Carping Allegedly - January 23'

Battle of the Mozzi Killers
So, Wolf and Trakker, and more recently Gardner Tackle, have all launched pieces of USB-rechargeable, in-bivvy gadgetry to hopefully rid us of the age-old problem of mosquitoes eating us alive. 

I am reliably informed that female mosquitoes have a life span of just a couple of weeks, and that males are expected to live for only half that time, but let’s be honest, anything that has the potential to shorten their life even further is well worth a bit of financial investment. As good as these three zappers no doubt are, I was slightly confused by the fact that all come part and parcel of a bivvy light. I would have thought such light sources would do little but attract the attention of the little midges and bugs that we’re aiming to send to their makers, but hey, what do I know?

I have recently invested some of my hard-earned on the Gardner Mozzi Lamp. I am now counting the days to when I will be dozing in the bivvy in France after a long, hot summer’s day, and awoken by the crackle of one of the little blighters being fried to death. At a mere 19.99 of your Earth pounds, the Gardner Mozzi Lamp strikes me as a bargain, and it doubles as a multi-functional bivvy lamp. It also has the added, and very useful advantage of being rechargeable via its built-in solar panel on the top.

My time-served approach for combating the mozzies has long been to lather myself in Avon Skin So Soft body lotion, which I have on good authority is also used by members of the special forces for the same thing. Whether there is any truth in that, I have no idea, but there is no questioning that it works.

There are pros and cons when covering yourself in a rather fragrant body lotion whilst on the bank, of course. On the plus side, you, like me, will maintain the complexion of an eighteen-year-old and the mozzies will leave you alone. The downside is that you do tend to smell like Miley Cyrus’s clutch bag, and sex-starved carp anglers who have been in their bivvy for more days than they maybe should have, have a habit of spending rather too much time mincing around outside your bivvy door. 

Having silk-like skin and smelling as sweet as a nut is all well and good, of course, but spending twenty minutes every evening massaging lotion into your intimate body parts is not exactly exhilarating, or particularly carpy. A far more thrilling and enjoyable experience would be to use one of those battery-powered mozzie-electrocuting tennis rackets that exterminate the things every time you hit them in the sweet spot. Being an ex-tennis player and coach, that would suit me down to the ground. I would happily spend hour upon hour outside the bivvy in the dark, systematically executing them with my Rafa Nadal-esque topspin backhand.

The Reunion
I have spent quite a bit of time over the years fishing with Kev Richardson and Colin Cutts, and on more than a couple of occasions the three of us have travelled to France together to fish venues such as Les Graviers, Commons Lake and Etang Le Mans. Col and I have also fished at Echo Pool and Happy Lake a couple of times, and Kev and I went on something of a European tour many moons ago. We fished one week on Hejlov in the Czech Republic, and one in Austria on the late Kurt Grabmayer’s stunning lake in the forest.

For reasons I have never fully understood, we hadn’t fished together as a threesome for nigh on twenty years. I am happy to report, however, that we recently got together again for a three-day social session on the lovely Trent View Carp Fishery in Nottinghamshire. 

Trent View is a very special, 28-acre day-ticket venue. It boasts a number of the best-looking fish imaginable, not to mention more than sixty fish over thirty pounds. It is expertly bailiffed by the ever-helpful Ian Harley, and to add even further to its undoubted appeal, there are showers, toilets and an on-site food wagon that serves a selection of quality nosebag. 

We were joined at Trent View by Kev’s son, Ben. Ben, who has recently become a real keenie, succeeded in upping his personal best to 24lb during our stay. His fish was, without question, the highlight of the trip, Kev’s, Col’s and my own rather laid-back efforts producing a big fat bugger all. None of that mattered a hoot, though. We spent three thoroughly enjoyable and very pleasant days, and three very cold nights wondering where the last twenty years had gone. We discussed what the biggest changes in carp fishing have been in the last two decades, and we considered whether the three of us could end up in the same old folks’ home anytime soon.

Arguably of even more importance was the question of whether said nursing home might be full of eighty-six-year-old women called Chelsea or Brittany, with slightly worse-for-wear, full-sleeve tattoos, and remnants of body piercings. I mentioned at one point during our trip that Ben must have thought he had been transported into an episode of Last of the Summer Wine. I don’t think he had a Scooby Doo what I was talking about!

Accountant Wanted
I set up my first business in 1980 when I was 17 years old. I was a stringer and repairer of tennis, badminton and squash rackets. I worked for a number of sports shops and a couple of local leisure centres. Although the set-up was never likely to make me particularly wealthy, it did bring me in a bit of extra cash, which invariably went towards going out or buying extra fishing gear. My stringing business was my first introduction into keeping accounts and employing an accountant. My accountant remains with me to this day, and although, like me, he is somewhat older now, he ensures that I am still able to put food on the table, and he continues to do a terrific job for me—or at least I think he does!

I chanced upon a young carp tiger a couple of weeks ago. He was a lovely kid, and keener than Captain Keen from Keenington Town. He was seriously well equipped with his top-of-the-range Free Spirits, shiny new Basia reels, Delkims and a Solar pod, and taking pride of place on the table next to his Aqua bivvy was an RT4 bait boat, complete with built-in echo sounder, GPS and onboard tea and coffee-making facilities!

We spent two days in adjacent swims, put the world to rights and discussed everything from England’s chances in the forthcoming World Cup to my time with Nutrabaits and why I don’t hurl a Spomb out every six minutes.

My new-found mate packed away before me, and as he loaded all his kit into his rather impressive Transit Connect, I made him one last coffee and asked a question, the answer to which often intrigues me when I meet somebody on the bank, “What do you do for work?”

I have to be honest and say that, judging by his walk and the cut of his jib, I thought I had nailed it, believing that he probably worked in IT, or maybe for a bank. His reply amazed me, however…

“I don’t work, I fish full time!”

I spent what remained of my trip trying to work out how a 26-year-old kid with twelve million quids’ worth of kit and twenty bags of sands’ worth of van can possibly get through life without working.

Note to accountant: What have I been doing wrong for all these years?

When I was a young, fresh-faced youth, if I didn’t work, I had no money, and consequently no fuel for the Morris Marina, no bait, no beer money and little chance of having women swarming round me like flies round a Gardner Mozzi Lamp. In fact, nothing at all, apart from whatever Mum and Dad saw fit to help me with… how the world has changed!