The Brutal Art Of Blanking

However, like the use of maggots by boilie-sponsored anglers, drones for fish location and folded reel handles, we need to face up to difficult issues... We need to concede that blanking is inevitable and, in fact, a good thing—a sign you’ve set yourself a proper challenge. I admit some blanks are better than others. Bad blanks are where we fished poorly and/or learnt nothing. Good blanks are where we got a few steps closer to banking one of the target fish. Mastering the brutal art of blanking means turning what might seem an embarrassment, a sign of failure, into an opportunity to learn, an essential part of the journey.

There are lots of reasons we give for blanking, such as the weather, which is invariably too hot, too cold, too wet, too dry, too windy or not windy enough. A bait that hasn’t produced the expected deluge of bites quickly becomes the problem. Other common excuses include, ‘they’re not here’, ‘they’re not feeding’, or ‘matey ruined my chances with his spodding’. The trend is that we tend to blame everyone and everything but ourselves. However, the truth is blanks are often self-inflicted. We blanked because we couldn’t be bothered to do any prep, or we fished badly, sat on our bedchair watching YouTube videos of how to be a better carp angler and still didn’t make the effort to get on the fish, or if we did, we spooked them before the rigs were on the spot.

However, I concede that on occasion, we blank because we were unlucky. And for distinctly average anglers like myself, luck plays a large part in any success, larger than it should, but as the saying goes, I’d rather be lucky than good. This is not true, but somehow it helps to think that luck is all you need, and love, of course, and a good bait and a sharp hook in the right place at the right time. Sorry, I’m losing my thread.

Anyway, I prefer not to talk of blanks, but of preparation and reconnaissance, of paying my dues and learning the water. I’m in no hurry to summit, in peaking too early. I like a hard-fought campaign. There is much to be said, as in sex, I seem to remember, in building things to a crescendo, a thrilling climax.

I recently watched the Cypography series where Tom Stokes was blanking his arse off on Orchid trying to catch a winter chunk for the cameras. In this scenario they had deliberately made things difficult, fishing gravel spots in open water in winter with a camera in the water, in pursuit of trying to achieve something rare and special. I am not suggesting that we should deliberately make things difficult in order to suffer a string of blanks before catching. Although having been an avid fluff chucker for several years, I did occasionally wonder why I persisted with the method when worms and maggots would have been far more effective. My point being that without blanks we would not be fishing, just catching and quickly growing bored. Nothing easily achieved carries much merit or satisfaction. It is only through struggle and strife that we reach the euphoric peaks of carping nirvana.

The art of grinding out the blanks is summoning the mental toughness to set up on a dark, wet week-day evening in winter, knowing the chances of a bite are slim, but that you have to do it to move closer to the bite that will realise the dream. It’s about having the discipline to not zip down the bivvy door and jump in the bag, but sit and listen for the single show that might give them away and lead you to the promised land. It’s about getting up at dawn and watching, packing down and going to work, then coming back and doing it all again, noticing patterns, slowly piecing together snippets of information. It’s not easy focusing on the positives after another bite-free session, but developing a Chumbawamba style attitude is essential: I get knocked down but I get up again! 

Like many, I occasionally fish lakes where I’m almost guaranteed a bite. They’re great for socials, or in winter, for testing out new rigs, and yes, a bit of fun. It is supposed to be fun, isn’t it? But I can’t do it too often. Guaranteed catching may be titillating for a while, but like a late-night peek at the darker regions of the internet, you’re left feeling grubby and disappointed with yourself. The highs are quickly diminished and the details forgotten. If you’re not bothered about weighing or photographing what’s in your net, you need a change of venue. Turning up for every session knowing you will almost certainly catch defeats the purpose, signifies the game is rigged, the dices loaded. Ultimately, where’s the pleasure if you cannot lose? In sport, the greater the challenge, the greater the reward. If it was easy to climb K2, would it have the same prestige? If the Burghfield Common came out ten times a season, would we marvel at every capture? What does catching really mean without a few blanks under your belt?

And then, as you progress with your campaign and have most of the pieces of the puzzle in place, there will hopefully be times when you are supremely confident, maybe even certain you will catch. These moments should arise after long periods of observation and struggle, when the lakes have played hardball and the carpy clues have been hard won. They should be rare, savoured and enjoyed like a new Terry Hearn video, Norwich City FC winning a trophy, or a bivvy tramp with a clean spare cup.

We should be patient and delay instant gratification. Carp fishing is not a drive-through burger blowout, it’s a slow-roasted joint of lamb, served with golden crispy potatoes and a lovingly crafted thick red wine gravy. It’s not a game of draughts, it’s a world championship chess match, not a stroll round the local park, but a challenging ascent of Mont Blanc! As Hugh Tempest Sheringham observed in 1912, You cannot fish for carp in half a day. It takes a month!