Well, good morning from a dull and dreary Dover on the Kent coast, it's 7am and I'm waiting to board the ferry for Dunkerque after stopping for a coffee and a bacon sandwich as you do. Yes, I know it's barely been a month since my last trip, but that's just how I roll. I've well and truly got the bug back for my adventure fishing on the continent this year and I intend to escape our bivvy-riddled little island at any and every opportunity. This time around I'm headed to Belgium for a week, and although I'm full to the brim with a last minute cold which has rendered me near to useless, I forced myself up at 4am and into the car, coughing and sniffing as I made my way along misty lanes toward the M25. The journey down on empty roads was a pleasure and I’ll soon be boarding the tub, as I'm sat here typing away the cars are starting to move as loading begins. This is the first time for a long time that I’ve been on a ferry, but as I'm travelling alone and it’s frequently still by far the cheapest way to cross the channel. This time I paid less than 70 quid return which makes it more than doable alone, and I can do the whole trip on one tank of fuel too.
I have no real expectations for the trip, making plans only ever leads to disappointment, so as usual I’ll be mostly winging it and just going with the flow. Now, heading abroad alone to fish can be difficult in many ways but you have to weigh up the pros and cons. Firstly, travelling with a friend means you can halve the costs involved, but it also means that if you find good fishing you have to share it. I'm happy to do this but it has to be with the ‘right’ friend – being a good angler isn't enough. They also need to have a similar attitude and be flexible. From Dunkerque it's only a short slap to the Belgian border and roughly an hour to get to my friend Wesley’s house near Gent. I’ll have a night fishing from Wes’ garden (he lives right beside a nice syndicate lake) and I'm looking forward to a catch up and a bottle or two of cold Belgian beer as it’s been a few years since I last came over to see him, which is way too long, but life's trials and tribulations have a habit of getting in the way.
After this I’ll be tying up with another good friend, Alain, as we have a little bit of ‘guesting’ planned on a big but low stock nature reserve that I've never fished or seen before. As you can imagine this is right up my street, especially as it holds a big perfect common of nearly 30 kilos! From here I honestly have no idea where I’ll end up. I may travel back to Northern France for a few days to explore a few new waters for a planned return later on in the year, or I may stay in Belgium, it's totally in the lap of the carp gods who I hope will guide me to a little bit of good fishing while I'm away. One thing is for sure and that is that, as always, I’ll enjoy every second and hopefully I’ll catch the odd one to show you, at least that's the plan. The lads at Wychwood have asked that I try and film a few bits so that they can edit some footage to detail my excursions for the website too. I've had a go pro for ages now and always intend to shoot as much as possible, but usually the fishing takes over and I get so immersed that I forget to get the camera out. This time around though I have two cameras, lots of SD cards and charged batteries so there really is no excuse. I'm always asked for footage, the sort of fishing I choose to do can best be described as aspirational, and it clearly appeals to a wide variety of anglers so I’ll promise to do my best and try to change the habits of a lifetime and get the camera out BEFORE getting the rods out, as its usually all over long before it even occurs to me to film it.
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Well, it's two days in, the nasty cold I picked up has pretty much levelled me for the last 48-hours. That combined with the heavy rain that's been more or less constant has made filming pretty much pointless – that's not to say that I have nothing to report though. After arriving at my friends house I was already realising that my developing cold/flu was going to hit me hard, I was so blocked up I could hardly hear. Truth be known, I was in no state to socialise, and Belgian beer I knew would ruin me, but, Wesley insisted so I had a couple to celebrate seeing my good friend for the first time in a few years. I couldn't believe it had been so long. I have fished from Wes’s garden in the past and knew where I'd be fishing, all I could think about was slinging out a couple of rods and going to bed as id been up since 4am, but it was still midnight by the time I turned in. Wes told me that his last couple of bites had been around 3am and almost to the minute one of the rods melted off in the early hours. After taking a good seventy yards of braid, whatever it was snagged me well over two hundred yards away and it was gone. The savagery and speed of the run left me shaking but I felt far too rough to dwell on it and was soon back in the bag shivering, telling myself that it must have been an angry smaller fish. Early the next morning Wes woke me on his way to work and I felt truly awful – a coughing, spluttering snotty mess and no doubt I looked as bad as I felt, so any thoughts of trying to film were dismissed instantly as I could barely speak and I just wanted to go back to bed.
Anyway, I sat there for a while in the rain looking out through semi focused eyes when I glimpsed a big black shape way out in the middle close to where I was fishing and this spurred me into staying awake and putting on the kettle. I needed caffeine to assist in bringing me round for sure and also a visit to the chemists for some drugs to ease my symptoms. The kettle was just boiling for the third time that morning when the same rod burst into life again, amid a heavy deluge of rain. By this time the wake boarders and jet skis were out on the lake in force so I made my way carefully down the wet rocks with the rod to the waters edge and sunk the tip deep to avoid being cut off as the jet skis were passing very close to the bank towing learners. The fish, typically after being hooked at long range began to kite on a tight line down to my left, thankfully away from the other lines and from here on in it was a case of keeping the tip deep and slowly gaining line wind by wind. After twenty minutes or so I had the fish near but it kept charging off savagely shaking its head, which on the braided mainline, stout rod and a small hook was a hairy experience to say the least. Just as I had the fish close to shore a water skier came past and fell off directly in front of me, right over my lines no more than thirty yards out the joey. As the boat gunned the engines to spin around and pick up the skier the fish bolted at the noise above and took off taking a load more line and leaving me cursing out loud to no one. Would you believe this was repeated several times as the novice skier fell off as soon as the boat moved off each time, much to my distain. This only served to draw the fight out for another twenty minutes before I finally had what looked like a big common within netting range. Just as I'd got the first welcome sign that the fish was finally tiring my remaining rod bleeped twice then absolutely tore off, almost pulling the rod off the rest and into the lake as it charged away… oh no!
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I began to bully the common but sense quickly prevailed once It occurred to me that I could easily end up losing both by trying to rush things, so I just concentrated on the job in hand and prayed the tight butt rest held on to my rod long enough for me to get there. A minute or so passed before a chunky looking fish was finally netted and I dropped the net and quickly clambered up the bank and ran to the other rod. Sadly, the fish had by then found a snag and shed the hook by the time I tightened up to it and I cursed out loud when I realised it had gone, how's you luck.
When I had the rods ready to recast the lake was super busy with water skiers. Trying to recast at 130 yards and sink the buoyant braid before the next skier passed was risky in the extreme so I decided to wait until the evening once they had packed up for the day, and then put the rods out for the night as the bites seemed to be coming either in the early hours or from first light through until mid morning. I had arranged to meet up with my friend Alain to go and fish the following morning so I didn't put much more than a kilo of boilie out that evening with the spomb, gambling that I'd maybe get a couple of bites earlier in the night with less bait in the swim. I'd miss the better morning spell because Al was intending to pick me up at 5am for our ‘guesting’ trip though.
The nature reserve was a new water to me and as always I relish anything new. Al decided to come over that evening and stay the night to have a social with Wes and I and to make it easier in the morning. We laughed and drank Belgian beer in the rain and as usual had a great time regardless of the grim weather, I’m fairly sure I caught one in the early hours and dived back in the bag after recasting and it felt like barely a few minutes later that Al was waking me at 4.30am. After a much needed coffee Al, Renard, his new puppy and I were soon on our way . We left amidst heavy rain but by the time we had arrived at the reserve it had eased a little, so wasting no time we gathered our kit and made our way in after making sure that the coast was clear. The wind had swung round overnight and was now blowing off down the far end from where Al had baited but we dropped in anyway as from our plot we had a great view down the lake and we were hopeful of at least seeing something to go on. The rain soon started again and by mid morning we had seen and caught nothing so it was decided to head back to the syndicate lake after first visiting the sandwich shop, as you do (Belgian sandwiches are the best in the world).
As I've said from the outset I really had no expectations for this trip. My main objective being to catch up with my Belgian brothers, have a rest and enjoy myself. The wet weather which looked to be in for the week might have curtailed my filming attempts but it would not dampen my spirits one bit. Back at Wes’ the storm intensified so I retreated to my bed full of cold and feeling a little sorry for myself with the intention of sleeping for much of the afternoon as there was little point in doing much else. The carp however had other ideas and both rods went within the hour of being cast out to the middle. On both occasions I'd just got warm and comfortable when I had the take and I landed them both, a mid-twenty dumpy two-tone mirror and a low 30 mirror. It was clear that taking the lines out even for a few hours had been the right thing to do.
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Rain, rain, rain would have been a good title for this diary piece. The long periods of bivvy confinement did give me ample time to do a little planning for my next trip though. The rain and my flu left me day-dreaming about the sunny south of France and just how nice it is down there in the summer. A return to Cassien is the next big trip I've decided – again I’ll be going alone. I intend to take my time and have a fish around on the way down and stay for three weeks, a fortnight of which I’ll spend with Dave at Cassien Carp Tours.
The plan seemed a good one, a month in the sun, for best part of chasing big old carp in great surroundings and living the dream as they say. I lay there in the rain imagining the hot sun on my back, cold beers , flip flops, sun bathing sauce pots and tres lovely times. Inspired, I booked my crossing while the incessant rain hammered away atop my brolly and I now had plenty to look forward to and get ready for. With time on my hands I also started looking at the cost of flights to Italy for my Autumn adventures once the oppressive heat abates a little. I think it's fair to say that I have plenty to plan for, so much so my head is spinning with it all but I'm also excited, positive and optimistic about the future of my adventure angling to pastures new. The only positive about the wet weather was the fact that despite being a washout it was actually great fishing conditions and this kept the fish on the feed all week. Without trying particularly hard I guess I landed a dozen fish in total, the biggest being a lovely dumpy 42 pounder – the icing on the soggy cake and the culmination of a hectic night. I knew I'd have to be away by 9am and head back to Dunkerque to catch the midday ferry so I'd only cast out two rods the previous evening and baited with just a few spombs, probably a kilo of boilie at most. The first take came just before midnight and an angry mid 20 mirror was landed and returned. During the fight the fish had obviously brushed against a snag as the hook link was mangled and rather than tie a new rig I folded the rod away and was content to fish just one rod. Well, no sooner was I asleep than the remaining rod was away and a slightly bigger mirror was returned after a mega fight, and I recast the rod as the hook and bait was still good and dived back into bed. It went again less than an hour later and the hour after that. Each time the buzzer sounded I dragged myself out to the rod and by the fourth bite I considered calling it a day and just going to bed to grasp a few hours much needed sleep, but I recast one more time and was glad I did as the final bite produced the biggest fish of the trip!
Self takes done and everything packed in the car I was off for home at 9am. Needless to say I yawned the whole way back to the ferry, and with thankfully no dramas, I was home by mid afternoon and desperate for a hot bath and an early night in my own bed.
