running all the way. We just couldn’t wait to get started. Now neither George, nor my father, had ever fished before, and we were relying on them to let us know what to do, so it didn’t bode well for a large catch. However, the sun shone, we had supplies of lemonade and sandwiches, and we were enjoying it anyway. Hooks were baited and the lines thrown off the end of the pier, then we sat down just willing a fish to take the bait. Then it happened. Unbelievably, George uttered the incredible words – ‘I think I’ve got one!’

He hauled in the monster from the depths (it must have been all of six inches long). And we stared at it in disbelief.

‘What is it?’ asked Ian.

‘I don’t know.’ he replied.

One of the other anglers informed us that it was poisonous. ‘Be careful of those spines on the top.’ he said. Ian and I backed away at this, but we both wanted to catch one, and we cast out our lines again, as far as we could throw them. The time passed by in a flash, and all too soon dad said – ‘Come on you two, start packing up. We’d better get back because dinner will be ready.’

I didn’t catch anything that day, but I’d enjoyed every single minute of it, and I just couldn’t wait for the next time. Little did we realise that this was to be the start of something that was to form such a large part of my life, but if I could go back now, I wouldn’t change a thing.

Well not much anyway.

CHAPTER TWO – THE GOOD SAMARITAN

A couple of months later it was my ninth birthday and there was only one thing that I wanted – a fishing rod. The 29th October arrived and my prayers were answered. There it was, nine feet long, solid fibreglass and gleaming white, and I thought that it was wonderful. I couldn’t wait to christen it, and Dad promised to take me fishing on the Saturday, but we didn’t know where to go.

Saturday finally arrived, and I was up at 7 a.m. ‘Where are we going dad?’ I asked.

‘The chap at the shop recommended the Sharpness canal.’ he replied, so off we went. My dad dropped me off at 10am. and promised to pick me up in the evening. ‘Will you be alright, son?’ he asked, but I barely heard him because I was off down the bank to make my first cast. It seems incredible now, that you could leave a nine year old all day to fend for himself, but at the time it seemed perfectly alright, and I loved it.

I had a large float under which was a ledger weight and a large hook, onto which were impaled several maggots. I cast in and waited, and waited, and waited some more, but nothing happened, so I cast in again. The time seemed to fly by and before I knew it, there was dad coming along the bank. ‘Come on Steve, haven’t you had enough yet?’ was answered by – ‘Just one more cast Dad.’ How many times since then have I had just one more cast, I wonder?

‘Did you enjoy it?’ he asked. ‘It was wonderful Dad,’ I replied, ‘and next time I’m going to catch one.’

The next Saturday, Dad was working, so he couldn’t take me. Nothing so simple was going to stop me however, so I strapped the rod to the crossbar of my bike, and with a rucksack on my back, in which was the rest of my tackle, bait and sandwiches, I set off for the canal. This was a 28-mile round trip, but in my mind, it was well worth it. I arrived at the canal without mishap, and as before, fished all day without being disturbed by the fish. This continued for the next four or five weeks. I would bike it all the way to the canal each Saturday, fish all day, catch nothing, and ride all the way home. Now this is where my angling career could easily have ended. For although I enjoyed my days at the canal, there are only so many times that you can go and catch absolutely nothing, before even someone as keen as myself begins to get a little demoralised. Then one afternoon, along came this old chap (well he seemed old to me, but at the age of nine, most people seem old don’t they). He was walking along carrying his tackle and asked ‘How are you doing lad?’

‘I’ve been here every Saturday for the last five or six weeks, and I haven’t caught anything.’ I said.

‘Now let’s have a look at what you’re doing.’ At this he had a good look at my set-up, and the conversation then went something like this-

‘Ah, I think I can see where you’re going wrong. And where are you casting this?’

‘Just in the edge, over to the right.’

‘Why don’t you fish a little further out, it’s only nine inches deep there.’

‘Well, I tried to, but every time I cast it over there, my float went under, so I have been fishing here so that I could see my float.’

Incredible though it seems now, what I hadn’t realised was that the weight that I was using was far too heavy for the float. When I cast into deeper water, my float sunk out of sight and I had been fishing for all of this time in very shallow water, with my large weight lying on the bottom so that I could see the float. My new friend explained all this to me, and then gave me a smaller float (one that he had made himself), set up a basic shotting pattern and tied on a small hook to nylon. He then showed me how to attach a maggot to the hook without damaging it too much so that it wriggled (I had been putting the hook straight through the middle of the maggots before), set the depth at about four feet and showed me where to cast. Then off he went with the parting words ‘Good luck.’

I fished on with renewed confidence, and ten minutes later the float dipped. I was so surprised that I wasn’t quite sure what to do at first, and then I lifted the rod and felt a heavy weight on the end. I thought that I must have caught the bottom, but then I felt a movement on the end of the line, so I reeled in as fast as I could, and there it was, the most magnificent creature that I had ever seen. It was a gudgeon of about 1½ ounces, fairly and squarely hooked in the tail. To say that I was ecstatic was an understatement. After all this time I had caught one!

After about ten to fifteen minutes, I had calmed down enough to make another cast. So hooking on a fresh maggot as I had been shown, I cast out again to the same spot. A little while later the float dipped again, and I was soon looking at my second capture of the day which was a gudgeon again. This one was just slightly smaller than the first, but hooked in the top lip this time.

All too soon it was time for the long ride back, and I arrived home one very happy nine-year-old. Could anything ever be more fun than this? Isn’t fishing great!

I fished the canal many times after that, but never did see my friend again. Without his help I would probably never have gone on to appreciate all the thrills I was to encounter in this wonderful sport of ours.

CHAPTER THREE – TENCH

I fished the Sharpness canal for a further two years. I gradually gained experience and started to catch more and more as time passed – mainly roach and gudgeon, but with the odd small perch and skimmer bream.

One day I remember very clearly, and it could well have been my last fishing trip. I was halfway to the canal, on a lovely sunny morning. I was enjoying the ride in the sunshine, and was at the top of a long steep hill. As I started to freewheel down the hill, enjoying the easy ride, I began to slowly move the handlebars from side to side as I went down the slope. Suddenly I moved the handlebars too far, and the wheel turned right round. I slid down the tarmac on my side, taking the skin off my left arm and leg. Covered in blood, I was really worried – Was the rod alright?

Fortunately, the only thing damaged was myself, so I felt a great sense of relief. A woman came out from one of the roadside houses. She had seen the accident, and came rushing to my rescue. Bandages, lemonade and chocolate were administered, and I soon felt much better, and was ready to get on my way. Before I went, she gave me a couple of religious pamphlets to read while I was fishing. This led me to find a new technique. During the afternoon the fishing was very slow, so I started to read one of the pamphlets. Then I looked up to the sky and said out loud – ‘If you let me catch another fish today, I’ll be good for a week.’

Lo and behold, within ten seconds of me uttering those words, the float slid away, and I landed a three-ounce roach. About an hour later, I tried it again. This time it took about fifteen seconds before the float once again slid away, and a roach of about the same size joined the other in the keep-net. I tried this technique several times after that, but it never seemed to work again, so I didn’t feel too bad about not keeping my side of the bargain.

Unfortunately I was only to fish the canal a couple more times after that, then my father was promoted and we were off to Wiltshire. Our new house was only about a mile or so from a stretch of the Kennet and Avon canal at Semmington. We arrived during the close season so I was unable to fish straight away, but I walked up and down the canal dozens of times during the next few weeks, looking for a swim to fish on opening day. I finally settled on a swim halfway along the third section of canal, where there was a large set of lily pads. In the week before I was due to fish, I visited the swim each day and deposited a few maggots into the swim.

On the night of June 15th I was in bed early, with the alarm set for 2.30 a.m. but I just lay awake for hours, unable to sleep with the excitement. Eventually I managed to drop off to sleep, and the next thing I knew, the alarm was going. Groggily I reached over and turned it off, still half-asleep. There was no rolling over and going back to sleep today though, and I was soon up and dressed. Tackle strapped to the bike, I was on my way to the canal, pedalling as fast as I could. All the way I was dreading that someone else would be in my swim, but as I wheeled my bike along the towpath in the half-light, I approached the swim which was empty – Yeeessssss!

I cast in just as it got light, just a foot to the right of the pads, catapulted a dozen maggots on top of my float, and waited in anticipation. It didn’t take long and in less than two minutes the float bobbed once, then again, then slowly slid under. Holding my breath, and not knowing what to expect, I lifted the rod to find that the culprit was a rudd. I had never caught a rudd before, but this was no monster. It probably weighed a quarter of an ounce if that. Even so, despite its size I was pleased that I had caught, and soon put it into the keep-net, and cast back to the same spot. The previous episode was repeated several times and by eight o’clock I had perhaps a dozen rudd in the net, all of similar size. Then at about nine o’clock the float bobbed and slid away as before, but this time there was something much larger on the end.

I clung on for dear life as the fish made several attempts to get into the lily pads, but eventually I slid the monster over the rim of my landing net. I pulled the net onto the towpath and there it was – a massive perch.

I had never seen a fish so large and ran to my rucksack to get my scales. When I lifted the scales, the perch weighed 15 oz. – by far a personal best, and I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t even re-cast. I just packed up and rode home as fast as I could. I ran in the house and called out – ‘Dad, Dad, guess what I’ve caught? It was massive dad – 15 ounces.’

I had some breakfast, but it wasn’t long before I was on my way back along the towpath. My swim was still free, and soon my float was settling just to the right of the pads again. By now however, the sun was quite high in the sky, and no further bites were forthcoming. I fished on for three or four hours but didn’t receive a single bite. My mind began to wander, and I was looking along the canal at two swans slowly upending. When I looked back I couldn’t see my float. I looked again and saw the line slowly tightening. I lifted the rod; the tip pulled right round and the line was entering the pads. I had never experienced such power from a fish and I wasn’t quite sure how to counteract it, so I just hung on grimly for what seemed like hours, but was probably only about a minute or so. The fish lunged in the pads with me making no progress at all, then all of a sudden out it came, and on the surface lay an enormous tench.

I reached out with the landing net, my hands shaking, and all the time saying to myself over and over again – ‘Please don’t come off, please don’t come off.’

Eventually the fish slid over the net cord and was mine.

I hoisted it up on the scales and it registered 2 lbs.3 oz. What a monster! Two personal bests in the same day. I hadn’t caught a fish over 6 ounces before, and I never dreamt that I could catch fish of this size. What a start to my fishing on my new water.

Over the next few days I read everything that I could find about tench, especially my favourite book – Mr Crabtree. After reading this book, I decided that the way to catch these monsters was to fish with bread, and next time I went armed with my secret weapon – Mothers Pride.

A few days later I was there in the same swim at first light. I soaked a few slices of bread in the water, then scrunched it up in my hands and threw it all into my swim. I was set up this time with much stronger tackle – 4 lb. line and a size 10 hook, to which I added a piece of bread flake as I had seen in my books.

I cast into the same spot that I had put the soaked bread, and waited. After about ten minutes or so I noticed a few bubbles coming up just to the side of the pads. Then right around my float a large patch of bubbles broke the surface. I could hardly keep my hands from shaking. Then the float dipped twice and started to slide away and I struck hard. The hook connected with nothing, and the float ended up in the bush behind me. It was perhaps as well that I didn’t connect with the fish, because I struck so hard that the line would probably have snapped anyway.

Cursing myself, I untangled the line from the bushes and put some more soaked bread into the swim, quickly followed by my hook-bait. A little while later bubbles started to appear again, but this time I was prepared. The float bobbed once, then a second time, then a third time, and then slowly slid away. I waited until the float was out of sight and then lifted the rod. I felt the power of the fish once again, but this time I knew that my tackle would hold, and a couple of minutes later I had my second ever tench on the bank. I weighed it at one pound nine ounces – not as big as my first, but it didn’t matter a jot. I had caught it exactly how I had anticipated, with my new method, and was as happy as could be. I went on to catch three more tench that morning, and went home with my jumper covered in slime, and a large smile permanently fixed to my face.

CHAPTER FOUR – THE RIVER

I fished the same stretch of canal for the next couple of months, trying various swims. I was really pleased with my results, probably averaging two or three tench a day. This fishing game is easy I thought, and I felt that I knew all the answers. Unfortunately, this was to prove not to be so, and as we got into August my results started to slow down.

One afternoon, I was there as normal, when along the towpath came Pete. He was a year younger than me, and we got talking about all things fishy. We found that we got on really well, and were to remain good friends for many years. Pete had never fished the canal before, so I showed him how I was fishing. He told me that he normally fished the river. Now I had never fished a river, so he invited me to fish with him the next time he went, and we arranged to meet at three p.m. the next day.

The river in question was the Bristol Avon, just outside of Melksham. We walked down to the river and stopped about 50 yards from the bank. ‘Get down,’ said Pete ‘and don’t make any noise, or make any quick movements.’

Now this was something quite different. I hadn’t really used stealth as part of my armoury, in my fishing before. Pete explained that we would be fishing for chub, and that if they weren’t scared then they were not too difficult to catch, but if they were alarmed, then they would just disappear, and we would catch nothing. The tackle was not too dissimilar to what I had been using for the tench on the canal. We used the same size 10 hook with bread flake, and 4 lb. line. The float was a solid balsa. We crept down to the edge of the river, about 20 yards above a bush on our bank. Pete cast out and let the current take the float down towards the bush. He showed me how to mend the line, so that the current wouldn’t drag the float offline. When the float got to within about a yard from the bush, the float dipped and Pete connected with a large fish. He played it carefully upstream, and I netted it for him. On the bank we admired the chub. It weighed about 2½ lbs, and looked gorgeous. ‘Why don’t you have a try?’ said Pete.

I crept down to the edge and tried to copy what I had just seen Pete do. It took me a little while to get used to mending the line, but after a few casts I`d got the hang of it, and felt that I could control the tackle reasonably well. Unfortunately, all the disturbance had spooked the fish, so we went further downstream in search of another swim. We tried several more swims that afternoon, Pete catching two more chub, and myself catching one. I think it weighed about one and a half pounds, and I was delighted.

Pete and I fished the river for the rest of the summer, sometimes for the chub as before, but also for the roach and dace with lighter tackle and using casters and hemp, as well as maggots. Sometimes we went with Pete’s dad, who was also a keen fisherman. He took us to other stretches of the river. One of his favourite stretches was at Beanacre. This was a very wild part of the river and held some very large chub. The river here seemed huge, but I returned to look at it some years later and it was actually only about 15 feet across. Our huge river was not much more than a large stream!

All too soon the colder weather arrived, so our trips to the river became more infrequent, and before long another season was over.

CHAPTER FIVE – MATCHES

During the close season we had a project to keep us occupied – we started making floats.

We had two main models – A solid balsa float (for the river), and a float made out of a plastic drinking straw (which we named a sucker), for use on still waters. The sucker was copied from a float used by a famous match team from the north called ‘The Firm’. This group of anglers was winning match after match at the time, and we wanted to emulate them. The sucker was very simple really. A small weight (we used half a one-inch nail) was pushed into the bottom of the straw. Then both ends were sealed with Araldite, and the float was then painted and finally, varnished. The result was a float that cast very well, and was very sensitive. The balsa floats involved a lot more work. First the balsa wood was cut to the required length, and then it was sanded down by hand, until we had the required shape and a smooth finish. The balsa wood then had to be sealed. We tried several things for this, but finally settled on a 50/50 mixture of varnish and talcum powder. When this dried it went very hard, and could be sanded to a smooth finish. It then just needed painting and varnishing, and the float was complete.

After a bit of practice, the results were very professional. We had the idea that we could sell these to help fund our fishing, so off we went to the local tackle shop to try to negotiate a deal. Much to our parents’ surprise, the tackle shop owner bought some of our floats, and put them on the counter alongside some of the factory made floats. He sold them at about half the price of the factory made models. We didn’t get much for them, but in our minds it was the first step on the ladder to our first million. The floats sold reasonably well and the tackle shop owner bought two further consignments from us, but unfortunately when the fishing season started again we began to lose interest a little. – Fishing came first!

Pete and I were undecided where to fish on the opening day for the next season. We were torn between the canal for the tench, and the river for the chub, but events transpired to solve this problem for us. The river authority decided to straighten our favourite stretch of the river, just downstream of Melksham. All the bends and features were gone and in their place was a completely straight stretch of river, four foot deep and with no bank-side bushes or features at all. We sat and looked at it, nearly in tears. ‘How could they do this?’ we asked ourselves. ‘They’ve completely ruined it!’ Of course, it was done to try to prevent the river from flooding, but we were devastated. That was it then. Opening day would be spent at the canal.

We fished the canal for tench for the first three or four weeks, and then we got side-tracked by another branch of fishing – Match fishing. Our local club was holding a series of four junior matches and the first match was in two weeks’ time, on the straightened part of the river. Pete and I decided to enter, and thought that to stand the best chance we had better practice on the venue for the match. We decided that the best way to do this was to fish against each other; as if we were fishing a match, and thought that this could only help.

We fished our first Pete v Steve match the next day. We fished for four hours and then had a weigh in at the end. At the weigh in we both felt that we had done reasonably well, but I had won comfortably – by about 6 lb. to 4 lb. We fished three more practice matches, and each had the same result – us both catching well, but me winning easily.

On the day of the match, my confidence could not have been higher. We both drew what we thought were reasonable swims, and thought we both had a good chance of finishing in the top three. That is exactly what happened, we did both finish in the top three, but Pete won the match, and I was third. I couldn’t believe it. Don’t get me wrong, I was really pleased for Pete, but after beating him every single time in our practice matches, I found it hard to take that he had beaten me in the real thing.

The next match was on a small local lake, stocked well with small roach and bream. The practice sessions followed the same course as the previous ones, with once again both of us catching well, but me just coming out on top. We were averaging between seven and eight pounds of fish each in practice, and were both very confident. On the day of the match, we drew swims that were some way apart, so we wished each other luck and headed off to our swims. The match went very well for me, and at the weigh in I had caught just over eleven pounds of fish – much more than I had expected and much more than anyone near me.

I had convinced myself that I had won easily, but yes, you’ve guessed it. Round the corner came Pete with a great big smile on his face. ‘How much Steve?’ he asked.

‘Eleven pounds two ounces’ I said smiling. ‘How about you?’ At this he took the slip out of his pocket and showed it to me. On it was written Twelve pounds one ounce. He’d done me again!

The next match followed on in the same manner. Pete first and me second. This was getting to be a habit! In the last match, I finally managed to beat him, and I think even Pete was pleased. I didn’t win though. I managed second place, and Pete was third. On looking back though, we had both done really well in our first year in match fishing and we couldn’t wait for more.

CHAPTER SIX – TAKING ON THE BIG BOYS

In the winter, Melksham A.A. used to hold an open match on the river, and some of the top anglers in the country came to fish it, so we decided to go along and watch. We both sat behind one of our great heroes (Ivan Marks). We sat spellbound as we watched him fish and we saw Ivan catch several fish of over a pound in weight, which he brought to the net with as little disturbance as if he was landing a minnow. Pete and I looked at each other and vowed that one day we would be that good.

That year, the Melksham senior team was short of members, so they decided to draft in some of the juniors to make up the numbers. As Pete and I were the top two juniors at the time, we were picked to fish the next winter league match. Off we went on the coach with all the older anglers, feeling a little inadequate but determined to do our best. The venue was the river Frome, which neither of us had even seen before. We fished as hard as we could and although neither of us managed to finish in the frame, we both caught fish and I finished second in my section, with Pete finishing fourth in his section. So we both gained valuable points for the team, and we were more than happy with our first match against the men.

We fished the whole winter season for the Melksham seniors, and were really pleased with the results. Again, neither of us had managed to get into the frame, but we had accrued one section win apiece. We’d also only had one blank between us – to yours truly in the third match. We decided that now that we had gained a little experience, we would enter the next open. With this in mind, we started to practice as often as we could on the stretch of river that the match was due to be fished on. We thought that, although we didn’t have the experience of some of the top matchmen that would be fishing, local knowledge should count for something, and we still felt quietly confident.

After practising time after time on the river we felt we needed a change, so we decided to have a practice match against each other on a small stream just the other side of the canal. We had fished this stream several times in the past. It held a stock of dace, roach and gudgeon, with the odd small chub. The match was for four hours, and we thought that three or four pounds would be a good weight. We picked two swims quite close to each other, and tossed a coin for choice of swims. I called heads, and heads it was, so I chose the downstream swim.

The match started with both of us catching a few small roach and dace, but Pete’s swim seemed to dry up as the match went on, whereas I was catching steadily and was getting some of the better fish too. With about twenty minutes of the match left, it was all over bar the shouting. I must have had over four pounds of fish in my net, whereas Pete had probably got less than two pounds of fish in his. He had given up by this stage but all of a sudden he shouted out ‘Oh bu**er, I’ve got caught on the bottom’. He heaved away to try to free his line when he suddenly realised that the bottom was moving.

He’d hooked a big fish!

The battle went on for some time. The fish couldn’t move far in such a small stream, but it wasn’t going to give up easily. Eventually up it came, an enormous bream, foul-hooked in the bottom fin. We had never even seen a bream in that stream before, and never saw another, even though we tried the same spot several times. The bream weighed just over five pounds, and was far and away the largest fish that either of us had ever seen, let alone caught. I was speechless. I had absolutely slaughtered Pete all through the match, only to have victory swept away from me by a foul-hooked bream in the last half-hour.

Pete just smiled and said – ‘You know Steve, I was thinking of pooling our match winnings and splitting it equally between us, but I don’t think I could afford it!’ At this he just turned and ran, before I could get