Woolpack Whackin'

I don’t think anyone’s 2020 panned out like we had planned at the start of the year did it?

Once the response to the pandemic kicked in, one by one, fishing trips and filming commitments fell by the wayside for me, both at home and abroad and like many other non-essential sectors the fishing industry went into tickover as it struggled to ride the restrictions out. 

A lot of my spring fishing in recent years has been based around these foreign trips, shop days and filming, and for the first year in the last decade I could actually have a proper go at my ‘home’ waters on the Horton complex during clubbing season. Indeed, being furloughed meant that like many others I didn’t have much else to do than go fishing so I made the most of that opportunity, and while my partner worked from home during the week I went fishing, pretty much full time! Flitting between the busy Horton complex and the blissfully quiet, intimate Croft Pool in Oxfordshire I spent a very pleasant summer stalking, floater fishing and honing my bushwhacking skills. 

Come autumn and although I didn’t know it, I was probably in need of a bit of a new challenge in my fishing. Home can only be home if there is an away right? At the start of November Dan got in contact with an interesting proposition? How would I like to go and fish over on the Woolpack and film a piece on autumn fishing? With restrictive quarantine rules in place, filming abroad when you only have a small videography team was deemed not to be time effective and efforts were being focused on UK filming. 

The Woolpack was recently under new ownership and they were keen for us to come down and do something. Obviously, being up for anything ‘away’ at this point I jumped at the opportunity. Not that the Woolpack is just anything. This was a complex of pits containing some of the finest carp in Cambridgeshire, and indeed the country. Old, scaly, history fish. Catch-‘em-while-you-can special ones. These were the ones that I was really interested in, and Dan sent me a picture of a fish they call ‘The Carving’ through to whet my appetite: a jet black 40lb plus common. Although I looked at this picture frequently, I deliberately didn’t do much further research into the stock; I wanted to find out as I went along. 

It was the second week of November when I turned up, camera crew in tow, to film. Like all good boy scouts I’d been up the week before for a recce, and had decided that I was going to fish, and try to concentrate solely on, Lakes 5 and 6. Now 5 and 6 is actually one lake of around 8-acres, bisected roughly down the centre by a long, thin island. At each end are two channels through which the fish can pass from one to the other. There are also a couple of other really shallow channels but they are too shallow for the fish to use regularly. It’s deep, reed-lined and mature with stands of pads and plenty of weed in the summer. I instantly fell in love.

To cut a long story short, that week was a failure in terms of filming. I didn’t catch anything and neither did anyone else while I was there. In fact, the last original had been caught two weeks earlier and that was to be the last one caught until the following May!  

The activity fizzled out as the temperature fell. With limited visibility and nothing to be found in the edge, and not much bubbling or showing I didn’t have much to go on that trip but I felt like by dropping on fish at the start of the week and refusing to cast and poling out my rigs I had come close. I had well and truly got the bit between my teeth. There was something special about these lakes, and I was determined that I was going to make up for that blank. 

With my invitation to fish extended I returned for the following couple of weeks, sticking at it, and trying to build up a picture of the venue and attempting to nick a bite before winter really set in. That part of England is flat and cold, and come December it was sub-zero most nights. I knew really that I’d arrived too late in the year but a couple had been caught from 5/6 keeping my hopes alive, albeit stock fish that had been moved over from Lake 4.

Along with bailiff, Ollie, and a couple of other regulars, I had a little dabble on Lake 4, which had been used as a stock pond. What was in there was a bit of a mystery to all but the previous owner but there were rumours of fish to over 40lb. It was nice to get the opportunity to fish it and ‘stock check’ for the new owners in between the blanks on 5 and 6, and I caught a few nice ones to just under 30lb that were distributed to the other lakes on the complex to bolster the stock.

It was Mother Nature that called time on fishing as the whole area flooded at the end of the month and it remained unfishable for weeks. Couple that with yet another lockdown and that was the end of my fishing there for the winter. I couldn’t stop thinking about it however. I really felt like I had a score to settle, and with what I had learned through those few nights and armed with my trusty pole I really felt confident I would get amongst them when it warmed up again. I knew that it had form from April—that was when those old ones really woke up.

Spring was non-existent this year and frustratingly with Woolpack on my mind April was swallowed up by a couple of filming trips elsewhere. I didn’t manage my first trip of 2021 until the middle of April, and that was a single night dropping in amongst other anglers. I did have my first bite from the lake but after a heart racing moment it was soon clear that it wasn’t a carp but one of the lake’s many tench. It had done a few fish already, but none of the originals apart from one of the big fully scaled mirrors had graced the banks yet and that was a bit of a consolation for not being able to get down. I wasn’t missing a great deal and it was all still to play for.

I returned the following week with two nights at my disposal. Although I’m not the type to pick swims before arriving I had two areas in mind that I really wanted to be. Of course it was sods law that there was an angler next-door to both of them, and although they weren’t fishing the actual swims I didn’t want to punish them so opted for a swim called The T-Bag on Lake 6 for my first night. A mate of mine, Karl, has a ticket for Lake 7 and was fishing just behind me on the spit between the two lakes. If I couldn’t get where I wanted to be then at least I could have a social! 

24hrs passed biteless, and with a strong suspicion I really needed to be fishing Lake 5 not Lake 6, I bid an understanding Karl farewell and upped sticks for the second night. If I had been casting perhaps I wouldn’t have moved in next to another angler, but using the pole I don’t feel like I am disturbing the area and affecting their chances, and I just couldn’t waste another night fishing somewhere I was not confident of a bite. Not that T-Bag is a bad swim, but if the carp are not there it isn’t a good one is it!? 

My second night was a blank but I was awoken to a phantom ripper in the morning, running out in my socks such was the speed of the take. I connected with nothing but fresh air but the lead had been moved 20yds I’m still not quite sure what happened. Was it a trailer? Or did the hook fall out when I picked it up? Either way, although slightly bemused by the occurrence I felt I was getting closer and I knew I had been right to move. 

Before I left I spent some time looking round, finding a couple of fish and not insignificant ones either. One I’m pretty sure was ‘Rosie’, and the other the ‘Pit 4 Fully’ which I saw up real close. Both are 40lb plus fully scaled mirrors—proper ones! I also saw my first carp in the channels, a small common. I knew it was coming to me and my confidence was high. If I could find them, I could catch them!

I’ve not had that kind of buzz for my fishing for a long while. I couldn’t wait to get back. It was still cold, but the relentless march of the lengthening daylight hours was waking them up everywhere.

The following week I arrived late in the evening for three days. This is still a long session for me, and with time stretching ahead almost endlessly I wasn’t in a hurry to fish. I ended up having a social with Ollie on Lake 4, him generously putting me on the baited area where they were feeding the stock. Without wasting a night of my session fishing blind, it also allowed me to keep an eye on that end of 5/6 which backs onto it. 

I was up early, biteless, wondering why I was such a noddy that I hadn’t caught one and keen to lay eyes on the real target. I went for a mooch up the bank a bit to see what I could see on 5, and I scanned the water for a few minutes. It wasn’t obvious and I didn’t notice it to begin with, or at least recognise what it was, but there was a patch of frothing. The more I watched it the more it was clear this was a feeding fish not the leftover from the rowdy geese, swans, coots and ducks that populate the lake in numbers. From where I was watching intently, it took a while to pin it down, but this was surely an opportunity, my first here, to put the pole into action. I think Ollie could see how important this was for me, as I hustled to get the pole set-up and a rod ready. 

With a small handful of particle and Flake and a Multi Rig loaded, I shipped out to where I had triangulated the bubbling. It was dead still and poling accurately was no problem, helped by the bubbles appearing again as I approached it with the spoon and allowing me to drop it right amongst the froth. I knew it was relatively shallow there so it was going to be a gamble as to whether the fish spooked or not, as it always is when you put it right on top of them. The trap was placed perfectly and silently, and I prayed to the carp gods that I’d timed it right. 

A big liner had my heart pounding after just five minutes and a short while later I was away. Quick bites have become almost normal when using the pole, but it’s still a surprise when it happens, particularly on ‘tricky’ venues. To say I was nervous was an understatement. This was clearly no tench and with encroaching reeds either side it was a little fraught as the fish came to the net, especially once I had seen something jet black roll in front of me. I played it cool, keeping it moving towards me and thankfully the fish didn’t fight that hard. After a couple of lunges at the rod tip I gratefully scooped it in the net at the first time of asking. As I peered down into the folds and realised what I had caught it felt like a monumental weight had been lifted from me. My confidence hadn’t been misplaced; I could catch them and as I suspected it would be the proper ones too.

So what had I got wallowing in the net? Well looking back at me through big, boggly, clouded eyes was a proper dinosaur of a common. It was as dark as I’ve ever caught but with a couple of distinct flashes of pink in the dorsal fin and the tail and definitely in excess of 30-pounds. What a first fish to catch, and a sub-10 minute bite too. Luckily my good friend Dave Robinson was in the area, and after an excited phone call was straight down to share the moment and do the honours on the buttons.

Ollie was on point helping out, and owner Sam came to see his fish. We were all in awe of it and it is a great memory for me. It felt like vindication in some way and an easing of the pressure that I had put on myself.

Later on I found out a bit more about the fish, aptly named ‘Pink Tips’. Stocked in the 70s, there are pictures of this fish apparently from 1987 when it weighed 19lb. It’s a rare one, seeing the bank once a year. A big tick on the list!

With one under my belt I went looking for them again and with temperatures rising there were carp in numbers gathered at the other end of the lake. Although there was still a bit of a brown tinge, the water was clearing up day by day. That clarity and a bit of warm sunshine really gave me my first opportunity to see a lot of the stock and over the course of the afternoon I got to lay eyes on many of the big carp in 5/6. 

With fish passing through the channel regularly it was clear this is where I needed to be and come dusk I had set three traps, and was confident of a bite. There was one particular common hanging around the channel, rather than passing through, and as Ollie and I were watching at dusk, it actually rolled right over one of my rigs. At first light that rod hooped round and after another mercifully uneventful battle I netted what I instantly recognised as the common that I had been watching the previous evening. Two bites, two originals. I had joked to a couple of people that I wasn’t there to catch the stockies and I smiled to myself that my arrogance hadn’t been misplaced. It might have been cocky but at least I was walking the walk! It was a fish known as ‘Big Scar’, and it hadn’t been caught for two years so and I was made up with the capture.

I blanked the following night but the fish were there, and in the morning the whole area was coloured up. I kicked myself for missing an opportunity and still am. I should have had a bite and in hindsight I had missed a trick, not fishing the exact spot I knew I needed to be from watching the fish that day because it compromised the other rods. I vowed not to make that mistake a second time and took great care positioning that rod for the final night of the session, actually fishing just two. The second was a bit of a token too. All my chips were stacked on that one rod.

I awoke to a savage take as it was getting light, the rod at full battle curve in the rests. It was one of those ones where there definitely isn’t time to put your shoes on and I ran out in my socks only to slip by the rod, ending up on my arse with my feet in the water and playing the fish, which thrashed violently on the surface in an attempt to shake the hook and drawing the attention of another angler who appeared opposite to watch the fight. 

Again, luck was with me and after the initial explosion it came fairly easily to the net. Peering down I could see it was a mirror this time, and rolling it in the net to reveal the flank I could see it was a fish called the Tiger Lin. This was another one that I had seen several times in the area over the previous two days so it wasn’t a surprise to see it in the net! 3 bites, 3 30’s, 2 of them originals and a big linear which was always going to be on my wish list. I couldn’t have hoped for a better start to the spring campaign after feeling a bit like I was just going through the motions the previous autumn and winter.

I returned to a blissfully quiet lake the following week. It didn’t take long to find fish. In fact, I literally stumbled across a big carp as soon as I laid eyes on the water, and it wasn’t alone. I made haste back to the van to get the gear and laid a trap in the corner I had seen the fish. 

Before long they were back and I spent an interesting and frustrating afternoon up close and personal with a group of originals which included the incredible ‘Pit 4 Fully’ and the ‘Friendly Linear’, a fish that was supposed to have died the previous year. Well, here it was most certainly not dead, every inch a 40lber and more importantly looking catchable. Twice it went tails up and fed briefly just 3ft from the bank on the shallowest part of a small, clear spot. Unfortunately for me I had laid the rig carefully at the bottom of the clear spot gambling that it would be more confident deeper down and it never fed over the rig, although one of his mates came to investigate, and refused my hookbait.

Eventually with evening approaching I gave up on the stalking and set-up nearby, poling my rigs out to the margin where I had seen this group of carp patrolling into the corner. I was midway through doing the third rod when the first was away. The fish kited hard towards a bush on the far margin and try as I might I couldn’t pump fast enough and steer it clear in time. This was a hairy few seconds as I piled on the pressure to try and extract it. Thankfully after a bit of branch shaking, it popped out and the rest of the fight was a formality, even with 40 odd metres of pole still sat out there on the surface. Another angler fishing Lake 7 came to help and did the pictures for me of the low-20 linear I had caught, marvelling at the speed of the bite. 

It took a while to sort out the carnage and get the rods out again, and it was dusk by the time I was done. I had barely sat down when the right-hand bobbin tightened up and held there, trembling. I watched the line to be sure it wasn’t a big liner before bending into it. The fish was kiting steadily up the margin and was already 20yds from where it had picked up the bait. There was a huge eruption on the surface, and a lunge that had me fumbling for the clutch, pulling me across the swim. Line grated grudgingly from the clutch but a couple of seconds later it all went slack and whatever had been on the end was gone, the hooklink mysteriously parted… I was gutted, but knuckled down tying a fresh Multi Rig, hands still shaking, and got the rod back on the money in the half light—no mean feat at 65-metres! I hadn’t seen anything but proper ones in that area and I couldn’t help wonder what I had lost…

In the early hours the same rod was away, and after a strange fight with what I swore was a mirror as it swam past in the torchlight, as I peered into the net at the beaten fish I found it had morphed into a mid-20 jet black common. Obviously I was still half asleep! It was another original ticked off the list but the following day my mind kept returning to the loss of the previous evening. Woolpack is the type of venue where you don’t want to lose ANY! Every single bite could be a special one and after what I had seen in the area I was sure it wasn’t a stocky!

The following day was quiet, and I reeled in and packed up to have a look for other chances round the complex. There wasn’t much to see however, with what little activity there was in front of me and I ended up staying put for another night, with cameraman Sam from Nash coming up to film the following morning.

At a very sociable half 7 I was away on what was turning out to be the banker rod. Baiting lightly, I had watched this spot grow over the previous couple of weeks, and it was now a foot deeper where the fish had pushed the silt and weed to the periphery. Whatever had picked up the hookbait from the crater this time was very angry and gave me a proper tear-up, fighting harder than anything else I had hooked so far. In spite of its best efforts the hook held firm and I gratefully netted what looked like a mid-30 mirror. It was a stocky but it was a big one at least. Sam arrived to do some pictures and film it, and I nearly didn’t weigh it, but as it was the first time he had laid eyes on these fish too, bailiff Ollie was keen to know for his records what they actually weighed. Surprisingly it was a 40lber, a few ounces over, and although I’m not fussed about weights I was secretly glad we had actually got the scales out in this instance! It meant that some of the fish I had been watching the previous day were surely well over 40lb! 

Calling it just a stocky is a bit insulting really. In any other lake this big mirror would be one of the targets. It had bags of character with a big, perfect, overslung gob, spiky, withered dorsal and rounded, floppy tail. I was well pleased, as was Sam who has proved to be a bit of a lucky charm when he has come filming with me so far. Fish returned and celebratory coffee downed, I went to check the area and there were still plenty of fish visible. I saw a couple I recognised cruising past, including ‘Pink Tips’, which I had caught eight days previously.

It looked prime and I poled the rods out again. Less than 20 minutes later the banker rod was away. I nervously played it to the net, having seen a flash of black about 20yds out telling me this was no stocky. As it went over the cord I caught a glimpse of the tell-tale flashes of pink in the fins. Of all the different fish that were in the area it was a recapture of ‘Pink Tips’ and with that realisation I couldn’t help feeling a swell of disappointment overwhelm the initial euphoria. Isn’t it bizarre how fishing can be? The week before that same awesome carp meant the world to me and here I was gutted to have caught it again! Dave had done me proud on the camera first time round so I decided to pop the hook in the net and slip it back without getting it out and unduly stressing the fish again. It’s a real old one and I hope that others get the chance to have a moment in its presence.

Disturbance in the area I was actually fishing had been pretty minimal and I wasted no time getting the rod out and back on the spot. It took a bit longer this time, but in the early afternoon the bobbin crashed into the blank as an angry carp bolted in the shallow water. This was a real strong one, and we engaged in a bit of toing and froing close to the far margin bushes. As the fish kited a big stick appeared up the line, and it wasn’t a surprise when it all fell slack, the hook pulling, definitely helped by this extra pivot point. Once I was done cursing I convinced myself this had been a younger fish as the take was so violent and because of the speed of the runs. It’s easier that way, hey!? 

As the day wore on it became clear that the last disturbance had moved the remaining carp off, and the final night was quiet. I left with mixed emotions. I’d ticked another three off and I’d learned and seen loads, but the recapture wasn’t ideal and losing two was really burning me. I hate losing fish, and at Woolpack that pain was doubly keen.

Once again, I couldn’t wait to get back but this week I didn’t have as much time, just a night and the following day—although 24hrs is still a long session in my world! They were starting to spawn everywhere and with the fish in 5/6 known to spawn before the other pits I knew every night could be the last one of the spring. 

I arrived just on dusk. My mate Jon Button was already there and having earlier stumbled across the same group of fish that I had found the previous week, had spent the afternoon trying to catch them, coming close as he watched as one ejected his rig. Clearly I hadn’t hooked the Friendly Linear the previous week, as it was still in the area. I took a bit of comfort in that!

I set-up nearby, and we had a social. The atmosphere was electric and we were both like expectant little kids. As we sat up chatting late into the evening Jon had a bite. We both knew what was out there. This could be something special and I sincerely hoped it was. In the torchlight appeared a tiny common. I say tiny—this was a 20 but we were both expecting to see a giant so it was a bit of a surprise. Nonetheless, a bite is a bite and Jon was over the moon to have caught one and what looked like an original, albeit a small one. Like I said to Jon, it’s another one ticked off the list.

Ironically neither of us recognised the fish until we came to take pictures as it got light and we should really have done. It was a recently stocked fish and not only had Jon been the one to put it in the lake from Lake 4 in December, but I had also done his pictures! It had even been named Buttons after him!

Come morning it looked dead in front of me and I was packed up and back on the barrow by 9 a.m. We lapped the lake several times, but there was nothing much to be found. Jon headed off to work while I hung around feeling like there must be a chance of a bite somewhere, eventually making my way over to Lake 8. Over the previous couple of weeks I had been trickling some bait into a quiet corner, more as a little escape from 5/6 with the possibility of a bonus bite. Although I had seen fish and the bait was clearly being eaten I was yet to get one in the few hours I had spent fishing there. With thunder and heavy showers rolling over, I sat for an hour tucked under a golf umbrella. My heart wasn’t in it though. I had 5/6 under my skin and I knew that was where I really needed to be. This was just killing time.

In a break between the heavy showers I headed back round, and started lapping and looking for signs. The sun burst out and as I stood at one end and gazed up Lake 5 a back broke the surface near the island. That was all the sign I needed. This was in an area that I’d already earmarked and I knew exactly where to place the rods. 20 minutes later and I had quietly deposited two rigs tight on the far margin with the pole. As easy as that!

It’s really bizarre to feel like you should have had a bite within 20 minutes every time you put a rig out with the pole, but that’s exactly the situation I was in now, again. Why haven’t I caught one yet? Impatient, I wandered up the bank to the next swim. While I was stood there I had a bleep, then another. I hotfooted it back to the rods to find the right-hand bobbin jammed in the buzzer! Fish on! I picked the rod up and walked back, praying that the fish hadn’t buried itself in the far margin cover, and as I increased the pressure out it came. I let out ‘thank ‘f**k’ but then the fish began kiting up the lake on a long line, and in this swim the reedbeds protrude about 10yds out either side. This spelt trouble and as I watched my line start cutting over the reeds things were looking decidedly dodgy! I fumbled for my phone and rang Ollie, and babbled my predicament. Help! I might need your assistance!

With the cavalry on its way I got back to the fight. The fish came closer and wallowed on the surface on the other side of the reedbed. I had slipped off my shoes and was beginning to roll up my trousers when the carp began kiting back towards me, the line cutting back through the reeds and eventually pinging off and leaving me in direct contact again. I could see it was a good mirror and a bundled it gratefully into the net just as Ollie arrived in the swim. That could have been a tricky situation but the carp gods were feeling benevolent today it seemed. 

I rang Dan, who was at home just round the corner to come and film what looked to be a mid-30. He said he’d be half an hour, so I secured the fish in the net and put the kettle on while I waited. I’d taken a couple of mouthfuls of my coffee when it occurred to me that greed was in fact good and that I should perhaps get the rod back out. That fish was very likely not alone. I put a new hook on the rig, filled the spoon with enough bait for a bite, and shipped it back out to the spot, dropping it exactly where I had got the previous take. As I was bringing the pole back I glanced at the rod to see the line pinging off the spool. Very occasionally the line gets caught in the pole head but as I paused shipping the line continued to coil off. That was a bite! 

I dropped the pole and jumped on the rod, snapping closed the bail arm and bending into the fish, which responded to the pressure by zipping off, hugging the far margin. There was still a fair bit of pole out, at least 35 metres and with one hand I began getting as much back as I could, in between reeling in and trying to steer the carp back towards me. Thankfully it’s a robust bit of kit, as I literally threw it backwards and clear of the battle. As the fish appeared 20yds out I glimpsed a flash of scales, and I knew it was one of the ones I really wanted. 

At that moment Dan and Ollie arrived and Ollie got on the net, which was already full of carp. Whatever scaly beast I was playing decided it wasn’t going to play ball and charged about in front of the net, the line pinging of fins as it rolled and twisted making my heart jump each time. Eventually it tired and carefully Ollie dipped the net as I guided over the cord and one fish became two. I’m sure I jabbered away and wandered around aimlessly while Dan got the cameras ready to document what was a significant netful of carp. It had been an intense few minutes and the adrenaline was pumping. If the first was a good one the second was a fair bit bigger and as I rolled it to examine the flank it wasn’t just scaly, it was fully scaled. 

“It’s the Pit 4 Fully,” confirmed Ollie, one of the ones I was there to catch. Acting quickly on that brief sighting had rewarded me royally.

If there had been more hands on deck I might have attempted a brace shot but I decided it was best to deal with them one at a time, and first out was the smaller mirror. It was a stocky, but again, super characterful with a trio of big scales on its flank, proper cod mouth and flattened lobes on its tail. Again, for Ollie’s records we weighed it, not that I can even remember now what the figure was. 33lb? Something like that.

It was a cool one, but the Fully really was a different gravy. Long, solid and bristling with anger. Ounces over 40lb, as if that mattered. Simply one of the best carp I’ve ever caught. I’d like to say it was scale perfect but as I removed the hook, in the other side of the mouth was a fresh tear, and on one flank an older, lifted scale. I was sure I’d lost a decent one the week before, and here was the Pit 4 with another hook mark in its mouth. At least I could be fairly sure that was what I had lost (nobody else had lost one that week), and that score was now settled.

We admired it briefly, and treated the lifted scale. It’s skin was already rough to the touch, characteristic of male fish around spawning time and a reminder that the clock was ticking and spawning imminent. 

By the time we had got it back in the water another heavy shower had arrived, and although the sun was shining it was pouring with rain, soaking the cameras and all my gear. It was an epic moment, and it didn’t matter about the rain. Nothing really mattered now. It was done…

And it was indeed done. A few days later they spawned and the spring campaign was over and the complex shut. Although I would have loved to have done a bit more down there, over the 12 nights I did fish I had managed 11 bites—5 of them from originals and a couple of 40lbers to boot. I was pretty pleased with that tally from what is a notoriously tricky complex.

The funny thing is I don’t really like spring fishing. Summer is where it’s at for me, post-spawning when the fish are active, hungry and highly visible. Armed with confidence and a Bushwhacker, I can’t wait to get back…