In Search Of Madine's Monsters

In the distance, on the highest point of Montsec, Meuse in Northeast France, the memorial constructed by the American Battle Monuments Commission to commemorate the achievements of US soldiers who fought in the region during the latter part of World War I stood proud. Fishing was set aside for a few brief moments. It’s easy to forget the savage history of the area that surrounds Lac De Madine without perhaps, the obvious reminder of the magnificent structure that seemingly keeps watch from atop the Butte Montsec. It’s not until you wander a little deeper into the surrounding woodland and forests, that the stark reminders of the events of just over a century ago - along with those from World War II and still in some people’s lifetimes - become an almost distant, but apparent reality. The remains of German-dug trenches, vast holes left by heavy artillery shells, decaying concrete structures along the now heavily overgrown access roads, and remnants of checkpoints along the banks of the iconic lake are all testament to previous traumatic and horrific times. Seeing what I did made me wonder how it all might look if the unthinkable had happened… would I be sitting where I was, preparing to write this article? Would you be here to read it? Thankfully, given the efforts of the brave souls who paid the ultimate price whilst fighting for, and defending our freedom through the world’s two major conflicts, we will never have to know.

It would be easy to forget just how important this area was once upon a time, whilst lost in thoughts of ancient and unseen monsters swimming around in Madine’s modest depths, or when taking in the undeniable beauty of its heavily reed-lined banks and islands. Only a fortnight before, we were standing in the very same place carrying out what can only be described as a reconnaissance mission for a reconnaissance mission. We’d taken the short trip from a local campsite with our families, just to get a feel for the place, as a week later Tom and I were to return with our rods, boats and our own heavy arsenal of kit for a week’s fishing in preparation for the World Carp Classic a few months later.

Things got off to a good start: a large common on mat

Having fished the mighty Lac du Der the previous three years - and with decent results - I was more than ready for a fresh challenge. We did plenty of homework, speaking to friends around Europe who’d spent serious time at Madine, and had numerous email communications with the Maison de pecheur. It soon became apparent however, that we were not exactly blessed with options regarding peg choice. Not equipped with bivvy boats or inflatable platforms, we were left with the grand total of twelve night spots that we could get to with the van, along with the pegs on the island and accessible only by boat.

The van was loaded on the Wednesday, ready for the long trek from the Wirral the following day. Thursday morning arrived and it brought with it the typical buzz that these European adventures always induce, and the thought alone, of not having to solder another joint or fix another broken boiler for a while was absolute heaven!

The Le Mans 24 Hours race that weekend, brought heavy delays at Folkestone and after being stopped and questioned by French police at a motorway toll station - or péage - we arrived at the campsite on the Nonsard-Lamarche side of Madine a little after 1 a.m. With the Hybrid Brolly and Big Kipper bedchair thrown up almost blind, it was time for a much-needed rest. Next day, after seeing no fish movement whatsoever from the night pegs on the main bank, we decided that we’d boat our kit over and drop our leads in the old riverbed that runs through Madine adjacent to the back of the island. We believed the inside information we’d garnered had given us a bit of a head start for the week ahead. After a few coffees and a bit of burnt sausage that supposedly qualified as breakfast, we made our way to the Maison de pecheur to pick up our boat licences. There, we were politely given the news that it was forbidden to fish the island, the banks being deemed unsafe. The cheeky northerner that I am would have normally seen me pay no attention and I’d have headed directly to the island. However, after bumping into the two absolute units from the garde la pęche - both gun-carrying I might add - we accepted that we were reduced to fishing only those places that could be reached on four wheels. We consoled ourselves though, with the fact that at least we’d be by the showers and could get to the shops easily.

The landscape was big and beautiful

Our options severely reduced, and through no fault of our own, we stood and deliberated by the water that stretched out in front of us and it was agreed that Tom would take the left of Peg One and me, the right. He would fish more into the open water with three rods and I’d cast into the bay with my usual two. With the lake being seemingly devoid of life - both fish- and angler-wise - we wondered if everybody knew something we didn’t…

The Raptors inflated and echo sounders and outboards powered up, we took to the water to find ourselves some flat spots in amongst the weed. In comparison to when we would return a few months later, the weed wouldn’t prove a major hindrance; in fact, it would serve to help us out later on we found.

With spots found, the leads were dropped with a nice satisfying ‘donk’ - albeit in water somewhat shallower than we’d been advised to fish by our European friends. Confidence wasn’t exactly high then, as we persevered with our 8- to 10-foot spots no further than 180 yards from the bank. We had put a plan in place that would see us on the move after 48 hours if we hadn’t caught anything. By around 5 p.m. we’d baited the areas with around ten kilos of hemp and a couple of kilos of our chosen boilies. I’d recently moved to Hutchy’s and had opted to go with the new KMG in 20mm for this trip. With the usual apprehension that using a new bait brings, I was leery of overdoing it with the boilies initially, so opted for what I call the ‘centre circle’ method. This involves baiting a football pitch centre circle-sized area around a marker. I used plenty of hemp to keep the carp grubbing around for long periods, but they’d also stumble across the odd treat by way of larger food items, and hopefully at some point, my hookbait - that was the plan anyway.

33lbs of common and I’m smiling

With the rigs dropped on the edge of the baited areas it was time to get things organised back on dry land. By 6 p.m. the traps were set, the peg was tidy and more hemp was in soak ready to be cooked up the next day. The only thing left to do then, was to open a bottle of cheap red and put our feet up. After no more than twenty minutes, my right-hand rod sprang back, went slack and the alarm sounded the dreaded drop-back tone. My first thought was bream as I dived into the boat and headed out to the mark. By then it was ‘blue hour’ and so a race against time to land and unhook the fish, before re-dropping my rod efficiently in the remaining light left. The fish turned out to be a tench of around 7lb. Was this an indication of what to expect from the rest of our session? I prayed it wasn’t. Come dark soon after, we were both exhausted and a little dishevelled; the day was behind us and my bedchair was beckoning.

After what felt like just a couple of minutes’ sleep, my left-hand rod burst into life and my sounder box screamed in my ear. In an almost subconscious state, I found myself in the Raptor doing battle with the first carp of the session. It was by no means a monster or anywhere near our targeted size, but slipping the net under a pristine 22lb common was a much-needed confidence boost that early on. The supposed two minutes I’d been asleep was nearer three hours and it had just turned 11 p.m.; I had no issue getting back to sleep that night!

I’d like to say I was up and awake early the following morning to watch the water, but I’d underestimated just how little light penetration there is through the Hybrid and it was after ten o’clock when I finally got up. It was hot… the sun was already round and in our faces and things did not look favourable. Conditions that particular day however, didn’t seem to have the usual effect on the fishing and I landed three more fish: a ‘scraper 20’ common; a mirror around 25lb that had obviously been in the wars given its worn-down fins; and another immaculate common, this time just under 27lb… the unexpected was certainly to be expected on this trip it seemed. Tom got in on the action later after a slow start, adding a stunning little common. I banked a 19lb mirror and Tom got amongst the bigger fish in the evening with a common that took the scales just past 30lb… it was turning into a bit of a whirlwind!

More success

In almost the blink of an eye, we were 48hrs into our trip and with the next 24 proving fruitless - bar a couple of moggies falling to Tom’s rods - it gave me time to wind down a little and put a plan together for the remainder of the week.
A common of 30lb came to my left-hand rod just as Tom’s middle rod was away and we posed for a double shot of our captures. Tom’s was a lovely two-tone mirror of about 15lb and testament really, to the fact that it was turning into a bit of a mental week - whilst also putting paid to any concerns I had about using a new bait… in fact, it begged the question, why hadn’t I changed sooner?

We were definitely on carp, but it seemed we were fishing in their nursery. Were the big girls ever going to show up? It sounds a bit ungrateful or negative perhaps, given that I was effectively bagging up, but when you’re at home looking at pictures of Madine carp banked down the years, the everlasting image I have is of those sparsely-scaled, deep-bodied, truly mammoth-sized, almost ancient-looking beasts with the biggest underslung mouths you’ve ever seen. The carp we were catching - aside from the fact that they were predominantly commons - looked nothing like the aforementioned fish and were generally, very much smaller. Still, I shouldn’t have complained; it was better than being at work and given the year I’d had before where I didn’t seem to be able to buy a bite wherever I went, this was a very welcome experience.

Big and very beautiful - all 48lbs of her!

Now, I’ve never been one to overcomplicate my rigs; in fact, I’d say my rigs haven’t changed much over the last 20 years really. Obviously the quality of terminal tackle has improved during that time, but the mechanics and principles remain the same. When fishing vast public waters, there’s certainly no room to be cute or over-technical; the more that’s going on with your rig, the more there is to go wrong. I’m not saying you have to fish this way - there’s more than one way to skin a cat, as they say. What I’m saying is that it’s definitely ‘brawn not brains’ as far as these big waters are concerned. There are certainly no wheels being reinvented here as far as terminal arrangements are concerned, with big strong hooks, longer-than-usual semi-stiff hooklinks and reliable lead clips an absolute must. Using strong, high quality braided mainline and a good quality mono snag leader, you’re turning it all up to 11 so to speak, and giving yourself the best chance of landing fish without any unnecessary hassle. From my experience, the fish in these venues aren’t usually rig-shy, but what they lack in being able to suss out a hook or lead, they more than make up for in power and knowing their environment… at any given moment, they can wrap you around the nearest submerged tree stump and it’s game over!

My standard, go-to rig would be a size 2, hand-sharpened, Gardner Mugga tied knotless knot-style, to a length of 25lb Sly Skin hooklink of around 10 inches, with an inch or so stripped back to help the hook turn and catch the carp’s bottom lip. Two 20mm baits are presented ‘snowman’ style by means of the German Rig. Why it’s called the German Rig all of a sudden is anyone’s guess. It seems all the rage nowadays, to take old rigs and re-invent them by giving them a new name (bah humbug!). The lead arrangement consists of an MCF lead clip - maybe not the most fashionable or prettiest on the market, but its mechanics are so simple it’s almost genius - and a ten-ounce lead to overcome the amount of boat traffic, floating weed or any birdlife that might interfere with your lines at any time is then attached.

The winning combo

Thoughts returning to the somewhat elusive big girls of Madine, we were left with a bit of a dilemma: should we stay and wade through the smaller fish in front of us or take our chances with the WWF-sized gentlemen from the garde la pęche and move? With the catfish taking more and more of a liking to Tom’s Squid boilies, we came to the decision that he’d head off round the island for the day, whilst I’d sit it out in mosquito alley!

After a day sitting on my own, I got the call to say that he was coming back - with alas, nothing other than sunburn to show for his efforts. I lit the disposable barbecue and awaited his return. No sooner had I placed a couple of juicy duck breasts on it, when my ‘banker’ left-hand rod banged over, lifting the butt out of the rest and up into the air… I managed to grab it just before it vanished into the depths! I wasn’t fishing locked up, but the takes were that violent, my new reels (the make of which I’ll keep to myself!) just couldn’t handle their ferocity and gave up on me - the less said about that, the better!

After a twenty-minute battle with me backwinding rather than using the clutch, a mid-thirty common gave itself up - they were getting bigger! The next couple of days brought more of the same: a couple of commons, two more cats for Tom - who was now on eleven for the session and pulling his hair out - and a bream apiece. With his little day trip round the island proving fruitless and him getting plagued by catfish whilst I caught consistently, tensions were running high in camp. I’d been in the same situation before, where he’d been emptying the place and I couldn’t get a sniff. It’s not a nice feeling and sometimes it can get the better of you as you rack your brains to figure out what you’re doing wrong… that’s just fishing I guess. Nonetheless, we settled down for our final night, wondering whether Madine had one more surprise in store for us. With the obligatory final bottle of Bordeaux almost drained, we discussed what time we needed to be packed down and away by, ahead of the drive north.
It was imperative that one of us got a decent night’s sleep, given the monumental driving stint waiting for us when we woke. No such luck though… around the usual time, the left-hand rod was away once more. The tip was going crazy, like a bite from a big barbel on the River Severn. Having tied off the butts of my DMX rods, there was a bit of a kerfuffle trying to get in the boat with a rod still attached to my rear storm pole! After what seemed like an eternity though, it was finally out and I was in contact with whatever was attached to the other end of my line, but it had gone solid… very solid in fact. The fish had buried itself in the biggest bed of ‘Canadian’ imaginable. After a couple of minutes’ steady pressure my heart stopped briefly as the fish came free of the weed. I was starting to think it’d come off, when I then made contact again and found myself doing battle under my rod tip. The fish felt different - slower, yet more powerful. It stayed deeper than all the others and after a further ten minutes or so - with my bicep and back burning - my knees turned to jelly as I got a flash of a large, golden flank in the light of the full moon. It pulled me round the bay a little longer before engulfing itself in a rogue raft of floating weed. I then drew this ball of weed closer and slid my net under it. I peered over the boat, removed all the weed and stared down at a truly stunning bar of gold… I didn’t need my head torch, the moon was that bright. I got back to the bank, handed Tom the sling and after lifting it out, he looked at me and said simply, “That’s a biggun!”

A clean looking 40lb Madine common

It wasn’t the biggest common either of us had seen, but it had a huge frame… it was certainly lighter than its size would suggest. It eventually pulled the scales round to 41lb and was the icing on the cake for me, so much so I decided not to put my rod back out. I’d had only one fish on the other rod and the chances of that going again were slim, so I was sure I could resume my anticipated good night’s sleep.

At 4:30 a.m. one of Tom’s rods motored off and before I could get out of my bag, he was halfway across the lake. After the nightmare he’d had, I told myself foolishly that it was another cat, got back into my bivvy and shut my eyes. My thoughts proved somewhat naive though, and 15 minutes later he let out an almighty “Get in!” I was straight out of the tent…

“What is it”? I asked.

“It’s a ****ing monster!” he replied.

He wasn’t wrong! We weighed her and put her in the retention sling for an hour or so, so we could get some decent shots come the light of morning. Finally, it was amazing to see one of the old, original Madine stock in the flesh… she really didn’t disappoint. I congratulated Tom - and may have called him something - I can’t quite remember - before once again, heading back to bed.

A while later, and somewhat strangely, my one rod left in the water rattled off at just before 6 a.m. - the exact time we were due to get up! I was rewarded with a right old character weighing 33lb and yep, you’ve guessed it, it was a common; Madine it seemed, bade me farewell with a parting gift. The both of us by then on cloud nine, we photographed Tom’s 48lb whacker, packed the van and began our long journey home. Get in Madine… get in! Rest in peace Rod.