The 18th Hole

Dave Magalhaes

Clanger

At the end of June, I joined a local lake on a private golf course. It’s a picturesque lake of about four or five acres, with a stock of about 19 carp. Out of those 19 or so carp, it’s the three bigger one’s that everyone’s after, Polo, Clanger and Whitescale. These were now averaging mid-thirties, with Polo coming out at a lake record 37lb to my good mate Martin at the start of the season.

Some very good angler’s have fished the lake over the years, people such as Terry Hearn, Steve Mogford, Alan South and Alan Welch to name a few. It has changed a bit since they fished it, nowhere near as hard. I remember hearing stories of people blanking for 30 or 40 nights before they’d have a take! Although in my eyes it had become easier over the years, it is still a tricky little water and unless you were willing to work for your fish, it could still be very hard. 

My first visit to the lake was in the winter of the previous season. My mate Danny took me and his mate Cabby John up for an evening mid-week. We were only there for a few hours, I think we had a couple of bream out between us, but I decided there and then that I wanted to angle for the fish that lived there. Although I wasn’t a member, I did go back before the end of the season for an overnighter with my mate Chris. He had done very well on there that season, taking two of the bigger fish (Polo and Whitescale) and about eight or nine of the others in about five sessions. I remember a guy coming round to us during the morning of our overnighter, telling us of his capture of polo the week before, his first fish from the lake in three months. The guy was obviously well chuffed with his capture, but Chris being Chris couldn’t help but wind the guy up. Chris told this guy that he had only fished the lake a few times in the autumn and had had about ten fish, and that if a decent angler fished it in the summer, then they would easily catch most of the lakes stock. This guy was not impressed and tried to make a point of the lake ‘actually’ being quite hard. Chris just looked up at the bloke and said ‘ Na this lake’s a piece of piss mate’, and just carried on tying his rig. The bloke, in a bit of a huff just walked off. When he was gone, Chris and me fell about laughing. Chris is always quite happy to wind someone up, calling everyone except his mates a ‘noddy’.  Just to show he wasn’t all talk, he even had a 22lb’er that same morning.

Polo

My first session was at the start of July. I had decided long ago that I would do most of my time in a swim known as ‘gooseshit’. To me, it just seemed like the most obvious choice of swims, as you could cast out to the bar area where the ducks were regularly fed bread. You could often see the fish in amongst the ducks and swans, trying to grab a loose bit of bread or mop up what sank to the bottom. These areas have always been very productive on other lakes I have fished, so I guessed that it would be the same here.

That first night I was proved right. It was about 10.30 in the evening, Martin and me were standing on the patio chucking bread in front of one of the lights, when one of the bigger fish came up and started taking it. Although your not allowed to fish off the patio, we weren’t about to miss this opportunity. Martin was a bit hesitant, so I grabbed the rod off him and lowered the bread a couple of feet in front of the fish, it came straight up and took it. I tried walking round to one side where nobody could see me as I didn’t fancy getting into trouble on my first night. For a few moments the fish didn’t even know it was hooked, then suddenly it woke up and made a powerful run out into the lake. Now, I always play my fish off the clutch as I had learnt long ago that, unless you wanted very sore knuckles after playing a big fish with the backwind, you were much better off playing them using the clutch. For some reason Martin had tightened the clutch right up and no sooner had the fish started on it’s run, the line parted. I stood there speechless, knowing full well that I had just lost one of the 30s. Before I even had time to give him an ear bashing, another fish came up and started taking some bread. I ran round to my swim as fast as I could and got a rod together. I was back in a flash, all I did was cut the line above the leadcore and tied a hook on. The fish was still there, so I lowered the free-lined piece of bread in front of it, and again, no sooner had the it touched the water, when a pair of white lips came out and grabbed the bread. It charged out towards the centre of the lake just like the first fish did, although powerful, I knew it wasn’t big. After a spirited fight, Martin passed me the net and it went in first time. First blood in the shape of a pretty mirror weighing 22.12.

Prettyone

Martin gave me a pat on the back and shook my hand then headed home, he only came up to see how I was getting on.  I went back to my swim well chuffed to have caught so soon.

I awoke early the next morning, I had set the alarm to go off before the sun started to rise at about 4.15am. There are two big lights on the patio which come on at dusk and go off when the bar closes, usually at about mid-night. I wanted my baits to be nice and tight to these lights, as this was where the fish were used to being fed. I felt that to get the best presentation I would be much better off lowering in the baits by hand. This meant getting up before any members of staff turned up, casting onto the 18th green, going round and walking them to the patio. Then it was just a matter of swinging them out by hand, about 2 or 3 yards in front of the lights and throwing about twenty freebies nice and tight around the hookbait. Although it was simple, the whole procedure took about 15 minutes for each rod. The third rod was cast very tight to a set of pads to the left of the swim about thirty yards out with about forty baits catapulted around it. The bait I was using was Tails-ups Protavit-Liver in 20mm. I don’t usually like big baits, but the bream in this lake are an absolute mare. Anything smaller, and the baits wouldn’t be in the water long enough for the carp to get a look in.

 All sorted, I jumped back into the sack for some shut-eye. A couple of hours later, there were a couple of bleeps from the pads rod. When I got over to it all was tight, so I struck. This fish felt much better, staying deep and moving very slowly. As it neared it began to liven up, charging around the margins in front of me. I had no choice but to get in, the gooseshit itself is situated on a small island, and the fish will do their best to go all the way around it. This fish fought extremely hard, and no matter how hard I pulled, it just wasn’t giving in. Eventually though it did get tired and bobbed up a couple of feet in front of me and I netted it first time, ‘Clanger’ was mine. On the scales she went 34.12. I sacked her up and called Martin to tell him of the capture. He congratulated me and said he’d be down after work to take the photos. I quickly recast and topped up with another 20- 30 baits. I laid down on my bedchair, but was to excited to get some sleep, so put the kettle on for a cuppa. I don’t know what it is about carp anglers, but we all seem to be manic tea drinkers. I’m no exception, and am always quite happy to wonder over to someone’s bivvy and ponce a cup or three.

I was half way through my tea, when I heard a couple of bleeps from the pads rod. I looked round just in time to see the bobbin fly up. Although it felt like a bream all the way in, I was soon netting a common of just under 20lb. I took a couple of shots of it on the mat (one of each side), then slipped her back. So once again I recast that rod back to the same spot and put the kettle on for a celebratory cuppa and some breakie. Once finished, I jumped back into the bag for some much-needed sleep.

 I got up at about mid-day and put the kettle on. I was just sitting there drinking my tea and watching the golfers, when three oriental women strolled up. They were attempting to chip the ball over the lake and onto the 18th green (about 50-80 yards depending how close you landed to the water). I remember thinking to myself, This’ll be funny, the 20 odd blokes who went before them were useless, sending balls all over the place, one actually hitting the bar roof! So what are these three gonna be like. “Watch the windows”, one bloke shouted out, quickly followed by laughter from the surrounding people. You could almost sense their fear, as they were like sitting targets.

Well, the ladies proved us all totally wrong. I remember the first lady landing about ten yards short of the flag, ‘Lucky shot’ I thought to myself. The next one landed about the same, ‘She was a bit lucky too’. I kid you not when I tell you that the third lady chipped it perfectly over, and the ball rolled straight into the hole. Now if that was me, I would have milked the applause from the crowd. She didn’t say a word; she just put her club back in her bag and strolled off to the bar. 

I was just sat there baffled by what had just happened, when the right hand rod gave a short burst of bleeps. Looking up, I could see that the ducks were being fed and thought that maybe the swans had reached down and picked up my bait. Then I had a drop back, so reeled in quickly and struck…..I was in! This one didn’t do much at all. It was definitely a carp as it was putting a decent bend in the rod. When I netted it, I couldn’t believe my eyes. This was the ugliest carp I’d seen. It had one gill plate missing, it’s fins were rotting away, it’s skin was covered in some sort of fungus, it was blind in one eye, I didn’t want to touch it. At slightly over 19lb it wasn’t massive, but it was a fish none the less and it showed I was doing something right.

My mate Danny had told me about a deepish hole just off the green which had produced fish in the past, as I couldn’t get the rod back out to the light, I decided that now would be a good time to try this hole out. So out went a small pva bag (esp leadcore) with a tiny amount of pellets and about four or five chops. I wasn’t too fussed really as I was only doing a one nighter and would be shooting off in a couple of hours and was already well chuffed with what I had caught.

My mate Callum rang me to see how I was getting on. I told him what I’d had and he had just commented on how well I was doing when the recast rod just one toned. I shouted down the phone that I’d call him back, and struck into the fish. Something didn’t feel right. By the speed of the take it was obviously a carp, but by the way it was fighting maybe it was just a big bream. When it rolled about ten yards out I thought that I’d hooked a monster Chub, but then the penny dropped and soon realised that it was one of the newly stocked grass carp. It was the smaller of the two, and had only come out a couple of days previous at 12lb, and so decided not to stress it out anymore and just slipped it straight back.

I put on another little bag and cast it back out too roughly the same spot. Shortly afterwards my girlfriend rang me, she suggested that I do another night as I was doing so well. She said that she’d bring me up some more food and some clothes. Why not I thought to myself, I haven’t got anything to lose, I’d only be sitting round the house anyway.

At about 10.30pm the bar was almost empty, so I decided to walk my baits round to the lights. While there, I could see a couple of carp swimming around by the lights. One was the scabby thing I’d caught earlier that day; the other was much bigger and must have been one of the three bigguns. I waited for them to drift away before dropping in my baits. I got back to my swim and jumped into the bag sure of receiving a take any minute.  Two hours later and nothing had happened, so I decided to call it a night and passed out on the bedchair.

Something woke me early in the morning. Looking down at the rods, the light on the left-hand alarm was on. The line looked extremely tight so I went and sat down next to it. The bobbin was shaking, so I gave the line a little tug. It tugged back, so I struck. Straight away it was obvious it was a good fish. It wasn’t doing a lot, just staying deep and coming in slowly occasionally kiting to one side, then to the other. When I got her close to the bank she tried to make her way into some snags to my right, but with a bit of persuasion she came back. She bobbed up, and I netted her first time. On the mat it was obviously one of the better fish. I checked it’s dorsal and there were two little holes, Polo was mine. On the scales she went 36.01, that’ll do for me. I rang Danny; he was fishing another water just down the road. It was a bit early (about 4.30am), but he said he would be down in a couple of hours to do the pictures. Dan’s quite good to have as a mate as he’s a bit nifty with the old camera.

 True to his word, at 6.30am his little black Peugeot came tearing into the carpark. ‘Well done, you spawny bastard’ were his first words. He shook my hand and we got Polo out of the sack for the photos. It behaved impeccably while we posed for Danny to snap away. I slipped her back shortly after, thanking her as she went for making my day. After a short chat, Danny left me to it and shot off back to his lake to get the rods back out. His lake sounded really good, a handful of commons over 30lb and a possible 40lb mirror! Definitely one for the future I thought to myself.

I jumped back into the sack for some shuteye, having already put the rod back out earlier after sacking Polo.

My girlfriend woke me a short while later to see what time I’d be home. There were a few things I wanted to get done, so packed up soon after and went home well chuffed to have caught two of the bigguns so soon.

My next visit to the lake was about a week later. I pulled into the carpark and looked over at the goose. It was free, so I carried my gear round and dumped it in the swim. It was very hot that day, and the carp were bow waving about out in the middle of the lake. I set up a floater rod, grabbed a bag of bread and went for walk around the lake. As I came round to an area known as the pads I could see the two grassies just sitting under a bush, soaking up the sun. From speaking to people who had fished the lake in the past, it had become apparent that the fish were fond of this area when it was calm and sunny. The water is slightly shallower here, plus they have got cover from the pads and the surrounding trees. There were no other carp obvious in the area, but I figured it wouldn’t be long before they made their way over. I climbed up a tree that gave me a good viewing point over the whole bay and pulted out a couple of slices worth of bread. I watched the grassies with interest, they had moved out from under the bush and were now just mooching about under the bread, almost as if they were investigating it. Eventually the bigger of the two took a piece. Then another, then another. The smaller one, spurred on by his bigger brother also started taking some. A dark shape began to slowly rise from the water beneath them, within the space of about 15 minutes, most of the lakes stock was there all racing to grab the next piece of bread. I sat and watched them, not in any rush to get a bait out, I was just happy to sit and watch them. From where I was they would probably have spooked if I had tried to get a bait out anyway. Some of them had started bow waving out of the bay towards the carpark. They appeared to be taking one or two pieces and then swimming off before coming back to get some more. I slowly made my way down from the tree and walked round to one of the swims that they were passing. I waited till there was nothing about then punched the floater out the 25 yards or so that they seemed to be travelling at. I figured I could intercept them as they made there way to and from the pads. Taking my eyes off the water for a second to sit down, I looked back up in time to see the controller beginning to skid along the surface, so I struck. The rod took on its battle curve; other fish around it bolted off into the middle of the lake. This fish tried to follow them, it went on a powerful first run but soon turned. Slowly, slowly it came back and I netted another common. This one again weighing just under 20lb.

I tried in vain to tempt another, but they had soon had enough and disappeared into the murky depths. I decided that now would be a good time to set up camp on the goose.

Around the back of the goose is a small bay which is inaccessible to the angler, there was one small gap amongst the trees, but was not big enough to really fish from. This small bay really took to my liking and I was sure that the fish were getting in there at some point during the day. I made a cuppa and sat down to watch this little bay, something caught my attention. Staring hard into the water I could just make out a ghosty gently swimming around. As I watched it, I began to notice two darker shapes along side it. I watched them until they disappeared, then decided to make this gap a little more accessible. After snapping a few branches here and there, I flicked out some bread to see if anything would show. Whilst looking out into open water, I heard that tell-tale sound…..slurp, I heard it again. It sounded near. Slurp, it sounded very near. Looking down, no more than foot out under an overhanging branch, I could see a white pair of lips just pushing out and sucking at the bread which had fallen in the edge. I dared not breathe, it was so close I could have touched it on the head. Grabbing the rod on the floor next to me, I slowly put a bit of crust on and gently lowered it into the water. Because it was so close, I was holding the rod at about the fourth eye. The fish slowly neared, then ever so gently pushed its lips out of the water and sucked in the bread. Wooosh….. I was in. It immediately headed straight out and right, I jumped in and let it go. Eventually it stopped and turned back, after that first run it tired quickly and was in the net in a matter of minutes. This one looked a bit better and on the scales it went 23.15. A beautiful fish known as the pretty one. Martin and my mate Gus popped down to do the photos. They both stayed for a few hours and float fished for bream with my marker rod. They ended up with about a dozen between them (on 14lb line and a size8 hook!). That night passed quietly and in the morning I lost a carp due to a hook pull, so packed up and went home. I hate losing fish, all the effort you put into getting the take only for them to drop off.

I returned a few days later. I had planned to do two nights, but found myself packing up within12 hours having lost one on all three rods in quick succession. The two on the lights actually going off within seconds of each other. It was all going so well, and then I’d lost four on the trot.

View from the Goose

“I’ll learn you,” I thought to myself as I threw everything into the car. I drove straight to the tackle shop and bought some bigger hooks. I returned a week later, sure of getting my revenge. It was still dark when I arrived early in the morning and cast one to the pads and then got the other two on the lights. An hour after casting out, I had a belter on the pads rod and soon had another upper double common in the net, this was more like it. I recast the rod and topped up with about twenty baits. Shortly after the pads rod signalled yet another take. This one headed straight into the snags opposite. After a little while of pulling as hard as I dare, it was beginning to move, when the hook pulled and then got caught on one of the pads. After a short while of pulling this way and that, I had to pull for a break. I threw the rod into the bushes in disgust and promised my revenge with the remaining two rods. After a few hours of feeling sorry for myself, I decided to give the little gap in the trees another go. I remember sitting, watching the water when I thought I could here a buzzer. Running over to my rods I could see that it was my right hand rod. Lifting into it, it was obviously another good fish. In the back of my mind I knew which fish it was, don’t ask how, but I knew. It kited hard to the left, coming in quick. It kept going round so I jumped in. There was no way I could stop it, it knew exactly where it was going. Looking up I could see that if I could just lift the rod high enough and get it over one of the old rotting little trees then I could go round and play the fish from the left hand gap where my third rod usually goes. Sod it. I pulled off some extra line and lifted the rod up. A matter of inches prevented the line from clearing the top, just then the line tightened as the fish went on a run…….SNAP. I closed my eyes. Looking back up, there was about two-foot off the top of the tree missing. I quickly reeled in the slack while running over to the gap……yes, it was still on. My 15lb GR60 had held up well. Again I jumped in, this fish was determined to go all the way round the island, I grabbed my spool, no way was this fish getting anymore line. It turned, now kiting hard back to the right. No way, I stepped off the marginal shelf. Up to my chest in water, I was not letting this one get away. Slowly, slowly she began to tire. She rolled just in front of me. As she did so I got a glimpse of those big white scales along its back. After a few more tense moments she finally rolled into the net and I let out a cheer, Whitescale was mine. On the scales it went 34.03, a little down in weight, but I didn’t care. Martin once again turned up to do the honours. This time I almost swallowed my ears smiling so much.

Whitescale

 Martin and me walked back over to my rods I still had one out. He looked down at the rod and jokingly asked if he could have the next fish on it, I looked at him and smiled. As I lay my bedchair up against my rucksack, all that was left was to reel in that last rod. We both stood there taking one last look at the lake, I smiled to my self, “told you I’d learn ya”. The remaining rod just one toned. I struck into it; yes I'm in. No sooner had I hit into it, when it dropped off. I could feel the lake putting two fingers up at me saying, “no you didn’t”.

DM