For almost the thousandth time that morning I hit the re-dial
button on the telephone. It was now almost two and a half hours
since I had begun dialing the number; my ear was stuck flat to
the side of my head, and was beginning to ache. My boss at work
was giving me cross looks - soon he would say something, and I
would have to give up the quest. The telephone at the other end
of the line had been engaged for all this time. Once I had got
a ringing tone, but no-one had answered. What should I do? If it
was a wrong number, I was wasting precious time. But if it was
the right one, and I hung up, I may never get through again. I
let it ring for 10 minutes, then re-dialed. Engaged again!
Half an hour later, again I got a ringing tone, and this time
it was answered.
"Boobs 'n' bums corsetterie" said the voice on the other end.
"Is this a wind up?" I replied.
"This is Boobs 'n' Bums - can I help you?" said the voice, now
getting cross.
"Are you taking Redmire bookings?" I asked innocently.
"Are you taking the piss?" replied the cross voice.
I hung up. I had been through all this, for no reward, a year
previously, when after two hours I eventually got through to
a home for alcoholics (not a Freudian slip!). The moral to that
story is not to trust your re-dial button! A call to the operator
requesting the line be checked had resulted in me being told that
it was out of order. At that point I had given up. When I did
eventually get through I was told all the dates were booked,
and no, the phone hadn't been out of order. Thanks Telecom. Now, I
was idly wondering how many more times I had been ringing a wrong
number, when what was probably close on the one thousandth
call was answered by the unmistakable voice of Vic Cranfield,
sounding rather knackered.
"Is that you Vic" I said, equally wearily. He replied in the
affirmative, though he didn't sound too sure!
"Are there any Redmire bookings left" I asked with a definite
note of resignation in my voice.
"Nothing in the summer" said Vic, "What do you want - a
week or a week-end?"
"Just a week-end" I replied.
"I've got one left at the end of October" he said.
October - that didn't sound too bad. I perked up.
"Yes we'll take it, where do I send the money?"
Having got all the details, I immediately sent off the cheque,
then phoned two friends to tell them the good news. In around
14 months time we would spend a week-end at Redmire. It was
too far in the future to get excited - too far off to even think
about. None of us knew how we really felt about Redmire
anymore after all the hassle that had gone on. But we all wanted
to replace our images of the place with the real thing.
Time passes quickly between June and March, doesn't it. If
you have to catch up on a year's decorating, gardening and
house-mending it tends to pass quite quickly between March
and June as well! Before we knew it, we were into a new
season, and then the long hot summer had been and
gone. As the first leaves began to yellow and brown, so the
long awaited date approached. Both Kevin and John, my
companions for the trip, phoned me two days before we were
due to leave. Though neither of them had thought about it
up until this time, they were now both very excited. And so
was I - it was like having another start to the season -
another June 16th, in October. I started to read the Redmire
book again, something I hadn't done since before I made the
bookings. I hadn't wanted to as it would only have made the date
seem as far away as it in fact was. But now it had arrived.
I could read the book, and begin dreaming again. After a couple
of hours of being totally absorbed in "Redmire Pool" (many thanks
to the authors for that piece of magic), it was time to get the
tackle ready. I had already decided
that Redmire was no place for 12ft 2 1/2lb test curve carbons.
I would take my cane Mk IV's. I have 5 of these, three of the
Sharpes impregnated cane. These are lovely rods, and I have caught
many carp on them. They had in fact already been to Redmire in
the hands of Roger Smith, from whom I bought them many years ago.
It would be nice to take them back. The fourth rod would be one
of the classic James Mk. IV's, less steely in action than the
Sharpes, but a beautiful rod never-the-less. I hadn't used
the Sharpes rods for a few years now, since I gave up fishing
the small waters. I took them down from the hook, and removed
them from the cloth bags (remember those?!). Attaching a
Cardinal 55, I ran the line through the rings, and holding
it in my left hand, pulled the rod round to about half its test
curve, just to remind myself of the fighting curve of the cane.
But the rod never reached anything like its fighting curve - to my utter
dismay there was a loud crack and the cane splintered
about 18 inches from the top of the rod.
For quite some time I gazed at it, stupified. The feeling was
similar
feeling to that which you get when you have had your baits out
for 3 days on a hard water, then reel in to find the rig tangled
and your bait gone - there's nothing at all to be
done about it.
After all those carp, the rod was finally finished, and there
was not a thing to be done about it (unless someone out there
has any suggestions - please??). I suppose it could have been
worse - it could have happened at Redmire. I must have stood
for nearly five minutes, staring disconsolately at the broken
rod top. Well, I still had four Mk. IV's left - one down,
four to go! I thought I had better check the others. On
examining the top of one of the other Sharpes rods, I noticed
hair-line cracks near the place where the first rod had
snapped. I didn't like the look of that! I didn't want to
break that one - even if I never used it again I'd rather
it stayed in one piece! The third of the Sharpes trio looked
O.K., so I threaded line through the rings and tied the end
to my rucksack. It survived a pull to its test curve, so
I left it set up. I wanted to take four rods, so eventually
decided to take my pair of through action Kevlars, plus
two of the surviving Mk. IV's, the Sharpes and the James.
Choosing rigs was a difficult one, but I settled for a combination
of fixed leads and paternosters, with varying lengths of
hooklinks, using Kryston's Supersilk, Merlin and Silkworm.
Baits had been prepared some weeks ago, Nutrabaits fish meal,
Hi-Nu-Val, and a particle I'm not allowed to talk about.
(and which didn't work anyway!). All the gear was ready - the
only other thing I was tempted to do was to make a sticker
for the car window announcing "We're going to Redmire!".
I didn't, though I almost wish I had.
Friday dawned. Though the week-end sessions at Redmire are
a little short, starting as they do late on a Friday afternoon,
it did make a change to set out on a fishing foray at a
civilised hour. We didn't know how long the journey would take,
so allowed ourself plenty of time. We didn't mind being
early, but we certainly didn't want to be late! We set off
down the M40, normally a nice relaxing motorway to drive on,
ideal to keep you in the right state of mind. Ten miles into
the journey, and we were sitting stationary in the one lane
left after the others had been closed for major roadworks!
What a good start! I refused to get wound up - I was in a
Redmire mood, and I was going to stay in one. Eventually
the roadworks were left behind, and we were travelling through
the beautiful countryside of the Cotswolds. For some time I had
noticed John stealing furtive glances out of the back window.
"What are you looking for?" I asked.
"Ducks" he replied.
"Ducks - what ducks?"
"That swarm of tufties that follows you everywhere!"
It wasn't long before we had by-passed Ross-on-Wye, and were on
the last leg of the journey, looking for the signpost to Glewstone.
As we travelled through the last of the country lanes before
reaching the entrance to Bernithan Court, I imagined how
Dick Walker and his friends must have felt when they got this
close. Imagine going to fish for a week on a lake that almost
certainly contained carp of 60lbs - in 1952! That would be
like finding a three acre lake holding 90lb fish now! No
wonder their car jumped from its chassis!
At long last, there was the magic sign - "Bernithan Court".
How it made the adrenalin flow! But we were an hour and a half
too early. We decided to make for the nearest pub, and driving
on through Llangarron, eventually found the Royal Inn. We hoped
this was the place all Redmire anglers had visited, though
there was no sign of Jack the road man! Inside a picture of
Redmire pool hung over the fireplace. Though I've seen many
pictures of Redmire, this is one of the few I have seen which
show the whole pool. Taken in winter, it was not as atmospheric
as it could have been, but inspiring never-the-less. We ordered
pints of best bitter, and bar snacks, then began chatting to the
friendly landlord, a relative newcomer, who it seems is getting
well used to carp anglers and their strange ways. Time passed
quickly, and before too long it was time to leave. I tried to
get ahead of Kevin, who had driven down separately. I didn't
want my first view of Redmire to be obscured by the back of
a Volkswagen van! A few minutes later, we drove over the
cattle grid, and into the estate.
"Now" said John, "remember, don't turn off your ignition and
coast down the hill. If you do that, neither your power
steering, nor your servo brakes will work, and we'll probably
end up in the lake!"
God, imagine that! Our first view was from the top of the old track
which led down to the dam. We couldn't see much, just a small
tri-angle of water glinting through the trees at the edge of
the dam. I was a little disappointed that a new track had been
made - I wanted to go down exactly the track that all those
famous anglers had gone down in times past. I stopped at the gate
and John held it open while Kevin and myself drove through and
parked in the secluded car park. The first thing we had to do
was to stand on the dam. Excitedly, we walked along the path,
climbed over the stile, and trying not to look too much at the
lake until we had reached our destination, followed the track
onto the dam. In truth, in late October, without weed-growth,
and without those majestic weeping willows which graced the
banks like living fountains of green in the days of Walker, the
sight of Redmire is not exceptionally impressive. It's a very
pretty lake, but were it not for its history, you would
think no more of it than that. But the feeling you get
when looking at it, knowing all that it has meant to so
many anglers, knowing all that has gone on there in the
past, is one that is hard to describe. It is a lovely place,
surrounded by beautiful countryside, and it feels good too.
We were unfortunate to find Redmire in sombre mood, on
a grey drizzly day. One's first sight should be of Redmire
in mellow sunlight. But as far as fishing goes, we thought
the weather ideal - a sunny October day can mean a frosty
night, and that was the last thing we wanted. As we stood
on the dam, leaning on the rail like so many had done before
us, Redmire gave us its best welcome, as it hurled a
twenty pound common carp from its depths to greet us.
To be there was enough - but if we could catch one of those...
We had a walk round, trying to identify the various
swims. I had though, already chosen mine. As I had organised
the trip, I had (at my suggestion!) been given first choice.
And there was no choice for me - I wanted to fish
the swim in which Walker caught the "44". A quick look at
the Redmire log for the previous week gave us no real clues,
so after unpacking the cars, and agreeing that he who caught
the most fish would clean the toilet, we set off to our
swims. I must confess that this was a trifle devious on
my part; note I said "fish" and not "carp". I knew Kevin
was intending to fish maggots, and I also knew the pool's
population of small carp loved maggots; as did the eels,
and they all counted!. If Kevin reads this, guess who'll be
cleaning the toilet next time! (next time?). An hour later,
during which time several more fish had crashed out in various
parts of the pool, I was all set up in the Willow pitch.
I had two rods cast to the edge of the deep water (does that
sound familiar fellow Walkerites?), and a third in the far corner
of the dam, by the outflow. Though fish were moving in the
deep centre channel, I remembered reading that they seldom
seemed to feed there. Anyway, there were also fish moving
closer in, so I was happy with the positioning of my baits.
Meanwhile, Kevin had set up almost opposite, in the (haunted?)
"Evening Pitch" and John had bravely gone further up into the
"Stumps", also haunted I believe. There was not a breath of wind,
and as the light faded into one of the blackest nights I have
known, the quietness of the place became intense. One hardly dared
to breathe for fear it would break the spell, and eating a bag of
crisps sounded like an earthquake! Kevin was already well on the
way to becoming toilet cleaner, having taken two fish of about a
pound each, one on maggots, the other on paste. Carp, some of
them very large, were jumping out all over the place. Had we
been fortunate to pick one of those periods when the carp threw
caution to the winds, and really got their heads down?
Well I don't know about the carp - the eels certainly liked
the conditions. Kevin caught one of about 2lbs, then sat
up until five o'clock in the morning striking runs he
couldn't connect with. At about 2 a.m. he woke me to tell
me he had landed a 7lb common.
"Did you weigh it?" I asked.
"No" he replied.
"Did you photograph it?"
"No".
Kevin and I play this game, where we act like noddies,
and exaggerate all our fish weights, saying things like
"Well, I didn't weigh it, but it certainly looked like
a forty!".
It's a send up of those many anglers who always catch big
fish, but never seem to weigh or photograph them!
It's a wonderful game wherein all your carp can be twenties,
(at least), all your pike doubles, all your chub over 4lbs,
your barbel 8lbs plus and every roach ounces over the coveted
2lbs. I'm sure he did catch a 7lb common - all I'm saying is
that I never saw it! Anyway, as he was the only one using
maggots, it gave him an unassailable lead in the toilet
cleaning stakes!
Morning was heralded by the noisy cavortings of a multitude
of rooks, in a rookery somewhere behind the east bank. Though
it was still dark, I knew the light was coming, and wanted to
watch Redmire wake up. Nothing but line bites (were they?) had
disturbed John and I, and Kevin having had no further action,
had now fallen asleep. Most of the fish activity had ceased
around 10 p.m. Apart from when fish are spawning, I had never
in my life heard so many fish leaping about as I had the previous
evening. It put me in mind of fishing a good sea-trout pool at
night. Quite a few of the carp were over the baits too, indeed we
had all had them jumping over our baited areas. Speaking as one
who spends most of his fishing time with baits in the wrong place,
it was nice to know the carp weren't far away - not that they
ever can be far away in Redmire! But either they were not feeding
in the areas where they were leaping, or they were avoiding the
hookbaits. One at a time, I checked the rods. All baits were O.K.,
but I put fresh ones on anyway, as they had gone a bit soft.
Whether or not to put any more free offerings out, that was the
question. In many waters, free offerings may be cleared up by
roach, bream or tench. But in Redmire? I didn't think the
gudgeon could manage the boilies, but the small carp could,
and perhaps the eels too, though they were only being caught
on maggots, and seemed to be of the small mouthed variety. I
didn't want to get it wrong - you can always put more bait in,
but you can't get it out again! I'd had a few twitches on the
HNV rod, so decided to put another 50 small baits around it -
there had certainly been plenty of fish in evidence there
during the night. There had been nothing on the fish meal,
but I put another 20 out, as I like to have fresh ones out
occasionally when using the fish feed oils. The particle rod
had been very quiet, so I left it as it was, having put
a pound or two out the previous evening. I then set up a
fourth rod and cast it tight to the margins, directly in
front of the new boathouse, after having crept round and
thrown a mixture of particles and crushed boilies in there.
Around 10.30 a.m. John came round. He was debating moving
swims and thought he might go in the "In Willow" on my
left. After a quick look, and a check for "vibes" he
decided to move there, and departed to get his tackle.
Half an hour later, he had the first load piled up by
the stile, which is about 15 yards to the right of the
"Willow" pitch. Being a good lad, I helped him carry
some of it to his new swim. Off he went for the next
load. Don't we take some gear! Good job we don't have to
go by bus! This he again deposited at the stile, and went
off for the last remaining bits and pieces. I hadn't noticed
him leave the second load, but looking from my swim a few
minutes later, saw it leaning on the fence. I decided to
carry some of it into the "In Willow" for him. I'd got
just over halfway to the stile, when one of my buzzers
gave out a single beep. I stopped. BEEEEEEEEP! Jesus -
a run - a Redmire run! Though not as fit as I used to
be I can still cover short distances pretty quickly.
I was in the swim in about 1 second! The HNV rod was
bent round towards the dam with line screaming from
the loosened clutch. I picked up the rod, put my
finger over the spool and struck, at the same time
tightening the clutch and slipping the anti-reverse off.
The rod pulled right over - those kevlars have a lovely
fighting curve. The fish came to the surface almost
immediately, boiling some halfway between me and the
"Oaks" swim. John and Kevin had heard all this, and were
now looking across to see if I needed assistance. I
knocked all the other rods from their rests, and sunk
the tips to lay the line along the bottom. Even so,
I would have preferred it if they could be reeled in.
"Help" I called to the others, "can someone come and
reel these rods in?".
Both John and Kevin immediately legged it across the
dam, having heard my shout, and seen the fish swirling
on the surface. It looked as if it would go double
figures at least. By the time John and Kevin arrived,
the fish had safely cleared the two right hand lines,
and only the left hand one remained a threat. Someone,
I forget who, reeled that rod in for me. I honestly
can't remember much about the fight - it wasn't spectacular
and I only really had trouble when the fish was under the
rod top. We could see it was a common, and quite a good one.
Having lost a few fish lately with the hook pulling out,
I didn't want to put too much pressure on this one. It
kept swirling a rod length out, coming tantalisingly
close to the large net being brandished by Kevin, then
rolling out of reach again. I got the usual
"Come on - stop messing about" remarks from the others.
No way was I going to rush this one though. Having got
the fish near the net, I needed to walk backwards to
draw him over the cord. I was a little worried about
doing this, as the bivvy was directly behind me.
"Come on" said John, "you can walk back here".
I briefly turned and saw that one of the others had moved my
chair, and there was room to back up a bit. This I did,
and slowly the fish came over the net. Kevin stretched
out, and I saw the carp come over the net cord. Then
Kevin lifted, and the fish was trapped. What a moment
that was!
"It's in!" I shouted. Carp anglers will know how I felt
at that moment - a bit like I did when David Platt
knocked in that superb last minute winner against Belgium
in the World cup. "It's in!" I had shouted then too.
But this one was mine. I put the rod down, and Kevin
lifted the net from the water, and layed it on the grass.
I didn't like to say it, but the fish looked like a twenty,
very much like a twenty!
"It's a twenty, isn't it" I said cautiously.
"It's easily a twenty" said Kevin.
I can tell you, there was much whooping and air punching
over the next few seconds! I dug out the scales, and
the weigh sling, wetted the sling and zeroed the scales
with the wet sling attached. Laying the weigh sling by the
side of the fish, I slid him across from the net, tucking
his head and tail into the folds at each end of the sling.
The moment of truth! I attached the scales, then carried
the whole lot to where I could steady the scales on a firm
branch of the willow tree to the left of the swim.
"Twenty one pounds ten ounces" I said, and the others agreed.
Many photos were taken, and my lasting impression will always
be of a big, golden fish. I did notice though that it had an
irregular scale pattern towards the front of the left flank.
At first I thought it might be the fish that Bill Quinlan
is holding in the Redmire Pool book, the common with the
distinctive scale pattern, weighing twenty one pounds.
(In the second edition, it says 23lbs). Since I have compared
the photos I have to say I'm not so sure - the irregularities
are remarkably similar, but not the same. I don't know if they
might have changed at all over 20 years. The fish also had a
slightly mishapen top tail lobe, though this could have happened
recently. One more picture of the fish going back, then I let it slip
gently from my hands, to disappear into the leaf covered margins
to the left of the swim. Though I had caught the fish, Kevin
and John were really pleased for me - and no matter who caught
it, we were all delighted to have seen one of the big Redmire
commons on the bank. Talk about icing on the cake - that was
like gold upon gold! What a fish! After a while, the others
drifted back to their swims, and after re-baiting and re-casting,
I sat back, almost in a state of disbelief. Surely everyone who
comes to Redmire for the first time wants a 20lb common. I
was fishing the swim where Walker had landed the "44", casting
to almost the same places he and Pete Thomas had placed their
baits, and I get a lovely great common - what more could
anyone ask for? Whatever happens to me for the rest of my life,
I've been to Redmire, and I've caught a 20lb common; no-one
can take that away from me.
Later, during the afternoon, I reeled all the rods in and
had a walk round the shallows, to look for fish and take some
photographs. The light was still very poor for colour photography,
but I wanted some record of the trip, even if the pictures were
a little dreary. There were so many fish up on the shallows
you could hardly see them among the clouds of mud they were
sending up. I suppose I could have tried putting a bait there,
but I didn't - there wasn't really enough time - it would be
getting dark again in a few hours. John and Kevin had a go
for them, but without success, and as dusk fell, we were all
back in our respective swims. I had lingered on the dam for
a while, as you must, before returning to my swim. Looking
down I noticed some figures inscribed in a strip of concrete.
Looking closer, I realised that they read
34 1/4
44
51 1/2
the weights of the three records Redmire has produced. The
concrete didn't look very old, so I think it must have been
inscribed relatively recently. I've never seen it mentioned
anywhere, so if you go to Redmire, you may be interested to
look for it. And you may well wonder, as I did, whether that
list will ever be added to.
A cold north-east wind was now pushing up the lake -
I wasn't keen on that. I hadn't
intended fishing four rods overnight, but once you have
baited an area, it does make you very reluctant to pull
your hookbait in. I decided to take a chance and leave them
all out, after all, this would probably be my last ever night
at Redmire. Fish were not as active as on the previous
night, though one very big carp did keep leaping somewhere
in front of Inghams. Kevin's small carp had deserted the
swim - I think the eels put them off as he hadn't had any
carp since landing the two eels. Through the night I kept
hearing his optonics and thought he must have caught
something. But it turned out he was striking runs, to find
nothing there. I slept fitfully, as I always
do when carp fishing. I only know I've been asleep when
I can remember dreaming. They are long, these late October
nights, and this was another black one. And a quiet one,
with just the occasional beep on the left hand rod, which
come daylight proved to be a piece of reed stem caught on
the line. John had had no action at all, and now we had
the spectre of packing up and leaving hanging over us.
Just after 9 a.m. the bobbin on my right hand rod rose
to the top, and the clutch started ticking. I struck it -
nothing. I set up a stringer and re-cast. Twenty minutes
later it did it again - still nothing. I had set up with
a small hook, 1 1/2" hair and a running lead. I reeled in
changed it to a fixed 2oz lead and bent hook (2oz. is about
all the Mk.IV will cast!) Ten minutes later the bobbin went
up again, and the rod pulled round. I struck again - still
nothing. What was occurring? I cast it back, and this time
wound everything up tight to the lead, and half tightened
the clutch. Next time it pulled it.... Not long after I
had done this, I noticed Kevin strike yet again.
"Ah!" he shouted, "a little one to finish with".
I sat watching him.
"Aren't you going to come and help me" he called, "this is
a good fish".
"I thought you said it was a small one" I replied.
"No, it's a good one" he said, "get round here".
I sprinted round to the other side and stood behind
Kevin, who had hooked the fish on an Avon rod with 4 or 5lb
line. The fish started to kite to the right, towards the
old 'Boathouse' swim.
"Get round there and throw something in" said Kevin
desperately, "I can't stop it".
I ran into the next swim and looked vainly for something
to throw; there was nothing, only a few tiny twigs. I threw
some of these in, and then began jumping up and down on the
bank, hoping the vibrations would scare the fish out. It
seemed to work. Kevin confirmed that the fish had turned,
and I went and stood alongside John, who by now was standing
behind him. I held the net, and after a minute or so we caught
our first glimpse of the fish. There it was, plain as day,
a pretty Redmire common, all of 3 1/2 lbs! Kevin eventually
landed it, to much ribbing from John and I about his monster
carp. I then remembered that I had left one of my rods
'wound up tight' so hurried back to my swim. Nothing had
moved, and indeed nothing did. Around 11.30 a.m. Kevin
manfully performed his toilet duties. He'd actually been
trying not to go, reckoning that if he didn't, he could
quite justifiably claim that someone else should do the
job. Unfortunately for him, he had succumbed at the
last minute! A life time of curries makes you fairly
regular, if nothing else! At 11.50 a.m. I packed the
last of my tackle away, loaded it into the car, and
went and stood on the dam to say goodbye to Redmire Pool.
We all felt very sad to be leaving - how we would have
loved another day or two. It's funny how the place gets
hold of you - when we first envisaged the trip, we all
agreed that we only wanted to go there once - now we
were racking our brains to find a way to get back
again, even though we know it no longer contains really
big fish. Indeed my local water probably contains 9 or 10
fish which are all bigger than anything in Redmire these
days. They're not Redmire fish though - that is the difference.
It is a lovely place to be at - a friendly water. Even the
mysterious sounds in the night (on the first night I heard
a noise that sounded for all the world as if someone was
picking up my rod bag, but there was no-one there) are not
frightening. If ghosts there are, then I think we knew
whose they were, and they were probably trying to help us,
or see what baits we were using! It had been really nice
too, sharing the place with just two good friends, knowing
that not only was there no-one else there, but there wasn't
likely to be. It is amazing that the place hardly looks as if
it has been fished. It's a real credit to the Carp Society
and its members. During our stay, I never found one single
item of litter, not even a matchstick, or the almost obligatory
bits of dental floss. There was nothing that hadn't grown there.
So we left, envious of the next trio of anglers, who would be
spending a whole week there.
A week has now passed since I returned from Redmire, and
I have thought about it a lot, and spoken to both John and
Kevin. We all felt much the same at first - that we really didn't
want to fish anywhere else. I spoke to Tim about it, and he said
he had felt the same, but it had faded. And so it has to some
extent; life goes on, and you pick up your fishing as before.
One thing we all did independently when we got home was to sit
down with the Redmire Pool book. How nice it was to look at the
pictures again now you could identify them; and to read of events
that happened long ago in swims you had stood in, or fished. I
would very much like to go back to Redmire - this time for longer.
A full week may be too long for me, but the current week-end
is definitely too short. Perhaps a three/four day split would
be better - I'm sure there are many anglers like myself who
can't manage a whole week, but find the week-end too short.
Whether Redmire will ever again produce monsters I don't know,
but it must be possible. I know at least some of the old
Redmire mirrors are still in there, including the big
fully scaled. What a pity though that Jack Opie banged
that other fully scaled on the head - who knows what a
fish that may have become. I know it was common practice
to have fish set up in those days, but I fail to understand
how anyone could kill such a beautiful fish as that was.
Returning to the present, I think there are far too many small
fish in there now. If some of these were netted, I'm sure clubs
would clamour to buy Redmire carp, and the Carp Society could
possibly raise funds that way. But even if it remains the way it
is, it will always be a very special place. Most anglers wanting
to go there will want to visit it not because of what they may
catch, but because of its history. Thankfully, nothing can
ever change that.
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