Are You Ultra-Carpy?
What made you ultra-carpy back in the seventies, eighties and nineties, and has it changed in the twenty-first century? Not forgetting the crucial question: is it even possible to achieve ultra-carpiness by design?
During the late 1970s when I was an impressionable teenager riddled with carp fever, to be ultra-carpy you needed—at the very least—an old army jumper with patches on the shoulders and camo trousers. In short, for a decade or more, looking like Kevin Maddocks (with exception of the ‘It’s fun to stay at the YMCA’ moustache) was essential! I should add that a carpy beard in the style of Peter Springate or Chris Yates was desirable, but alas, all I could ever manage was a wispy covering of bum fluff.
Another essential element was being an extreme secret squirrel. Even if you were blanking your arse off, people would then be suspicious, think you were onto something—a new rig, bait, or perhaps a mysterious cultish carpy practice revealed to you at dawn by the carp gods. And it is worth mentioning that back in the day visitors to your swim were not encouraged. The bait bucket was always stored safely away in the bivvy and all rigs were tucked out of sight in case one of the punishers or sheep strayed your way. It should also be noted that from the 90s onwards, ultra-carpy anglers never smiled in their catch photos or looked at the camera. A happy, smiling face, staring down the lens immediately marked you out as a complete noddy.
And now to the crucial area of tackle and technique. This is a tricky topic, as there were two distinct camps. Those, and I count myself among them, who viewed Chris Yates in his prime, let’s say from 1972 through to the capture of the record from Redmire on 16th June 1980, as the ultimate ultra-carpy angler. Chris delighted in using vintage tackle and sleeping on the ground; and was rather disinterested in new-fangled trends like long-range casting and employing bite alarms to allow the dubious practice of sleeping while still fishing. Instead, he relied on watercraft, stealth and intuition, creeping around the margins with sweetcorn and a float.
Others scoffed at this approach and were convinced that ultra-carpiness could only be achieved by embracing the technological revolution. By the 1980s, their swims had matching carbon rods, sleek Shimano or Daiwa reels, Optonics, a rod pod and monkey climbers. They were skilled in tying variations of the Hair rig, making their own secret boilies and could cast to the horizon. In other words, during the 80s many were convinced that to be ultra-carpy you had to look like you were from Essex, which fortunately I am. And although I had a Barbour jacket and did mostly creep about with a tin of corn, I lived in army greens, used carbons and was an early adopter of the Gardner rod pod, which I recall thinking gave me a decent splash of carpiness.
This great schism in the carping fraternity was healed by the rise of Terry Hearn, who seemed to embrace both traditions; someone we could all agree was the embodiment of carpiness. Oh, how we flocked to the Neville alarms, SS300s, baggy jumpers and floppy hair. How we waited with bated-breath for word from the lakes of southern England, desperate for him to commit his adventures and mind-blowing captures to the written page so we could scour for ways to imitate his undoubted ultra-cult status.
But the burning question is: have the ingredients of ultra-carpiness changed in the third decade of the twenty-first century?
Well, firstly we should note one thing that has not changed across the decades, and that is as true now as it was back in 1972 when Yatesy joined the Redmire syndicate: you absolutely must consistently catch chunks. Having all the gear but no idea, still, and never will, cut it.
The first difference which comes to mind is that these days having a carpy hat seems to be essential, preferably one like Tom Stokes’s. This will definitely give you the air of a seasoned carper, one who has been out in all weathers and knows his onions when it comes to catching crafty old carp.
Another new trend has been the leaping carp tattoo, but the jury is out on this one, as it could take you into the territory of ‘trying too hard’. I would, though, advocate a leaping carp engraved on your kettle, as it gives a certain aesthetic to the undoubted ultra-carpy practice of brewing up.
A few other things have clearly changed. Keeping quiet is now considered extremely odd. Today, you are expected to share everything on social media, immediately, including what you had for breakfast, lunch and dinner, how your bait and tackle sponsor products are game-changers, and horror of horrors, how you are feeling. However, I think this is an extremely dubious activity for ultra-carpiness. And it should be noted that the high priest of ultra-carpiness is nowhere to be seen on social media. In fact, I would go as far as saying that ultra-carpy anglers are not on Facebook or Instagram. Ultra-cult carpers are not social media wannabes!
I think a beard is still a good move, but even in my late fifties growing one continues to be out of reach for my malfunctioning follicles, and the exuberant hair now growing from my nose and ears just doesn’t seem to have the same impact. But if you can push out an impressive face bush, I wouldn’t recommend too much trimming and grooming, and steer clear of anything that smacks of designer clothing. Ultra-cult carpers are not hipsters!
There is a modern trend for under exposing your photos, which while it creates an ultra-carpy mood, doesn’t really fool anyone if they are fish caught from over-stocked puddles. Yes, to be ultra-carpy these days, you must fish and catch from the right waters. But the rule that you shouldn’t smile or look at the camera still holds.
Covering your rod handles and water bottles with camo tape might make a small difference, but I’m not convinced. Similarly, the move back to cork handles seems like an affectation. I would also avoid anything too bling. Shiny new reels and rods that require a mortgage, a brand-new bivvy or luxury motor in the car park are all steps in the wrong direction. And I think it is obvious that fishing straight out of the van is a massive own goal. Van w*nkers are not, and never will be, ultra-carpy!
That just about covers the essential points, but before you make your next move on the road to ultra carpiness, I must raise the big fat wrong-un in the room, and that is: if you think you are ultra-carpy, then you definitely are not!
