by Shaun Harrison;

Whoops, I was a little too late last month in getting my work in on time – not like me at all. So, with possible relief for some, you were spared my often inordinate ramblings. I had half written my piece then found myself desperately running out of hours of the day. I had a French trip looming and with just one evening left before my ferry was due to leave I still hadn’t sorted out any tackle. Talk about not being prepared!

The tackle was thrown in the motor, a bit of bait over the top, then a last minute thought about cold weather clothing and I was away. Article unfinished, tackle unsorted, brain all over the place and a tidal wave forecast to come down the east coast to coincide with my ferry crossing – and I am not joking!

My first holiday in two years without having a cameraman in tow and I was as ill-prepared as I could have been had I planned for weeks not to prepare – if you know what I mean!


The fact was, I was finally escaping. I must admit, to my mind it wouldn’t have mattered too much if my tackle hadn’t been in the car – I desperately needed a break. Yes, I had been away; I had been to France a few weeks before and was incredibly lucky to catch two huge carp, but when you are aware all week of a camera pointing at you, waiting to begin filming at the flick of a switch, you can’t relax as much as you would perhaps like. You are sitting there, knowing only too well that you may be being filmed in the next few moments. Carp don’t give you warnings on waters you don’t know. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not over-bothered how my hair looks. I mean, I have lived with curly hair syndrome since I was born – it’s absolutely anyone’s guess which way it will be pointing when I wake up, and will stay that way until I wash it! Neither am I over-bothered if I’ve been sleeping on my beard funny or if I have dirty fingers, or fish slime on my sleeves, but there are limits. No one wants to be remembered on film as the person who had half his dinner down his chest, or red wine stains in the corner of the mouth, or eyes which won’t focus and a voice which comes across in a drunken slur, or tripping over on the way to the rods, or passing wind and belching non-stop whilst playing a carp. I guess what I am really trying to say is that when a camera crew is hanging around you can’t quite relax as much as you would perhaps like.

Anyway, the tidal wave didn’t arrive, the east coast was flooded but not as badly as had been anticipated, despite a lot of people being evacuated from their houses for obvious safety reasons. It did make my ferry incredibly late though. I had done as I usually do – I arrived much earlier than the actual ferry booking time. The problem with living so far up country is that you can never tell if you are going to be at Dover in three hours or seven hours. I generally allow ample time and have usually been scuttled straight onto an earlier ferry. I made excellent time this time around after the obligatory stop over at The Tackle Box to stock up on those bits that I realised on my way down I had forgotten. Upon arriving at the final barrier to collect my ticket I was duly informed I wouldn’t be getting on a ferry for about four hours – great!

 

Now I can easily waste four hours behind a set of rods, but four hours at the ferry terminal? I find them such boring places with nothing to do. Fortunately I managed to get an out pass and drove myself back into Dover to while away a bit of time. Not the best start to my first break in two years, but after two years’ solid graft building my business, I really couldn’t have cared less – well, not much anyway. Yes, I was on holiday, it seemed an absolute age and turned out to be two years to the same week (I think) since my last chill-out.

Chill-out did I say? Well, I certainly did that. I picked an awful week to take a break with night-time temperatures hitting –6°. I caught a nice fish the first morning, then started to struggle, then struggle some more. I had a couple of very cruel occurrences during the week with the line parting, on one occasion on the take, and shortly after hooking a fish on another. On difficult big-fish venues you really can’t afford to be having this happen. All I can presume is that a mussel had taken a liking to my line in both instances. I was fishing with my favourite rugged conditions stuff and it still cut as though it had been cotton. I shouldn’t complain. You can’t expect to have a major result every time. At least I saved a fair bit by not having cameraman fees to sort out! Who says I’m careful with money?

So a long week’s slog saw me doing everything I could think of to try to tempt a take. I moved. I fished different areas. I fished on bait. I fished single baits. I fished with minimal bait. I altered rigs and generally exhausted my usually effective ‘get me out of a mess’ methods. The only thing I didn’t persevere with was sitting on a bed of bait for a long period – but this has never been part of my carp angling. Had it been the beginning of January when the fish had semi acclimatised then it wouldn’t have hit them so hard, but the first major cold spell usually does, and it did. All in all, I felt I had fished well but luck this time wasn’t on my side. I had travelled to France alone to meet up with my good friend the Carp Fest mega-caster Mehdi Daho (alias ‘the smiling Frenchman’). Mehdi caught a common and got tangled up with a big fish which was towing gear. Fortunately he landed it and we were able to return it to a normal life without dragging lead around. One thing is for sure – I will be back for revenge.

Best Fishes, Shaun

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