A Tale of Two Sixties W// Fred Saunders

Heading out to Europe just hits different. You can fish England until the cows come home, but that ferry feeling is something else. It’s like a mix of holiday, mission and adrenaline. You plan, prep, pack too much food and tie rigs until stupid o’clock, and somehow you still get to the ferry wondering if you’ve forgotten something.

Before the crossing we met at the syndicate. Usual story, no rods out but the whole conversation was fishing. Then we met Mat for a meal. If anyone knows Kerbidic, it’s him. He gave us a few bits of info, a couple of tips, plenty of bait talk, but more than anything it was just good energy. No flapping. No running around last minute. Everyone calm and ready for the week ahead.

Ater the meal with Mat we hit the road and headed for the ferry. We were nice and early which is always a win because it means the bar isn’t far once you’re onboard. That’s when the trip really starts. Beer in hand, lads laughing, the whole atmosphere loosens up. Simon was on this trip with us. Me and Alf knew him well but he was new to some of the boys, and within ten minutes you’d think he’d been part of the group for years.

Tried sleeping in the cabin. Didn’t happen. I was lying there all night thinking about spots, rigs, snags, margins, baiting patterns and everything else. You wait all year for trips like this. There’s no chance you’re switching your brain off.

After what was certainly a sleepless night, we got ourselves up, had a little freshen up, a little bit of breakfast and got ourselves straight down to the vans ready to get under way. Driving off that ferry into the French countryside is unreal. Windows down, tunes on, scenery miles better than anything you get on the M5, and the excitement just builds. We stopped for snacks and supplies because you legally have to come back from France with enough food to feed an army, took one or two wrong turns, and then finally we came through the last bit of road and saw the lake.

You feel it before you see it. That little stomach flip that tells you you’re close.

We met the owners, Gary and Hannah, straight away. Lovely people, nothing was too much trouble. They walked us through everything from facilities to lake tips to hotspots and you could tell instantly that they genuinely cared about the place and the anglers that visit them.

Then we got to the water. Deep green forest wrapped around an entire lake. Loud with nature and somehow silent at the same time. Proper paradise. Not just a nice lake. Something special. You know straight away that you’ll remember it for the rest of your life.

Everyone picked swims except me and Alan. It came down to swim 4 or 7. I let him choose and he picked 4 which suited me perfectly because I had done my homework on 7. It’s snaggy and if you’re not on those rods instantly you’re losing fish. But 7 is my lucky number so I looked across the water and thought if I’m doing this, I’m doing it properly.

We got everyone’s kit round together. No stress, no racing to get rods in, just helping each other, laughing, and getting the swims sorted like a proper social. Then out came the lead and marker which to me is what catches carp. It doesn’t matter how fancy the bait or rigs are if you don’t find the right spots. A bit of work and I found two lovely far-margin areas so I baited them properly. Pinacolada boilies, house pellet and particle, loads of S.L.A.B Liquid because I won’t go anywhere without it, a tiny bit of enzyme and a few caps of oil. Maximum attraction and total confidence.

I spotted fizzing on an open-water area, hit it with the lead, found a clean spot and put some Pinacolada 18s on it just to have a back-up line. Always good to have one tucked away.

Light went faster than expected and I rushed the rods out. Should have waited for the morning but excitement does that to you. First night and next morning were quiet but I’d seen fish and that was enough to stick to the plan.

Around 3pm on day two it finally kicked off. Couple of smaller ones which immediately took the pressure off. No blank and the spots and bait were doing what they were supposed to. Lovely.

Then the right-hand rod absolutely tore off. Fish powered straight into the snags and ditched me. Didn’t feel like a giant but a lost fish is a lost fish. Reset and carried on.

Meanwhile Simon hit a PB into the 40s and Alf had a 40 as well. I was buzzing for them. Alan, Tony and Chris needed a bit of luck but I knew their time would come.

Alf MitchellSimon CarpenterThat evening something clicked. After feeling how savage the fights were I decided nights were pointless in that swim. Too many snags and too much chance of carnage. Better to leave the rods out overnight, rest the spots, top up at last light and fish properly from first light. Day three was the first day of that approach and it paid off instantly with fish to 39.

Later that afternoon we topped up before lunch and reeled in. The BBQ was unreal. Proper food, proper weather, beers, laughter, everyone ripping each other, music going, all the best bits of a social. Simon and Tony barely knew anyone when they arrived and within days it was like they’d known us for years. That’s what fishing does.

Back to the swims after lunch and rods out again. Right and middle were tight to the far bank. The left-hander was on that open-water backup line.

Twenty minutes later the left-hander melted off.

Straight away I knew it was a better fish. Rod low, bullying her to keep her clear of the snags, heart thumping. Once she came free into open water it was pump, reel, recover, don’t let her turn. Under the tip I saw her properly for the first time and my legs nearly went. Into the net. Job done. I looked at her and thought that’s a 50. That’s exactly what I came for.

While she rested in the sling and we sorted the mat and the camera kit, the left-hander went again.

Same fight, same fear of the snags, same adrenaline hit. Under the tip it was obvious this one was massive too. Net under. Done. Two giants sat side by side and I honestly couldn’t speak.

We weighed the first and it went 60lb 2oz.

We weighed the second and it went 60lb 4oz.

Lumpy

Two 60s in fifteen minutes. Even writing it down it doesn’t seem real.

Chris smashed the photos. After the traditional bucket soaking I reeled in, hit the shower and walked back down the bank. Every single angler stopped me on the way, shook my hand, hugged me, smiled, and meant it. No jealousy. No egos. Just lads buzzing for each other. That was worth as much as the weights.

Back at the bivvy I finally had five quiet minutes. Looked up. Thought about my dad. Everything he taught me. Everything he was. It hit hard in the best way. For a moment the whole lake and the whole week went quiet and I just sat there with him in my head. That’s the bit I’ll remember forever.

Then, like he would have wanted, I cracked on and enjoyed the rest of the week.

Rigs were Ronnies, made up of, 35lb Tungskin coated braid, size 2 Trakker Clinga SP hooks, with just enough putty to balance the hook, and either a snowman or single depending on the spot, all on a helicopter system, something which i have really gained faith in over the years. Nothing crazy and nothing overcomplicated. Just right for the situation.

Mid-week was Alf’s birthday. He had a birthday fish in the morning and the BBQ at lunchtime was one of those perfect memories. Cold drinks, good food, music, laughing until you ache, everyone in top spirits. That’s what makes these trips special.

Fishing slowed toward the end but it didn’t matter. The lads who had struggled early smashed it later with some good fish, Alan ended up with a 40, and a cracking 40 mirror it was, and Tony ended up losing a very good fish but then went on to landing another gorgeous mirror. Couldn’t have been happier for them. 

Alan Hudson

Tony BishopFerry cancellation meant an extra night in Roscoff which was basically a bonus social. Hotel, drinks, food, more memories, then the ferry home, with a slightly sore head.

I went out hoping for a 50. I came home with two 60s in fifteen minutes.

Still can’t get my head around it.

Hookbait wise I went with the Agent Ms because it had been doing well back home and old school flavours always do damage. I also fished the new Mulberry Fizz fluoro in orange because of what the Fuzzy Peach had done earlier in the year. Alf kept banging on about orange so I gave it a go and he was right. Yellow is usually my go-to but I’ve really opened up the last few years with wafters, pop-ups and colours. When something feels right, you back it. And this trip was exactly that. Wake up, hit repeat, smile.

Huge thanks to Gary and Hannah for an incredible venue and unreal hospitality.

Huge thanks to the lads for the laughs, the chaos and the memories.

And huge thanks to my dad. I felt him with me that day.

See you next year Kerbidic.

I’m not finished with you yet...

Fred.