We Love Carp Fishing Because...?

As I sit in my chair staring at motionless bobbins for days on end, I try to dissect what fuels the fire; the underlying cause of our very own pandemic: carp fever. What is it that compels us to crave being back at the lake the moment we’ve unloaded our mountain of gear after another wet, muddy blank? Why is it that, like an addict, like the very best football managers, the moment we’ve achieved the target, bagged the prize, we’re instantly searching out another campaign, another victory, another fix of carpy perfection? 

Arthur Ransome noted this strange obsession when in 1929 he wrote: “A man who habitually fishes for carp has a strange look in his eyes. I have known and have shaken hands respectfully with the man who caught the biggest carp in England. He looked as if he had been in heaven and in hell and had nothing to hope from life.” 

At times it does drive you to the edge, drive you to question your sanity, but the challenge, the sacrifice required to achieve your scaly dreams is essential for that fleeting feeling of deep joy and satisfaction when another immense carp is nestled in the folds of your net. Nothing worthwhile ever happens quickly and easily—you must struggle to truly appreciate success. And boy do I struggle. Carp fishing often takes me to the edge, and on occasions beyond, into the abyss. 

In this territory it is wise to be careful, as Nietzsche warns, “Battle not with monsters, lest ye become a monster, and if you gaze into the abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.” But it’s futile to struggle against the urge because we relish the battle with invisible monsters, the view from the edge, and standing apart from our fellow citizens we see further. We see the sun rise and set. We see other stars in distant galaxies. We see ourselves on the third rock from the sun, in a dark and dangerous universe. We see things that are invisible sitting on our sofas staring at the TV.

We love carp fishing because there is an almost inexhaustible amount of gear required. Every spring when most carp anglers are just emerging from winter hibernation, we are in a particularly susceptible state to anything new and shiny. It is one of the great joys to visit a local tackle shop or peruse the online smorgasbord of carp fishing paraphernalia—all just a click away.

As Arthur Ransome observed almost a hundred years ago, “The pleasures of fishing are chiefly to be found in rivers, lakes and tackle shops. And of the three, the last are least affected by the weather.” If the fishing is going badly and the weather is against you, there is always great, if temporary, consolation in a feast of retail therapy.

We love carp fishing because the raw power of a turbo charged leviathan pulling your string brings a massive adrenaline rush, a connection with nature that’s missing from much of modern life. But it is much more than that. As Henry David Thoreau observed way back in the 19th Century, “Many go fishing all of their lives without knowing it is not fish they are after.”

Fishing is about the thrill of the chase, but it’s also an escape from the pressures of daily life, the bills, the job, the strained relationships, a retreat to a simpler existence, where our only task is to tune into nature and ancestral instincts, awaken the hunter inside. And we don’t need to eat our quarry to feed this desire. The point of carp fishing is not to fill your belly, but your soul with awe and wonder.

It has long been known that carp fishing, like beer, is therapy. That sitting still—well lying mostly—for hours, absorbed in a delicious tension, knowing one of our rods may explode into life at any moment, while the insects, birds and rodents go about their daily chores, re-boots our systems, puts things into perspective, connects us with nature, and importantly, focuses us on what we should be doing with our 675,000 hours on the planet: fishing.

We love carp fishing because we can mix with other bivvy tramps, fellow brothers of the angle, who share a passion for chasing aquatic silt pigs. Who enjoy talking endless shite as much as we do, about the weather, chances of a bite, best baits, fiendish new rigs and ways to wage war on coots and tufties. Who will seriously debate with you whether you’re a proper carper if you don’t use the Cell, and if folded reel handles are ultra-cool or ultra-crap? Who appreciate and respect the special madness it requires to spend monstrous chunks of your life and money engaged in the pursuit of large carp, only to release them back to their watery realm a few minutes later.

Ultimately, we love carp fishing because it’s an anti-social, nocturnal pursuit that puts us on the fringes of society. It’s full of delinquents, drop-outs, rebels and potheads. On the bank we can be as deranged, irrational and daft as we dare without either appearing unusual or at risk of being locked up in the funny farm. In short, we can relax and be ourselves.