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From Gudgeon To Carp
From Gudgeon To Carp
From Gudgeon To Carp
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From Gudgeon To Carp

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From gudgeon to carp is the story of an angler and his fishing life so far, 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 yet larger quarry. But all these different fish lead on to the ultimate prize - Carp.
At the time of writing, the author has been an angler for over forty years and for the last twenty years he has fished almost exclusively for carp. He has not sought publicity or fished the high profile circuit waters, preferring instead to fish on the quieter less pressured venues. This does not make him any less of angler however, as the capture of many large carp, including a personal best mirror carp of 48 lbs.6 oz. would seem to testify.
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.

LanguageEnglish
PublisherSteve Graham
Release dateFeb 26, 2013
ISBN9781301336258
From Gudgeon To Carp
Author

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.

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    Book preview

    From Gudgeon To Carp - Steve Graham

    From Gudgeon To Carp

    By Steve Graham

    Smashwords Edition

    Copyright 2013 Steve Graham

    All rights reserved

    This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you`re reading this book and you did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thankyou for respecting the hard work of this author.

    Discover other titles by Steve Graham at smashwords.com

    Contents

    Chapter One - In The Beginning

    Chapter Two – The Good Samaritan

    Chapter Three – Tench

    Chapter Four – The River

    Chapter Five – Matches

    Chapter Six – Taking On The Big Boys

    Chapter Seven – Fluff Chucking

    Chapter Eight – Seatrout

    Chapter Nine – Salmon

    Chapter Ten – First Encounters

    Chapter Eleven – ‘Proper’ Carp Fishing

    Chapter Twelve – Liverhorne Dams

    Chapter Thirteen – Pastures New

    Chapter Fourteen – Another Challenge

    Chapter Fifteen – Return To Valleymill

    Chapter Sixteen – Moving On Again

    Chapter Seventeen – Millington Gravel Pits

    Chapter Eighteen – Copton Again

    Chapter Nineteen – ‘Al’

    Chapter Twenty – Foreign Fields

    Chapter Twenty-One – Moorlands Revisited

    About The Author

    Other Books By Steve Graham

    For my wife Anita, who has put up with much over the years.

    For the large part she has been a fishing widow, but when I was at home she has had to put up with bait-making, boiling of hemp and other various concoctions in her pristine kitchen.

    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 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 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 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

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