In Fondest Memory Of Richard Walker

When I sat back and thought about the title of this piece, it left my mind in a bit of a spin. My recollections wandered frantically through the mists of time, simply because of the number of days in my carp-fishing experience that have lit so many fires. In the end, though, there could only be one…

I had been fishing Frimley Pit 3 for the past three winters, and as astronomic as the fishing was, I had only one thought in mind. My target was a carp called Charlie’s Mate, whose picture I had first seen on the cover of Angler’s Mail, the fish being held by my old buddy, Colin Davidson. She weighed around 36lb, but as a CEMEX Gold Card holder, I reckoned by the time I got around to fishing at Frimley, she may well be a bit bigger. I say bigger, but I would have loved to have caught this fish at any weight, really. However, there was one very good reason why I craved this carp, something which had been an intense focal point during 41 years of dreaming.

As a six-year-old boy, I gazed at one particular present that lay at the base of our Christmas tree, ignoring all others. I knew what it was, but I could not have had any idea what effect it would have on the rest of my life. In the book, Richard Walker’s Stillwater Angling, two chapters interested me most; one was called ‘Carp’, and the next was ‘Big Carp’. Coming from the West Country, I had no idea carp even existed in this country, or how big they could grow. It shocked me, and it entertained me, but most of all, it set in motion a dream that would take 41 years to fulfil, the capture of a common comparable to Walker’s record. Now, that shouldn’t have been too hard, should it?

The fishing at Frimley was, to put it mildly, out of this world. I was writing diaries for the plethora of magazines that existed back then, and I was able to fill the pages with articles about so many wonderful fish. I managed to catch several personal best commons, and in one memorable two-day session, I landed eleven fish in excess of thirty-pounds; it really was mind-blowing stuff. 

The unfortunate side of this was, as time passed, I felt further and further away from catching my lifelong obsession. She got caught, of course, one notable capture being by Martin Bowler. He only ever fished one single night at Frimley, and whilst doing a piece for his Angling Times column, he landed Charlie’s Mate at 39lb. I consoled myself by noting that she wasn’t over 40lb. In fact, the capture made me more determined than ever. The use of maggots got in the way of my boilie-only approach, and in the February of what was to be my third and last winter at Frimley, Charlie’s Mate came out on maggots, at 43lb. At least she was getting towards the weight I prayed she would be, but would I ever catch her? It didn’t look as if I would as I drove to the lake one early spring morning, knowing that it was to be my final session at Frimley. The annual spring tickets had just started, and the lake would inevitably be packed.

To that end, I had been baiting a particular spot in a very popular swim, the Double Boards. It was a swim that tended to encourage anglers to fish out into the lake, so I had baited up at the bottom of the marginal shelf, two rod-lengths to the left of it. I had popped down the evening before to bait up, thankful that the swim had become vacant after a day-ticket angler had left. 

A pal of mine, Steve Mogford, was fishing in the swim next door, and he’d promised to keep an eye on it. To make sure I arrived and had set up long before the spring ticket invasion began, I set my barrow down in the swim at four o’clock the following morning. I stood for a while, just taking in the cool, early spring air, knowing this would be the last time I was going to fish Pit 3. Sometimes, if only for my own sanity, I have to move on regardless. 

The first order of business, as it should always be, was to get the rods in position. Two rods were cast 15 or so metres to areas I had fished before, in the open water, with as little disturbance as possible. My small PVA bags of Mainlines Pulse boilies were surrounded by a few pouchfuls of the same. Lastly, I could concentrate on the one spot I had baited but never fished. I even used the marker float to find exactly where the gravel turned into silt. Once my lead had told me it lay in the softer silt, I slackened off the line completely, my bobbins laying on the ground. Four handfuls of boilies completed the trap, and all I could think of was having a brew with Steve as I tried to steady my nerves. He knew it would be my last 48hrs on the lake, and, rather knowingly, wished me luck.

I gazed across the lake as the light started to fill the sky, noticing that more and more swims were becoming occupied. I must admit, I felt defeated. It had been far from a waste of time, but I hadn’t achieved my goal. I gently stroked the butt of the rod placed on the new spot, begging it to put me out of my misery. It was around 9.30 a.m. when that very rod heaved round and the remote sang her wonderful tune. No one else was aware of the bite as I picked up the rod and carefully tried to gain some control. It took me a while, but the more the fight continued, the more I knew it was a big fish. Eventually, a huge pair of shoulders appeared with a big, characteristic dip at the front of the dorsal fin… I then knew which fish it was.

I bided my time—and it took some patience—but I soon raised the mesh around her. I honestly couldn’t look, and lay the net and rod on the boards. Steve was with me in seconds and I asked him to tell me what was in the net. “That will be Charlie’s Mate, then, fella.”

I forced as much air into my lungs as I could and let out the loudest “Light my fire!” I had never experienced, not in carp angling anyway, such a rush of emotions. After 41 years of dreaming, a carp comparable to Walker’s record lay in my net. This alone was incredible, but when you consider there was only one other known 40lb common in the country at the time, it made this majestic carp even more special. 

The first person to tell was Lindie. She had supported me through all the anguish, stupidity and pain of this intriguing campaign, and I needed to thank her. She also had to get her motorcycle gear ready. We were going out on my old Harley Davidson, and along with catching flies in my teeth, I could think about what the hell to do next! Much love.