Legends Series: Chris Yates

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CHRISYATES

LEGENDSS P E C I A L C O L L E C T O R S ’ T R I B U T E

P A R T O N E

The stories that inspired the sport

LEGENDSS P E C I A L C O L L E C T O R S ’ T R I B U T E

LEGENDSFEB 82011

INSIDE: FROM REDMIRE POOL TO THE GREAT GUDGEON HUNT

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001 UK legendsMay Cover.indd 2 26/1/11 11:58:55

CHRIS YATES Contents

CHR IS YATES SPECI A L 2 FEBRUA RY 8, 201 1

“Chris’ unique style of fi shing and writing stands astride the modern and vintage eras of our sport”

Tel: 01733 232600

Fax: 01733 465844

Write to: Angling Times, Media House, Lynchwood, Peterborough, PE2 6EA

Published by: Bauer Consumer Media, Media House, Lynchwood, Peterborough

Printed by: Polestar Group, Colchester

EDITORIAL CONTACTS

Chris enjoying a bankside brew between sessions.

02-03 AT Contents Feb 8.indd 2 26/1/11 12:43:23

Next page Record carp story


Hello and welcome to the � rst special-edition Angling Times magazine of 2011. In this series, we’ll be covering the lives and work of some of the best-loved

anglers in our sport’s history, so it’s � tting that we’ve chosen a true living legend for the � rst issue – former British carp record-holder and A Passion For Angling star Chris Yates.

Chris’ unique style of � shing and writing stands astride the modern and vintage eras of our sport, with his capture of a record-shattering 51lb 8oz carp (the ‘Bishop’ from Redmire in 1980) on a traditional split-cane rod built by Richard Walker – the man whose long-standing big-� sh milestone he broke – perfectly demonstrating this blend.

But there’s more to the Hampshire-based rod than just big carp and vintage tackle. His books and � lms have enchanted endless numbers of hungry � shermen (and even those who’ve never � shed), such is his talent at translating an angler’s pursuit of even the tiniest gudgeon into the written word or a golden moment of television.

If you enjoy reading this magazine half as much as we’ve enjoyed producing it, then you’re in for a real treat.

Chris’s world of � shing is unique and angling is all the better for it. Mr Yates we salute you!

C O N T E N T ST H E G R E A T E S T C O L L E C T I O N O F C H R I S Y A T E S ’ A N G L I N G S T O R I E S

INSIDE4 THE RECORD CARP STORYOne of angling’s greatest-ever records – in Chris’ own words

8 UNEXPECTED MONSTERSHunting an elusive ‘superchub’ on the Hampshire Avon

10 THE GREAT GUDGEON HUNTChasing barbelled monsters with the Golden Scale Club

12 PERCH FROM THE PASTA young Master Yates discovers a lake full of big, hungry perch

14 MR CRABTREE GOES GRAYLING FISHINGBernard Venables takes on Chris

16 CHRIS YATES’ INTERVIEWSteve Partner meets Chris on a favourite chub river

20 FAVOURITE THINGS: BARBELFishing for Chris’s first love, barbel, with vintage tackle

23 FUN WITH B OWLERMartin Bowler’s account of why Chris is a living legend

24 SEA FISHINGChris discovers a new passion – � shing for the wily sea bass

26 TENCH PARADISETinca tincas aren’t the only thing on a young Chris’s mind

29 THE MAGIC OF REDMIRENo one can better describe the iconic pool than Chris Yates

30 THE STORY BEHIND ‘A PASSION FOR ANGLING’The inside line on angling’s greatest-ever series of � lms

Filming A Passion for Angling.

A fi ne Yates barbel.

Chris with his record

carp.

02-03 AT Contents Feb 8.indd 3 26/1/11 12:44:31

Chris Yates cradlesthe catch of a lifetime.


CHRIS YATES An historic catch

04-07 Record Carp Feb 8.indd 4 26/1/11 12:00:54

I’d baited with three grains of corn, and after squeezing a bean-sized knob of plasticine on to the line, cast out twenty yards to the right. A biggish � sh swam

in from the island, coming straight for the bait. He hesitated over it, but then cruised o� . Then a twenty-pound common began to mill about below the � oating algae, only two rodlengths out.

I dropped a bait in front of him and after a minute the line shot tight – only to fall instantly slack again. I cast twice more to the edge of the scummy algae, resting the rod in a twig and sitting back on an old willow stump. However, even though the breeze had died to a whisper, there was still a fair amount of drift, the � oating scum caught the line, dragging the bait and so I reeled in and made another cast right in front of the large dark shape

HOW I CAUGHT THEHOW I CAUGHT THERECORD CARP

In his own words, Chris describes the moment he made coarse fi shing history on the opening day of the season at Redmire in 1980

“A huge tail had shown above the surface as the carp charged away”

Top TipLike Chris,

don’t overlooksweetcorn

that was just then ghosting round the willow on my left. I almost botched it. Casting at that � sh was like casting at the sun – I suddenly lost my focus in a fever of anticipation. But it was all right. The bait � ew in a perfect arc and the � sh must have taken it before it hit bottom.

I put in the pick-up and was just lowering the rod when I saw the line slithering across the surface. I couldn’t miss and found myself connected to a � sh that swirled round, making a colossal splash, and surged diagonally across the shallows. I let him run, having planned a neat dodge for such a circumstance. As the line brushed against the willow, I jumped in and � oundered round to my right, ducking under an alder bough that was actually hanging into the water. I whipped the rod round the branch with the line still streaming o� the spool, and waded on until I was standing at the mouth of the feeder stream. Now I wouldn’t have to play the � sh from the wrong side of a willow tree.

A huge tail had shown above the surface as the carp charged away, so I was fairly sure I’d hooked the rowing boat. Now, as I increased pressure, he answered me with a tremendous burst of power, making a tail-swipe that � attened out all the ripples in an

area ten yards square. The explosive splash was heard (I later discovered) right at the other end of the pool. He was almost under the willows on the far bank, but with the line chiming near its breaking point, I swung him clear.

I began to whistle loudly for help, but there was no answer. The rats must be asleep, I thought.

The carp changed direction and made the move I’d feared most, heading back across the shallows towards the big willow branch in the ‘35’ pitch. I saw a bow wave bulge suddenly upwards as he accelerated towards it. piled on the pressure and the sidestrain swung him round towards me, so that he was now pointing at an even more dangerous snag – that submerged willow where we’d � rst made contact.

I felt the bend going out of the rod and he came steadily towards me. There was no alternative but to suddenly cram on pressure again, hoping he would think I wanted him under the tree. He stopped dead and then, with another tumultuous splash, turned in his tracks and headed back down the pool.

I let him go, but he didn’t retreat far enough and I had to ease o� to a barely taut line. But he insisted on hanging dangerously close to the willow, so I picked up some water-logged branches and threw them at him. He wasn’t impressed and wouldn’t shift until I let the line fall absolutely slack, then he moved back along the margins until he was nearing the willow, forty yards away, and I had to tighten up and hold him hard. He stubbornly refused, though, to come out into the open water.

I began to shout, and eventually


Next page Continued



“I’d known, as soon as John lifted, that we’d got a monster, a new record”John answered me.

“Bring a net,” I yelled.“Where are you?”“Up at the top of the shallows.”John came crashing and thumping

along the overgrown west bank, rounded the top of the pool, splashed across the feeder stream and appeared through the trees behind me, pu� ng, bedraggled and dripping with muddy water. He waded out next to me, but realised the water was too shallow to net a big � sh and so squelched onwards through the silt for another few yards.

Suddenly, I felt the carp heading out into the pool again and saw a wave cleaving through the grey ripples.Without a sound or a word Barry had come up under the willows and actually climbed into the half submerged tree, causing the � sh to take � ight.

I steered the carp towards us and Barry had a good view of it as it ploughed past him. He said it was the Bishop, but I thought he was joking and laughed – nervously.

“It’s a big � sh,” said John, as a wave approached him.

A great black back rose higher and higher in the water; then everything stopped. The � sh had grounded itself just ten feet from the net.

I tried to drag it a little nearer, but it wallowed round until it was broadside on and I couldn’t budge it. John, sinking waist deep into the silt, inched forward and began to slide the net under the � sh. I had visions of the mesh catching the line and winced, saying, “Careful, I don’t want him to thrash about now!” He pushed the net until its frame had enclosed the bulk of the carp, then he began to lift. For a moment nothing happened – he stuck, straining, and the mesh wasn’t rising up.

“Lift! Lift it!” shouted Barry from the willow.

John heaved and there was a sudden eruption of mud and water.

The bend went abruptly out of the rod and I thought for a moment that the � sh had gone, but it was there, hammocked in the folds of the big net, with a load of mud, scum and weed.

“Bite the line, John,” I said, turning for the shore.

“You must be joking,” he said, “I can’t move!”

Splodging through the ooze and taking his arm I helped him to heave

and wrest himself free. Then we began stumbling back to the bank, half falling, staggering under the weight that was in the net.

Barry came hurrying across the marshy � eld and helped us carry our load through the edge of the trees. He looked at the carp as we lowered it into the wet grass. It was di� cult to see it was a carp – it looked like a black pig that had been rolling in the mud.

John Searl’s stunning illustration of the historic catch www.johnsearl.co.uk

CHRIS YATES An historic catch


Next page The unexpected monster


He estimated the weight. “Fifty-three pounds.” There was no emotion in his voice at all.

I can’t remember what I was saying, nor what I was thinking. I’d known, as soon as John lifted, that we’d got a monster, a new record, but I can’t recall exactly what was on my mind.

I carefully unhooked it, which was tricky as the hold was � rmly in the leather-like bottom lip, then I ran for

the spring balance and a pan of water to wash the silty � anks. We cleaned o� the mud and the carp was revealed in all its glory. My heart gave another lift as I realised that it was not only gigantic, it was also a beautiful specimen. Sleek and bright. Richly coloured – purple, ochre, chestnut, amber. It was tremendously broad and deep, but it wasn’t gross (36½ x 34½ inches).

Gently, we slid the carp into a capacious sling and hoisted it on to the balance. The pointer on the dial swung round and stopped, quiveringly at 51¾ lb. Deducting the weight of the sling left 51lb 6oz. I gazed at the dial for a few moments, then sat back in the grass, blinking. After all these years, all those lost � sh, all these diaries, my line � nally led to this great dark-coloured mirror carp – a � sh I’d caught seven years before, when it looked too old and weary to grow bigger – but it had grown; it had become a di� erent � sh altogether and was now the monster that I’d called the Bishop. We lay it reverently on the grass and stared at it.

The sky was almost dark, yet over in the west, under the edge of the cloud, a strip of blue showed clear and cool looking, and in its centre, a thin crescent moon. The breeze had long ceased, the evening was perfectly still.

There were a few moments’ awed silence as we crouched round the carp. Then Barry broke the spell.

“Yatesy’s cracked it!” he laughed.I stood up and threw my hat across

the � eld.

1 Catching the record carpAn historic catch that

re-wrote the record books in more ways than one. “Although it was over 30 years ago, I still remember it as though it were yesterday!” says Chris.

2 Redmire tree climbing“When we were fi lming A

Passion For Angling, Hugh (Miles) wanted a more radical way of catching carp at Redmire that didn’t involve sitting behind a pair of rods, so we decided to try and catch one from the top of a tree. Hugh got into position while Bob and I climbed the tree. I had my blowpipe – Rod Hutchinson was always very impressed with its accuracy – and I fi red the bait out through a gap towards the fi sh. We soon hooked one but obviously we couldn’t land it from the top of the tree so we had to jump into the lake, and Hugh got it all on fi lm.”

3 Beating Bowler at crucian fi shing“This was great fun,

especially as we had to do it twice, so we had two lovely days on a beautiful pond. I thrashed him in the fi rst leg but that’s when the sun wasn’t shining so we had to re-shoot and on the next leg he was more prepared – not that he was using a split-cane rod! We didn’t keep any record of the numbers caught on the second day but it wasn’t 30 to 12 any more, like the fi rst leg. We called it a draw and shared a cup of tea – well, actually Martin had coffee. For some reason he doesn’t drink tea. There’s defi nitely something wrong with Mr Bowler…”

TOP FIVE CHRIS YATES MOMENTS

The beating of Bowler – fi shing for crucians.

4 Exploding bait boats“To fi ll my time during

the closed season when I was a teenager I used to go back to the lakes we fi shed and instead of fi shing we’d fi re rocket boats across them – home-made rockets with home-made fuel. We decided to make a slightly bigger rocket boat with a motor made out of an oxy-acetylene cylinder fi lled with our rocket fuel. Rather innocently, we decided to test it down the garden and the explosion was so big that they recorded a seismograph reading in Greenwich (15 miles away) of 1.1. That was enough for the Home Offi ce to come down the next day and the police also came. The crater was big enough to fi ll with water and stock with carp and the pond was there for 30 years.”

5 Bass fi shing exploits“Another day that

really stands out was a recent bass fi shing session that I wrote about in my latest book. Bass have taken over as my autumn fi sh now and I saw this magical dawn – the sun came up out of the sea while we watched from a dinghy about a mile off shore. This calm, vast sea with the sun coming up in front of me and the light growing with bass leaping all around me – fantastic. As well as catching my best-ever bass of 7lb 8oz, we also had a basking shark come up nearby, plus we caught all the fi sh off the surface – defi nitely a recent angling highlight.”

Chris with an old friend, the ‘Bishop’.


CHR IS YATES SPECI A L 8 FEBRUA RY 8, 201 1CHR IS YATES SPECI A L8 FEBRUA RY 8, 201 1

A friend of mine, Mem ‘Jardine’ Hassan, had a ticket for a stretch of the Hampshire Avon that was only ever

� shed by salmon anglers. Jardine was keen to catch an Avon

salmon, but the days of the big spring � sh were over and the only real opportunities lay in the summer, when the grilse were running. This, of course, meant that he often packed a barbel or chub rod when he went salmon fishing; as he was searching for the ‘silver tourists’, he would often stumble on a shoal of ‘natives’. And one July day he stumbled on a � sh so big that he thought his eyes must be deceiving him. But he wasn’t seeing things. I’m certain of that because I was his guest that day and I saw the monster too.

We had been half-heartedly looking for a salmon during the early morning, but there wasn’t a sign of even a small grilse in all the usual holding pools. There was a wide stretch of shallows that ran suddenly into a deeper narrower glide and we knew from previous experience that a shoal of barbel would be waiting for us there. So we put away our salmon gear, tackled up our proper rods

and as the maggots sank something emerged from the weedbeds.

“Blimming heck!” gasped Jardine, and he turned to me with his jaw dropped and his eyes toggled.

“What is it?” I whispered, not being able to see clearly through the undergrowth. Jardine crawled of the hole he’d made in the willow herbs and said “Have a look for yourself. You won’t believe it!” He looked stunned.

and sneaked into position through the willow herb. We began feeding

maggots into the swim and Jardine

peered through the cover to see if

we were attracting anything.

I tossed in another handful upstream of him

THE UNEXPEC TED MONSTERWhat started out as a half-hearted fi shing session for salmon turned into a hunt for a massive chub. Chris Yates recalls an epic battle with the ‘monster’

A ‘normal’ sized chub – the one we saw dwarfed this fi sh.

“Every time one of the rods bent into a fi sh our hearts skipped a beat”

Top TipRemember,

there’s always a chance!

CHRIS YATES Epic battle with a chub

08-09 AT Monsters Feb 8.indd 8 26/1/11 12:06:09


Next page The great gudgeon hunt

I inched forward until I had a clear view into the swim, put on my polarising glasses, blinked and said: “It must be a carp! No, it looks like a bass! No, it’s a clonking great chub!”

Now I have seen a couple of very big chub before, even if the biggest I’ve caught was ‘only’ 5½ lb. I reckon, in the distant past, that I must have seen a seven-pounder, but this Avon � sh was much, much bigger. Both Jardine

and I reckon it must have been almost 30 inches long and would have weighed 10lb easily. It was de� nitely picking o� one or two maggots as they drifted past and we got a clearer idea of its dimensions when it was suddenly joined by several barbel that looked in the 6lb to 7lb category. The chub dwarfed them all! Unlike the graceful quick � nned barbel, the monster seemed cumbersome, even

awkward in its movements. It looked an ancient specimen and the large scales had a rough-edged, slightly irregular appearance. It dropped lower in the water, as if dragged down by its great weight.

We both crawled away out of sight and Jardine feverishly set up � oat tackle while I tossed in a few more maggots. Then he cast from a few yards upstream and we honestly thought he was going to hook the chub straight away. It was such a unexpected surprise, in such an accessible spot that it surely meant that our luck was in and we were destined to break the record. But of course Jardine didn’t hook the chub. The � rst � sh he caught was one of the barbel, a six-pounder that seemed awfully small compared to the giant. He graciously let me have a cast and a bit of trundled luncheon meat produced an instant lunging take. “Is it him?” asked Jardine. “No,” I said, seeing the streamlined form of a barbel spearing itself into the weed. It was the one we thought had weighed about 7lb – and we were, after a bit of a tussle, proved almost right: 6lb 14oz.

Naturally, after that the chub disappeared and we didn’t see it again. But we guessed it hadn’t gone far into the dense weedbeds and continued � shing, hopefully, for the rest of the day. The barbel were in an eager frame of mind and we caught seven by sunset on maggots, meat and sweetcorn. Every time one of the rods bent into a � sh our hearts skipped a few beats with the thought that, this time, it might be superchub; but it never was. However, just as the light was fading in the west, I hooked a big � sh after dropping a bait right across the river into a narrow gap in the weeds. It ploughed o� downstream and eventually came to an unbudgeable stop. I tried every trick in the book to shift it, but � nally the hook sprang free.

It just might have been…

THE UNEXPEC TED MONSTERWhat started out as a half-hearted fi shing session for salmon turned into a hunt for a massive chub. Chris Yates recalls an epic battle with the ‘monster’

We caught several barbel but ‘superchub’

was having none of it.

➽ TV star Matt Hayes

“The fi rst time I met Chris was several years ago at the Go Fishing show over a cup of tea in the backstage area. We got on like a house on fi re and my overwhelming impression was that he was a great bloke, a really nice guy – no pretensions and not a big-headed person, just a mild-mannered, knowledgeable man who I liked very much. In Casting At The Sun, Chris has written one of the fi nest angling books of all time – it went beyond angling literature. It would be hard to think of a fi ner angling writer than Chris - he is unique."

WHAT THE STARS SAY

ABOUT CHRIS...

08-09 AT Monsters Feb 8.indd 9 26/1/11 12:06:36

THE GREAT GUDGEON

HUNT


CHRIS YATES Gudgeon

The gudgeon � sher invariably comes home happy because the gudgeon always wants to feed. It is such a greedy, silly

little � sh that it will bite all day long, rain or shine.

This fact alone � lls the gudgeon angler with so much con� dence that, as long as he can � nd his quarry, he never fails. Therefore, if you always convince yourself that you’re � shing for gudgeon, even when you’re not, this same wild con� dence will grow in you and you’ll � nd it far easier to outwit the � sh you’re really after.

The attitude of the gudgeon � sher is a good one, but even better is the attitude of the gudgeon � sher in

disguise. This is the secret of my modest success in angling. Whenever I go � shing, I always tell myself that I’m after gudgeon, even if I’m using � oating crust on a size 4 hook.

But to work the trick properly, you have to have experienced real gudgeon � shing. In the 19th century, gudgeon scratching, as it was termed, was a hugely popular pastime and whole families would take to the river in punts and spend their summer Sunday afternoons happily catching netfuls of speckled silvery � sh. Nowadays, the gudgeon is not found in such large shoals any more, but there are still plenty of hotspots up and down the country and, whenever you discover one, think of it as a gift from old Izaak. Forget your pike and

bream, get out your tiddler snatching gear and enjoy yourself.

You need to get into the swing of catching gudgeon, to cast out every time absolutely sure that your � oat is going to twitch and dart under within seconds. And when you get so blasé that you can catch � sh while drinking a cup of tea – without spilling a drop or putting the cup down – then you are a true gudgeon ‘scratcher’.

Of course, it often happens that the larger specimens will succumb to your new powers before you have quite � nished your business with the gudgeon. This will probably be all right it it’s only a perch, or a roach, but certain di� culties may arise if it’s a carp or a tench.

I remember various occasions at

The gudgeon fi sher’s philosophy is a good one, and every angler would be wise to adopt it. Those who

constantly go in search of what are considered ‘superior’ quarry often fail – gudgeon always oblige

Above, right: Dusk falls on the Avon, and the gudgeon are stirring...

Top TipAll � sh with barbels are

gudgeon!

010-11 AT Gudgeon Feb 8.indd 10 26/1/11 12:07:50

CHR IS YATE S SPECI A L 11 FEBRUA RY 8, 201 1

Next page Perch from the past

Redmire when, bored by lack of carp activity, I’d tackle up with a light rod, 3lb line, size 14 hook, and � oat� sh maggots for gudgeon. Redmire gudgeon were once famous for having record-breaking potential and it was always a fond hope of mine that I might break both the carp and gudgeon records from the same water. But what often happened, after I’d got the tiddlers feeding in earnest o� the dam, was that, instead of twitching and bobbing, my � oat would slide away in an ominously slow and determined manner. My gentle strike would then produce not a record gudgeon but a reel-screeching double-� gure carp that might take up to 20 minutes to land.

When conditions were good at

Redmire, it was actually less exciting to be � shing for carp with the proper gear than angling for gudgeon, for the above reasons. But whenever I was stalking a really large � sh I simply had to tell myself ‘this is just like gudgeon � shing’ and the rest would be easy.

As you can image, a group of eccentric traditionalists like the Golden Scale Club holds the gudgeon in very high esteem. The annual gudgeon party has always been one of the most popular days in the club’s calendar. It is, or rather was, often the only day in the season when everybody, even the chairman, caught something. However, over the last few years catches have been well down on previous seasons and a recent outing to the Thames, with punts and

parasols and greenheart rods, produced nothing but chub – a very grave state of a� airs.

‘“Where,” asked the club chairman, “have all the gudgeon gone?”

Well, they can’t have all just disappeared, like the burbot: maybe they have just altered their habits, or their habitat. And, in the meantime, until we discover exactly what’s happened to them, we have devised an alternative gudgeon strategy.

Party time on the AvonInvitations to the G.S.C. gudgeon party go out as normal in early summer, but the venue is now the Hampshire Avon rather than the Thames or a more famous gudgeon pond. Members are reminded that the Avon gudgeon are a formidable quarry; � ne lines and tiny hooks just won’t su� ce any more. At last season’s party we were delighted by the arrival on the river of our Honorary President, Bernard Venables, accompanied by Mark ‘Minder’ Williams. Though Avon gudgeon are not caught in the same numbers as ordinary gudgeon, there is a good chance that everyone will at least make contact with a � sh. Yet it was still a couple of hours before the � rst specimen was hooked. Bernard had missed a good bite and Andy Orme had landed a chub. Mitch ‘Demus’ Canning had just moved into the tail of the pool I was � shing when his rod curved over. I grabbed my net and ran down the bank as he expertly guided a glorious gudgeon towards him. Then he got another one with his next cast.

These Avon gudgeons are not silver with blue and purple � ecks, but bright gold. Furthermore, they weigh, on average, seventy times more than ordinary gudgeon. At � rst glance there is a strong resemblance to another famous Avon � sh, but then gudgeon and barbel always did have a very similar shape…

The Golden Scale Club prepares for Über-Gudgeon.

“The Avon gudgeon are a formidable quarry”

010-11 AT Gudgeon Feb 8.indd 11 26/1/11 12:08:22


CHRIS YATES Perch

Thirty years ago the perch was a great favourite with me, as it was with most � sherboys of that time. In the 1950s

and 1960s it was much more widespread than it is now. Every pond and stream held its quota and, as well as hundreds of small � sh, there were plenty of bigger specimens. Though � sh over 3 lb were never common, a two-pounder was always a possibility.

A boy could net 40 at break of day with the sure knowledge that his � oat would soon be bobbing under and a boldly striped, spike backed � sh would be sparkling on the end of his line.

I have several special perch waters; some were ponds and some were rivers and my favourite time for � shing them

PERCH FROM THE PAST

“The fl oat bobbed and darted into the depths”

Top TipBig perch are

the bi� est � sh of all

all was in October. The wonderful warm tones of autumn perfectly matched the brilliant colours of the perch, with its yellow � ank giving way to russet along the back and the vivid red of the � ns and tail. To see a big perch swirling on the surface amid the colourful mosaic of � oating leaves was one of the highlights of any � shing season.

One memorable pond I � shed was small, only an acre, but deep. I discovered it by accident one day when I was following a badger track that led me between old oaks and under stunted birch straight to the bankside. It was a lovely surprise; a dark, tree-shrouded pool that looked as if it had lain forgotten and neglected for over a century. What great � sh lurked in those depths? What splendid

adventures a boy could have there!For a long time I stared into the dark

water, but there was no sign of life although I sensed it. I couldn’t guess what kind of � sh might be down there, but I vaguely felt them stirring, like a distant memory that would not quite come into focus. The only thing to do was to get a rod and cast in.

A short while later I was back again with a little eight-foot cane road, a centrepin reel loaded with 4lb line and a school satchel crammed with two tins of bait (worms and maggots) and every item of tackle I possessed; four � oats, a tin of shot, a packet of hooks (size 12), a Little Samson spring balance and a lucky marble (I know a marble is not classi� able as an item of tackle, but I could never catch any � sh unless I had my lucky marble with me!).

Above: My own secret pool, where the world would never intrude...

A screeching reel, a hooped rod and a furious bristling monster... this, says Chris Yaes, is the stuff of dreams

012-13 Perch From Past Feb 8.indd 12 26/1/11 12:09:40


Next page Mr Crabtree

PERCH FROM THE PAST

I found a convenient gap in the bankside trees and after tossing in a handful of maggots, cast out, using my favourite red � oat. There was an electrifying passage of time, in which nothing happened and yet anything could have happened. Then the � oat bobbed once, twice and darted amazingly into the depths. I paused a moment and struck.

Up to the surface came a bright little perch about four inches long. The next cast produced the same result and by the end of the day I must have caught over 20, with the biggest weighing a spectacular four ounces.

I counted it all a wonderful success. It was terri� c to have found my own secret pool where the � shing could probably always be relied upon and the world, in the shape of bullies with

powerful catapults and matchmen with depth-charging groundbait, would never intrude. But it was some time before I caught a really good � sh there.

One autumn afternoon, as I was bringing up an average sized tiddler from the depths, I saw the incredible sight of a monster perch rising into view and engul� ng my � sh. For a moment I stood, trans� xed by the apparition. Then the rod curved over, the reel screeched and the big perch swept majestically out across the pond. Luck was with me. Not only did the line stay intact, the hook point stayed miraculously � xed outside the tiddler’s mouth and inside the monster’s.

I somehow managed to land them both and the little one was unscathed. The big one looked tremendous after

all the four- and � ve-inch specimens I’d been catching. It weighed a respectable (and to me unbelievable) 1lb 12oz on my spring balance.

I told three friends about my success and, after a moment’s hesitation, I decided to lead them to my angler’s haven. One of my pals had some real perch spinners and, using a little golden spoon, he caught a fabulous creature of just two pounds.

I caught another cannibal of a pound and a half, then one of the others hooked a huge � sh on a worm and we all thought it was going to be a record perch. But it was even better than that; it was a carp of over six pounds. In all the world, we had never seen the like of it before and thought we would probably never see the like of it again.

Little did we know…

PERCH FROM THE PASTNo perch in

adult life gave me the thrill

of my fi rst ‘proper’ fi sh of boyhood.

A screeching reel, a hooped rod and a furious bristling monster... this, says Chris Yates, is the stuff of dreams➽ Go Fishing star John Wilson

“Chris is without doubt the most inspirational and evocative writer of his generation. He’s done a lot for angling in many ways with his articles and television programmes and, of course, when he caught the record carp.”

➽ Carp historian Chris Ball

“I’ve been friends with Chris since the early 1970s when he was clearly barmy about carp and fi shing for them. His slightly unorthodox approach to fi shing in both attitude and the tackle he uses sets him apart from most. His brilliant camera work, plus his mighty pen has, over the years, assured his status as one of the modern greats of the sport.”

WHAT THE STARS SAY

ABOUT CHRIS...

012-13 Perch From Past Feb 8.indd 13 26/1/11 15:02:47


CHRIS YATES Crabtree

It had been raining for a week and I began to think that my grayling trip with Bernard Venables might have to be cancelled. I actually like � shing in the

rain in summer, but a wet day in winter can seriously damage my equilibrium – and I’m forty years younger than Bernard.

Bernard wasn’t so worried about the rain; what drives him mad is a cold wind. “My old bones start to complain”, he said. Yet this might give you the false impression that Bernard, at 87, is now a fair-weather angler with a delicate constitution.

Such is his eternal enthusiasm for � shing, though, that he’ll brave almost any conditions, cross � ooded ditches, perch on precarious bits of bank and even put up with me as his gillie. Also, he nearly always catches a good � sh.

Can you think of anyone else approaching 90 who has Bernard’s stamina, spirit and determination? He really is a wonderful example to us all.

My anxieties about the weather were all unfounded, however. The morning broke clear and calm and the sun looked like it would shine on us till teatime. We met on a bridge that spans the Rive Wylie, one of the best grayling streams in the country, and the water looked perfect, despite all the rain. Bernard had a sparkle in his eyes as he drew a favourite old grayling � oat from his pocket. Looking at it, he said: “I just need to see this dip under the surface once, and I’ll be even happier than I am now.”

Bernard’s great friend Mark Williams would be � shing with us and our host and guide was a wonderful angler called Tony Hayter. That stretch of river was really an exclusive trout

� shery but Tony had pulled a few strings to give us the freedom of the stream for the entire day. Wonderful!

We walked down to a little weir where Tony said there was always a resident shoal of grayling. The white water fanned out across a smooth fast glide and formed two slow back eddies. Crossing a little iron footbridge, it was decided Bernard would � sh the far bank, while Mark would concentrate on the near bank.

“Let your � oats come round in the eddy,” said Tony. “That’s where the grayling usually lie.”

Watching, it was decided Bernard’s � oat turning in the back � ow was like seeing one of his pictures in ‘Mr Crabtree’ coming magically to life. On about the third circuit, with just a few

free maggots tossed in as an attractor, the orange tip darted under. “Lovely!” said Bernard, even though he missed on the strike.

He recast and let the � oat drift back into the eddy. Meanwhile Mark, on the other bank, hooked and landed the � rst grayling of the day – a bright silver specimen of about half-a-pound.

Bernard’s � oat ducked again and this time he responded just a split second faster. His slender cane rod arched over and we saw a silver � ash deep down in the blue water. Grayling � ght tenaciously and their dogged refusal to rise up from the riverbed always reminds me of barbel. The � sh was about 12oz; a perfect start.

I was kept too busy with the landing net to have time to tackle up myself

MR CRABTREE GOES GRAYLING FISHING!

Chris Yates enjoys a day out fi shing for grayling with angling legend Bernard Venables – the man who brought the Mr Crabtree cartoon series

to a generation of budding anglers

Bernard, the grand old man of angling, net at the ready and ever-game.

Top TipGrayling bites

demand a rapid strike

to a generation of budding anglers

014-015 AT Crabtree Feb 8.indd 14 26/1/11 12:14:40


Next page Interview

and by the time the � sh stopped feeding it was time to feed ourselves. Bernard and Mark reeled in and we walked back across the � elds towards a distant pub, there to partake of a traditional angler’s lunch; beer, cheese and pickle rolls and enough � shing stories to � ood the entire building.

Afterwards, Tony led us to a quieter and even more attractive stretch where the river twisted and turned through strands of willow and alder and where there were fast shallow runs and sudden, exciting deep pools. We found another perfect place for Bernard, a large eddy, where he could happily sit and watch his � oat circling all afternoon. Mark discovered an attractive, deep, underbank run and Tony said he was o� to � sh a favourite pike hole with a legered sprat. I tackled up with my old Allcock Lucky Strike, a brand new Witcher centrepin, a stumpy � uted � oat and a size 14 hook to 3lb line. I � shed the fast shallow run above Bernard’s eddy and hooked a

fast shallow trout on my � rst cast. Luckily it got o� . Bernard then hooked a beautiful grayling of 1½lb and we all stopped � shing for a moment to admire it. Though very complimentary, Tony said there were � sh twice as big all though the river and one of us might just be lucky enough to catch one.

Full of optimism (but then I’m always full of optimism) I went back up to my swim and caught a grayling on my next cast. It wasn’t quite four inches long! But a few minutes later the red tip of my � oat zipped smartly under and the reel began to revolve as a much bigger grayling � ed downstream in the fast current. The old cane � exed gloriously as I eased the � sh round into the quieter water under the bank. It was about the same size as Bernard’s last.

After another brace apiece, Tony came upstream to say he’d lost a biggish pike and landed a seven-pounder, but before he could

cast again he would have to have a cup of tea. We all reeled in and set up a makeshift table in Bernard’s swim, with sandwiches, fruitcake and three � asks, though unfortunately I’d forgotten the Kelly kettle and we couldn’t boil up a fresh brew. The sun went behind a nearby wood, but the air was so still and calm that we hardly felt the slight drop in temperature.

It was a beautiful clear winter evening, with the � rst star visible almost as soon as the sun had set and the river shining luminously as it threaded between the darkening � elds.

We reeled in for the last time, each of us very content with our day. Though we hadn’t landed any of the giant grayling we’d enjoyed some marvellous � shing on a very pretty chalkstream. And I’m pleased to say that Bernard caught far more � sh than anyone else, though he would have been just as content and happy had he caught nothing at all.

Grayling are as beautiful as they are feisty – a worthy adversary.

“Bernard’s cane rod arched over and we saw a silver fl ash”

Interview

014-015 AT Crabtree Feb 8.indd 15 26/1/11 12:16:14


CHRIS YATES Interview

WITH a gentle � ick of the wrist the bait � ew through the air and

landed upstream with an almost indiscernible splash. Immediately the � ow picked it up and the dog biscuit bobbed and dived like a tiny � shing boat caught in the midst of a storm at sea as it fought to stay a� oat in the turbulent water of the weir pool.

Beneath the surface a chub immediately moved in…but instinct took over and it backed o� , as a cat reels at the sight of a dog.

The angler tightened his grip on the rod, focused his eyes even more intently and continued to pay out line from the centrepin. Only seconds stood between success and the frustration of another recast.

Without warning, the biscuit disappeared from view amid a big swirl and Chris Yates let out a yelp of delight as his split cane rod arced over and signalled that, at last, a fish was on.

From the opposite bank, Hugh Miles remained unmoved as his camera continued to roll, capturing every second of the drama.

Over the next couple of minutes Chris carefully brought the � sh to the waiting net, unhooked it, displayed his prize and then gently slipped it back into the white water of the weir pool.

Only with these manoeuvres complete did the pair shake hands and relax. Another successful day’s � lming was complete.

Ever since ‘A Passion for Angling’ became � shing’s modern-day cultural icon, the sport has been anxious for more of the same. And although the latest collaboration between Yates and Miles, two of the successful trio who were responsible for ‘Passion’, is not a remake, it will be

“ALL I WANT TO DO IS FISH”Former carp record-holder, author, photographer and key member of the team that made the greatest fi shing show ever... Chris Yates is one of the sport’s biggest characters. He was interviewed by Steve Partner in 2004

Chris Yates in familiar pose – cradling a big fi sh. This 5lb-plus chub was caught from Carthagena Weir.

ITH a gentle � ick of the wrist the bait � ew through the air and

landed upstream with an almost indiscernible splash. Immediately the � ow picked it up and the dog biscuit bobbed and dived like a tiny � shing boat caught in the midst of a storm at sea as it fought to stay a� oat in the turbulent water of the weir pool.

Beneath the surface a chub immediately moved in…but instinct took over and it backed o� , as a cat

The angler tightened his grip on the rod, focused his eyes even more intently and continued to pay out line from the centrepin. Only seconds stood between success and the frustration of another recast.

Without warning, the biscuit disappeared from view amid a big swirl and Chris Yates let out a yelp of delight as his split cane rod arced over and signalled that, at last, a fish was on.

From the opposite bank, Hugh Miles remained unmoved as his camera continued to roll, capturing every

Over the next couple of minutes Chris carefully brought the � sh to the waiting net, unhooked it, displayed his prize and then gently slipped it back into the white water of the weir pool.

Only with these manoeuvres complete did the pair shake hands and relax. Another successful day’s

Ever since ‘A Passion for Angling’ became � shing’s modern-day cultural icon, the sport has been

team that made the greatest fi shing show ever... Chris Yates is one of the sport’s biggest characters. He was interviewed by Steve Partner in 2004

016-019 AT Interview Feb 8.indd 16 26/1/11 12:19:05


Next page Interview continued

eagerly anticipated all the same.The � rst part of ‘Caught in Time:

The Diaries of Chris Yates’ has been completed, and ‘Summer Days’, which followed Chris in pursuit of carp, was well received. So well, in fact, that the pair are making more – including this latest footage here at Carthagena Weir, on the River Lea.

They haven’t quite decided on how many but, as I quickly discovered, Hugh and Chris are not men to let such minutiae bother them. They’re too busy enjoying themselves.

“We’ll let the � sh decide how many we’ll do. ‘Caught in Time’ is about two friends who go � shing together. One � shes and one � lms and we just see what happens,” said Chris.

“This is di� erent to anything we’ve done before. It’s more relaxed, more leisurely. It’s more improvised, and we’re letting the story invent itself. Hugh and I never wanted it to be a remake of ‘A Passion’, we want it to

carry an air of mystery.”Chris Yates is 63 years old now, but

he retains the same boyish enthusiasm for � shing that gripped him the moment he � rst saw a carp half a century ago. In the meantime he has taken a British record, been described as ‘the best angling writer of his generation’ and starred in perhaps the most in� uential � shing show of all time. He’s also been portrayed as

something of an eccentric – walking the banks with his ancient creel, split cane rods and antique centrepins, shunning more modern-day inventions like bivvies and bite alarms. He stands as a one-man reminder of a di� erent, bygone era.

“It was 50 years ago since I saw my � rst carp and I’m just as keen now as I was then. The feeling of catching a � sh, or just going � shing, remains childishly intense.

“There have been times when I’ve been sidetracked, when I was a teenager and discovered girls and learned to drive, but I would always come back to the lakeside and it felt nice to be home. It’s where I’m most comfortable.

“When I look back, it’s the one constant current that has run through my life and it’s still very strong. I took Bernard Venables pike � shing on his 90th birthday and I hope I’ll be able to do the same.”

“ALL I WANT TO DO IS FISH”

A sunny day on the Lea and Chris targets chub with a cane rod.

Image

“The feeling of catching a fi sh, or just going fi shing, remains childishly intense”

➽ Jon Ward Allen of Medlar Press

“He certainly ranks alongside the great angling writers of the 20th Century – I would put him right up there. He’s a real enigma as a character too – very charming and charismatic - and he’s very good on radio or television. He can turn his hand to most things, but it’s his writing that is exceptional and will stand the test of time.”

➽ Tackle boss Peter Drennan

“I’ve known Chris for 30 years and he is a delightful, sophisticated English eccentric. He still catches a lot of fi sh and this is down to his excellent water craft. His choice of location is always very good, which makes up for some of his old-school tackle!”

WHAT THE STARS SAY

ABOUT CHRIS...


1948Born in 1948, Chris Yates was brought up fi shing his local

village ponds in Hindhead, Surrey. He moved to Wiltshire in the early 1980s to be close to the barbel fi shing on the Hampshire Avon.

After becoming obsessed with carp as a youngster, he managed to get on to the famous Redmire Pool in 1972and walk in the footsteps of his hero, Dick Walker.


CHRIS YATES Interview continued

Wearing a big � oppy hat and sunglasses to shield his eyes from the summer sunshine, Chris Yates is a distinctive, instantly recognisable � gure. He’s taller than I imagined, well over six feet, and his shirt and cords hang, rather than � t, on his thin frame.

His beard, once long and shaggy, is clipped short, with grey now beating brown as the dominant colour. He might be well into middle age, but Chris shows no signs of slowing up.

As well as the new series with Hugh, he’s currently working on a Radio 4 show on the disappearance of the burbot, acting as tea correspondent for ‘The Idler’ magazine (I discovered by the end of the day that Chris is an absolute tea connoisseur), and he’s also been approached to write another book – part barbel-based and part autobiographical.

But all this is work. And to Chris Yates, work is merely something that gets in the way of � shing. He’d much rather talk about the sport that he loves.

“I’ve always said that � shing is very

basic, very simple,” he said. “People try and complicate it, but essentially it’s the most basic and traditional of all pastimes – something that links us to the past. It brings us close to nature at a time when we’re in danger of losing our grip on what really matters.

“Fishing is so natural, so simple, so beautiful, but sometimes that concept tends to get lost.”

The popular perception of Chris Yates is that of an eccentric odd-ball. He is viewed by many as someone who has failed to keep up with angling’s rapid evolution, and while many o� er a patronising smile at his quaint, almost antiquated, ways, they’re also careful not to mimic his methods.

But Chris doesn’t care. He carves his own furrow, careful to use the childlike enthusiasm that � rst gripped him half a century ago to maintain a perspective. What most of us have lost in the quest to catch more, catch bigger, catch quicker, he retains and wears with pride. In many ways, he is a child…and he admits it, too.

“Fishing is a fuel you can’t burn out,

Above: As well as being an expert angler, Chris is adept at making tea!

Chris in action on the River Lea at Carthagena Weir.

“I got out just when carping was becoming too serious and I found a new world, a barbel world…”

THE ROAD TO SUCCESS

1980Chris entered the history books in 1980 when he broke Britain’s carp record with a 51lb 8oz fi sh. That year he was voted ‘Angling Times Angler of the Year’.

Top TipHow you � sh

counts for more than tackle


1989Having left serious carping, he moved to barbel fi shing.

Already a successful photographer, he switched to books – and ‘Casting at the Sun’ was published in 1989. He has written seven books.

1993In the same year he began working with wildlife cameraman

Hugh Miles and Bob James to create the now legendary ‘A Passion for Angling’. Four years in the making, it was fi rst screened on BBC2 in 1993.

2011With ‘Caught in Time’ a work in progress, Chris is currently

working on a show for BBC Radio 4 about burbot. It’s due out in the autumn. He’s also putting together a non-angling book.


Next page Favourite things - barbel

a permanent � ame that will never die,” he said. “I still get excited even if I’m just thinking about going � shing.

“I honestly don’t care if a carp is only 10lb, or a tench only 3lb. They are still great � sh to be enjoyed and appreciated.”

Today, he looks out on the � shing world and doesn’t much like what he sees. Carp � shing, which dominated his life for nearly 30 years, has changed beyond recognition…and not for the better.

“The modern big-� sh scene depresses me. I simply have never been able to understand why people � sh for named � sh. It seems ridiculous.

“Carp � shing is becoming like match � shing, and barbel � shing isn’t far behind either. The only thing that will save it from joining the rat race – and that’s what carping has become – is the wild, uncertain venues the � sh live in.

“Carp � shing has lost its innocence.”

He also believes youngsters have it too easy and lack appreciation, that commerical carp pools are starving anglers of variety, and that � shing has become too organised. “There’s no spontaneity,” he argued.

His status within angling is, of course, assured, and his opinions therefore carry the weight of authority.

Alongside ‘A Passion For Angling’, he caught Britain’s � rst-ever 50 lb-plus carp from Redmire Pool in 1980.

“It was never an ambition of mine but the bizarre thing is I knew,when I woke up that morning, that I was going to break the record.It was an absurd feeling, almost laughable.”

It proved to be the pinnacle of a 30-year obsession with the

species, and the next season he ‘discovered’ barbel.

“I got out just when carping was becoming too serious and I found a new world, a barbel world, and ended up moving west to be near the Avon.”

Following literary success with ‘Casting at the Sun’ came ‘A Passion for Angling’ and his place in the sport’s history was cemented.

“Hugh had this mad idea rumbling around his head about making a � shing programme, and I managed to put him o� between 1987 to 1989 because I thought it would be too serious a venture,” said Chris.

Eventually, mutual friend Bob James got the pair together and the trio embarked on a four-year journey that was to take them to the hearts of the angling public.

“I’m very happy that so many people have written or spoken to me to tell me how much they enjoyed it. What I’m particularly proud of is that it helped non-anglers, the wives and the girlfriends, to understand why we do what we do.”

Whether ‘Caught in Time’ goes on to emulate the success of its predecessor remains to be seen, but you get the feeling that anything Hugh and Chris touch is likely to turn to gold.

“Let’s hope so,” he said. “But more than that, I just want people to come along for the ride and share the adventure.”

DID YOU KNOW?Chris boils water in a Kelly kettle, a

‘go-anywhere’ piece of kit that is fuelled by just a few twigs and a

crumpled sheet of newspaper. No gas bottle needed to get a brew on!

Easy does it: Chris with his

nice simple rig.



CHRIS YATES Barbel

FAVOURITE THINGS

In an article penned in the 1990s, when

Bernard Venables was still hale and hearty,

Chris and friends talk tackle and favourite fi sh

Barbel have taken over from carp as

Chris’s fi rst love.

ImageImage

➽ Film maker Hugh Miles

“I fi rst met Chris when we were talking about doing A Passion For Angling in the 1980s. I remember Chris and Bob going to a carp show so they could bid in the auction for the fi rst week of the season at Redmire for fi lming that episode – it ended up costing them £2,000 because a wealthy builder wanted it as well!

Whenever Chris goes fi shing he expects to catch a record, and that’s a wonderful attitude to have, but it’s his instinct that ensures he nearly always catches a good fi sh. It’s a great joy going fi shing with him and he loves my wife’s cake, so we always have a lot of fun.”

WHAT THE STARS SAY

ABOUT CHRIS...

020-021 AT Barbel Feb 8.indd 20 26/1/11 12:25:13

Next page Xxxxxxxxxxxx


“Lately Bob had been seen using rods of suspiciously unnatural material”

As far as Chris is concerned, split cane rods are still king.

Far right: Centrepin reel,

split cane rod – and a barbel.

Perfection!

SEVEN of us were walking across the � elds to the river, the Hampshire Avon, all but one of us a member of the Golden Scale Club.

There was our new president Bernard Venables, Nigel Parker Haywood, Shaun ‘Alonso’ Linsley, Mick ‘Demus’ Canning, Bob ‘Breeks’ James and me.

The odd man out was Merlin Unwin, who had just formed his own angling publishing company. We had met for lunch at a local pub and were now eager to get to the river, each of us inspired by the various splendid � shing stories that had been aired. We were hoping for a barbel and con� dent of some chub, though to be honest we did not really care whether we caught anything or not.

The weather was mild and � ne, the beer had been excellent, the food satisfying and the company – as far as I was concerned – simply wonderful; so it was going to be a day for serious talking and very casual � shing. And as the general mood was, to say the least, congenial, this ‘serious talk’ would be mostly about those aspects of � shing we all liked best.

The main topic of conversation was Favourite Things.

Naturally, we discussed tackle, Bernard had brought his favourite

barbel rod, a very � ne Milward’s Swimversa; eleven foot, split cane and 40 years old. Shaun’s favourite was the classic Hardy Wallis Avon; it was 11 feet long but it had a whole cane butt joint for extra sti� ness, and split cane middle and top. Shaun’s rod is the Stradivarius of barbel rods and, like Bernard’s, it must be 40 years old, but is still in perfect condition – how many of today’s carbon rods will still be around and in action in the year 2030?

Both Mick and Nigel were going to use Richard Walker Mk IV’s which, at 10 feet, I think are a little short for general barbel � shing – but this is not what Mick and Nigel think. Bob had not brought any tackle at all and was only there to enjoy the company.

It was probably just as well. The

Golden Scale Club is riddled with split cane enthusiasts and, just lately, Bob had been seen using rods constructed of suspiciously unnatural material. He might have incurred the wrath of the purists had he decided to bring these monstrosities with him.

Merlin had a nice old 11-footer made by Edgar Sealey. However, though straight, it looked as if it had been used for cleaning chimneys or maybe beating a cat. My own favourite barbel rod is not by any means an antique. It was made only last year by a masterful rod builder; Edward Barder, of North End, near Newbury. It is 11 feet nine inches long, two-piece with detachable butt, and has a fantastic action, being not only extremely sensitive but also surprisingly powerful.

You can detect the most feeble bites yet also control a big barbel in a fast current. Such was the success of this rod (I christened it with a 10-pounder and then caught a dozen averaging 8½lb with the best going over 11lb – my biggest-ever barbel!) that Edward began marketing it, and it is now his best seller. It is called the Barbus Maximus. Needless to say, Edward Barder has now been adopted as club rod builder. (A carbon user waggled a Barbus Maximus the other day and said, “But it’s so heavy!” I merely replied that carbon rods lead to feeble forearms).

Everyone was naturally going to use centrepins. Bernard’s was a Speedia, one of the best centrepins every made, but I think the Allcock Aerial was the

best and it is certainly my favourite. For barbel � shing, the four-inch diameter wide drum version is the most practical and three of us would be using that type.

The ‘Wallis cast’, direct from the reel with no � ddling loops, is much easier to execute with a wide drum and, when perfected, it is the most accurate and subtle cast in the whole of angling, especially when you are light legering. My casting is by no means perfect, but, with my Aerial, it is good enough and there is nowhere on a river like the



CHRIS YATES Barbel

“It is always magical to go down to a beautiful river, to breathe its atmosphere”

Caption herexxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Hampshire Avon that would be too far for me to reach. And the beauty of the centrepin, apart from the delicate casts, lies in its superior � sh-playing ability. You are not winding through a cluster of gears; you have direct contact and that gives you a wonderful feeling of total control.

My own Aerial is 69 years old, which made it the oldest item of tackle on the river that day – Bernard would have been in his twenties when it was made! Now in his eighties, he is still wonderfully keen and enthusiastic about almost all forms of angling. Moreover, he is still amazingly � t. We were all marching across the � elds at a fairly brisk pace, crossing stiles and gates and fences, and Bernard didn’t falter once. And when we reached the swim I wanted him to � sh and we saw the dark shapes of the big resident barbel, he had his tackle set up within seconds. Obviously, a lifetime’s pursuit of his favourite things has been very good for him. Let us hope it’s the same for the rest of us when we reach eighty!

Barbel have always been a favourite of Bernard’s, but he had not been � shing for them for years. Brown trout are now his main quarry, with tench following close behind. Everyone has a favourite species, though these change

from time to time. My own all-time favourite is the carp, though this � sh was eclipsed for 10 years by the barbel and they are now rated about equal. Mind you, gudgeon have always outshone the rest.

Mick will always have barbel in his blood – in fact he is even beginning to look like a barbel. He loves the character of the � sh and the beautiful river – the Avon – which has become its kingdom. Shaun feels the same way, though I think the carp will always remain his favourite.

Bob, the all-rounder, likes all freshwater � sh, with the exception of rainbow trout, which he regards as a waste of space. (Bernard calls rainbow trout ‘vermin’). Roach, carp and barbel are Bob’s favourites. Merlin’s favourite is the brownie and Nigel prefers grey mullet to anything else, which points to a severe lack of piscatorial judgement. After all, as well as living

half their time in the sea, mullet do not possess those necessary golden scales.

There was one thing we all agreed upon; � shing in the nineties was becoming too complicated and too weighed down with all kinds of unnecessary gadgets and accessories and rigs and exotic baits. We all preferred the simple, uncluttered approach: a rod, reel and net, a tin of bait, a few � oats and a pocketful of hooks and weights.

Keeping things simple, you are then more free to enjoy the really important qualities in � shing – the essential magic of it. And it is always magical to go down to a beautiful river, to breathe its atmosphere, to cast into its waters and summon up wonderful magni� cent creations of nature.

Of course, you often catch nothing at all, but the magic is always there, for even if you fail to catch, you never fail to dream.

As well as talking, we did plenty of dreaming, but then, as the sun set and he � sh began to feed in earnest, we stopped dreaming and began to � sh more purposefully.

The river’s magic became ours and we � nished the day with glorious barbel and chub and, of course, another improbable tale about the one that got away.

DID YOU KNOW?Chris’s favourite reel, the Aerial, was

inspired by a spoked bicycle wheel. The � rst ‘Coxon’ Aerials were

wooden-backed, with horn handles – true works of art, yet practical.

A minimum of tackle gives the river angler

freedom to roam.

Top TipKeep things as simple as you

can!



Next page Sea fi shingCHRIS YATES Martin Bowler

IT’S ALWAYS FUNMartin Bowler has spent more hours than most on the bank with Chris. Here he gives his account of why he reckons the man is a living legend

He never taught me how to catch any � sh but he taught me how to enjoy � shing. I think that’s

really important, although he’s more likely to turn up with a fruit cake than a secret bait. It’s all about fun for him and that’s what angling should be.

Chris just loves being there and going on the adventure and that’s why I really cherish the trips I’ve been on with him, even when he thrashes me at crucian � shing! He slaughtered me on that day (as seen in Catching The Impossible) – I can’t explain what happened. He was � shing with a shark � oat, basically, well, it was a porcupine quill, and I had a dotted-down pole � ost. Chris was using some sweaty old maggots in a tin box for baiot and I don’t think I caught one while he had � sh after � sh.

Sweaty old maggots in a tin brought Chris some fi ne crucians – Martin struggled.

And I’ll always remember the perch � shing trip we went on because he almost smashed my teeth out with his Frisbee (Chris is well-known for playing bankside Frisbee between

wetting a rod and line). He decided we were playing and threw it at me but only shouted at the last minute – when I looked up it smacked me right in the chops and knocked me over. That was quite memorable, being � oored by Chris Yates.

I remember when we were � lming Catching The Impossible over at Linear I got him to sleep in a bivvy. He said it was an abomination but he still slept in it! And when I � rst had to go to his house, he just gave me the name of the village and said that I’d know where his house was when I got to it. As I drove down the road I saw a welly on the end of a big bamboo pole sticking out of a bush, and there was a cut-out � sh on a piece of string in place of a doorbell.

It went up along his house, into his bedroom and on to a bite alarm. You pull the � sh and the alarm goes o� – that’s the only thing Chris will use a bite alarm for.

The unique Yates doorbell arrangement.

023 AT Bowler Feb 8.indd 23 26/1/11 12:27:58


CHRIS YATES Extract

As I was working my way round a big rock, I stepped on a � at stone level with the water and disturbed some

weird sea thing that had been sitting on it. It spluttered across the surface for a few yards, all black and spiky, until I realised it was only a poor bedraggled pigeon. I realised too what had happened to it. This is a dangerous place for pigeons, or for any other medium-sized avian, because the peregrines live here. The waterlogged bird had obviously been zapped by the predator, but had escaped and found shelter under a rock – until I came stumbling along.

However, it would have had to make a move soon because of the incoming

tide, so I can’t feel too guilty about what happened. The pigeon managed to get itself airborne, � apping with half skeletal wings in a low curve that took it round under the cli� s. A fatal mistake. As I watched, something blurred down from above, there was an audible thud, and the peregrine threw the well salted pigeon onto the shingle. It was only forty yards away, and I watched though binoculars as the raptor – a magni� cent looking male – tucked into a late lunch. I’m obviously quite familiar to him – the strange humanoid waving a stick – and he didn’t seem to mind me watching.

I am now having my lunch, though, by the angle of the sun, it must now be mid-afternoon. Another three hours, then, before the moon begins to shine again. Maybe that will be the time.

THE MAGIC OF THE SEA

In an extract from hislatest book ‘Out Of The Blue’ Chris reveals how a wily

sea bass makes his day

“It swerved to my left, rose and exploded the refl ected dazzle”

Top TipDawn raids

often produce big bass!

024-025 AT Sea Story Feb 8.indd 24 26/1/11 12:30:31

‘Out Of The Blue’ (£14.99) is published by Hamish Hamilton. For more information and nearest stockist details visit www.� vedials.com or [email protected]

‘Out Of The Blue’ (£14.99) is published by Hamish Hamilton. For more information and nearest stockist details visit www.� vedials.com or [email protected]


Next page Finding Paradise

The conditions being so good, it seemed incredible that throughout the long and lovely day I didn’t tempt a � sh to even look at the lure. I came in last night slightly perplexed yet not disappointed. And anyway that was yesterday – today is my last day and, as soon as I saw the sea, I thought my chances might have improved, but this morning the water had more energy about it, more sparkle, and there was a new breeze blowing from the south-east.

I got down to the shore early, just after the ebb; but if the tide was low, the sun was already quite high by the time I made my � rst cast. I wasn’t however in the usual hurry to start � shing, and walked slowly along the beach, enjoying the glittering look of the sea yet also annoyed that I’d left my sunglasses back at the cottage.

The plug was still on the line after yesterday and I � shed it round the near edge of Atlantis for twenty minutes before suddenly deciding to change lures. I sat down on a big rock, snipped o� the plug and tied on a medium-sized silver andamber spoon.

For some unaccountable reason I tied a blood knot rather than the normal Palomar, even though I told myself I was using braided line and should be knot careful. Climbing down the boulder onto the � at, barnacle-encrusted stone where the pigeon had been hiding. I began casting into the � ooding lagoon.

It didn’t seem so exciting using a sunken lure – I much prefer to see a plug splashing across the surface – yet I felt more con� dent, and I reminded myself that most of the Atlantis summer � sh had fallen for the spoon, though a slightly smaller-sized version. On the � fth or sixth cast I aimed the lure more to my right. It landed with a splosh, � ftyish yards away, and I let it sink a split second longer than before (too long and I would have been down amongst the rocks). I began the retrieve and almost instantly felt something bang the line taut. The rod tip quivered and I though I’d hooked nothing more than a whizzy mackerel, but then there was a deeper, more sustained pull and the rod’s curve remained � xed.

Oh yes, I thought, this is a bass! Though another thought said it might be a pollock, to which the optimist replied that no, this � sh was moving too fast to be a pollack. Then I spoiled the whole debate by remembering that, as well as leaving my sunglasses at the cottage, I’d also forgotten the net. But I was on a � at rock at water level and guessed I could manage – if all went well.

I slowly regained line, and the � sh came round, still on my right. It turned suddenly making a terri� c dive away and, mindful of the knot situation, I allowed it to take line quite freely. Grudgingly it came back, drawing closer now, surely almost in view. It plunged again and I felt a nasty grating

round a sunken rock. For a terrible moment everything was solid. But the line was strong, and extra pressure, with the rod held high, eased the � sh free. It swerved to my left, rose and exploded the re� ected dazzle. I leaned right, steering the � sh away from the glare until it materialised beautifully just under the surface – a solidly real but still not yet attainable bass, green and silver, showing the criss-cross of scales on its broad back as it turned again. The tail-swipe when it powered away seemed quite loud and sent up a shower of spray.

I piloted it round the edge of my rock and, after skipping across a smaller semi-submerged boulder, managed to draw it into a narrow inlet. Crouching down, I got a � rst grip with � nger and thumb round the lower jaw and lifted the � sh gently out, carrying it over to a sheltered rock pool where I let it recover for a moment. It was a lovely creature: twenty-six inches long, quite deep-bodied yet perfectly symmetrical, with gold, mauve and blue merging with the moreutilitarian colours.

The � ns � ared, it turned its armoured-looking head towards me, and I had to apologise for the fact that it was now time to be weighed – in a bag. The scales read six pounds, twelve ounces, and, though that made the bass only my second largest, I think it’s de� nitely my best, because it was from the shore, on the last day of a very good week.

Chris fi shing a favourite South coast bass mark.

024-025 AT Sea Story Feb 8.indd 25 26/1/11 12:31:36


CHRIS YATES Tench

The time was late May and all the new leaves were as bright as green � ames. With my two fellow Fish Heads, Jasper

and Anglepen, I pushed through the dense wood, expecting at any moment to see the blue glimmer of water showing beyond the foliage.

Our hand-drawn map showed a large, irregular shaped lake smack in the middle of this great area of wilderness – a wonderful boggy forest of birch, oak and alder. But though we seemed to have been walking for hours there was no sign of the lake. We weren’t particularly worried, though, as we were certain the lake was close. We could smell it – that glorious sweet, almost yeasty smell of an old carp lake. And, besides the familiar scent, we knew it was a carp water because a reliable source had told us so. Not just any old carp water either. This place had hardly ever been � shed and, furthermore, it contained alleged monsters.

May was always the month for exploring. It was – and still is – a time when all the best rumours and myths from the previous years are carefully sifted for signs of authenticity. Most of the real humdinger myths – the ones about record sized carp in overgrown farm ponds – were, of course, sadly � ctitious, but there were other stories that had more than a grain of truth. Wherever � shermen gather to talk there will always be a few memorable yarns about secret lakes and lost pools and a good season will sometimes see a dozen new legends added to my long list. And even if only one of these tales can actually match up to reality then it’s always worth a few days in the close season for further enquiry. Lake hunting, we call it.

We’d heard about this particular lost lake in the summer of ’85, when we’d been � shing a river down in Sussex. A rather tired looking bream angler (he’d been blanking all night) told us about a tench water he used to visit, “a big lily

covered lake, impossible to � sh from the banks because of the reeds and silt. But for two pounds, the old keeper will let you use a boat for the day and – gawd! – what tench! Six and seven pounds sometimes. And once I saw a carp as big as my boat. Hooked one, too; must have been 30lb or more, but of course, I lost it in the lilies.”

“Is the old keeper still there?” I asked.

“No,” said the bream � sher, “but he lives in a cottage not far away. He could still tell you a few good stories.”

So we found the old keeper who proved the bream � sher true to his word. We were treated to a marvellous outpouring of monster stories, though ‘stories’ is misleading. ‘Epics’ would be more accurate. He was a great talker, the keeper, but he ended on a slightly pessimistic note.

Unfortunately, the whole estate had recently been sold and the keeper didn’t hold out much hope that we’d ever be able to � sh there. “But,” he said, “if you went down to have a look I don’t think anyone would complain,

FINDING PARADISE

“We could smell it – that glorious sweet, almost yeasty smell of an old carp lake.”

026-028 AT Tench Feb 8.indd 26 26/1/11 12:35:25


Next pageContinued

especially if you told them I’d sent you.”

Though we were obviously enthusiastic, there was too much � shing to do then and for the rest of that season and there wasn’t enough time to start exploring somewhere new. We would save it for the merry month of May, when you didn’t have to bother with tackle and bait and all you needed to do was watch and dream…

A few yards to my left, Jasper stopped and pointed. “There it is,” he

said, “I can see it.” We plunged through a last thicket of oak scrub and came upon a bristling wall of yellow � owering iris. Beyond lay a wide spread of lily-covered water looking almost exactly as we’d expected – deep, clear, with vast reedbeds forming sheltered bays and lagoons up towards the distant shallows. The air was still and the midday sun quite intense, but there were no signs of basking � sh, even though we scanned the surface carefully with binoculars.

We began walking – or, rather, squelching – along the marshy shore, hoping to � nd a break in the reedbeds where we could, at some later, lucky date, perhaps cast a line. We headed up the lake towards the shallows, but the reeds just appeared to grow taller and denser.

A hundred yards away, we glimpsed a sudden large swirl and were convinced it was caused by a carp. After a minute there was another substantial commotion, right up where the reedbeds appeared to converge. It looked as if a large carp was tru� ing in the silty, muddy bottom. But there was a deep, black, unexpected sidestream that stopped us in our splodgy tracks and it seemed we couldn’t get any closer to the disturbance.

We pushed back into the wood, following the stream until we came to a place where a dead tree had fallen across it, forming a perfect, if precarious bridge. We walked a tightrope over to the far bank, picked our way round a reed-choked quagmire and tried to get back to the lake. But there was no � rm ground anywhere and we had to keep going between the trees, where we could at least use the roots as stepping stones while we searched for a proper path.

By the time we had hopped, skipped and jumped back to the water we discovered we’d somehow worked our

FINDING PARADISE They came in search of tench, but found a tunnel through time and an ecstasy of leggy blondes. Chris Yates reveals all...

“For two pounds, the old keeper will let you use a boat for the day and – gawd! – what tench!”

026-028 AT Tench Feb 8.indd 27 26/1/11 12:36:22

CHRIS YATES Tench

➽ Carp legend Terry Hearn

“It was the record that fi rst bought Chris to the public’s attention, it was without a doubt a beautiful fi sh. A ‘fi fty’ is a special carp today, but back then it was just unbelievable and a great achievement. He had the main record - the one the carp anglers all looked up to. That fi sh inspired a lot of people. Plus I’ve watched A Passion For

Angling loads of times and I think it’s still the best fi shing programme ever made.”

way right to the end of the main feeder stream, way above the place where we saw the suspected carp. Anglepen had fallen in a ditch, Jasper had � lled one boot with black mud and I’d banged my head on a branch as I leapt another sidestream. (I almost knocked myself out). We’d come too far, but we couldn’t possibly turn back and so we decided to continue until we could cross the feeder stream and come round the lake on the far side.

The stream was easy to cross, for at a high wooded ridge we came upon a weird semi-ornamental grotto, an ancient man-made system of caves where the stream emerged from some subterranean source. Intrigued, we had to have a brief inspection of this fantastic creation and as we crawled into the darkness we discovered we were wrong about the stream’s source. There was no underground spring, but something much more interesting. We saw a bright glow ahead of us and, creeping towards it, we realised it was sunlight re� ecting from the surface of another lake. We were in a tunnel that was really an over� ow channel connecting the lake below with this mysterious lake above (even the keeper hadn’t mentioned it).

Emerging into bright sunshine, we staggered to our feet on a grassy dam and gazed, slightly stunned, across the water. Was this really happening? Had we slipped through a time-warp or were we dreaming? Perhaps we’d died in the

grotto and this was Paradise.The upper lake was smaller than

the lower one, perhaps � ve acres. It was more sheltered, more intimate and even more seductive, seeming to promise something more than just wondrous carp. Anglepen wandered along to the dam’s eastern end and, after a moment, I noticed he was crouching, staring intently into the water. Jasper and I realised instantly what he’d seen and crept quietly up beside him.

“Six of the best!” said Anglepen. There was a weedbed at the corner

of the dam and gently drifting around it were six beautiful looking carp, all over ten pounds with the largest perhaps twice that size. We watched them for a while, whispering our appreciations, then went back across the dam to inspect the other corner, but saw nothing.

Following a � rm bankside path along the lake’s western side, ducking under willows and alders, we came to an open, treeless area which revealed a sight almost as attractive as the water itself.

Bordering the lake was a vast playing � eld with an old, stately manor house in the distance. We knew it was a playing � eld and we guessed the great house was now a private school because the grass was swarming with superbly athletic teenage girls, running, jumping and throwing javelins. It must have been sports day.

“Perhaps we could save the carp till later,” suggested Jasper, focusing his binoculars on a particularly long-legged blonde.

“I think we really are in Paradise,” said Anglepen, and we all admired the view at maximum magni� cation, like punters at the Derby

Because we were staring through our binoculars we didn’t see the large Amazonian gym-mistress striding purposefully and ominously towards us from our left.

“Hey!” she suddenly shouted and we jumped. She was only 10 yards from us and we must have made a deeply suspicious sight: mud covered, dirty trespassers ogling her innocent girls. What could we say?

We didn’t say anything. The situation demanded instant disappearance and within seconds we had vanished back down the over� ow tunnel like three rabbits pursued by a bloodthirsty vixen. But we couldn’t help laughing.

We trekked round the east side of the lower lake and though we still thought it was an impressive looking sheet of water, we couldn’t appreciate it quite as much as before. It wasn’t in the same class as the upper pool.


An unknown lake,

an angler’s gateway

to Paradise.

WHAT THE STARS SAY

ABOUT CHRIS...

026-028 AT Tench Feb 8.indd 28 26/1/11 12:37:29

CHR IS YATES SPECI A L 29 FEBRUA RY 8 201 1

Next page A Passion for AnglingCHRIS YATES Redmire

THE MAGIC OF REDMIRE

No-one can better describe the iconic

pool near Ross-on-Wye than Chris Yates

REDMIRE. Midsummer morning. A thin mist peels o� the surface of the pool, revealing the � rst

blush of re� ected sunrise. The overhanging willow shuts out

most of the sky and will obscure the sun when, eventually, it rises over the hill opposite. Everything before me is inverted; upside-down sky, upside-down tree line, upside-down hill.

Apart from the mist, nothing moves. The world has never been still for hours, or at least since I woke from a restless sleep, when it was still dark. I’d been dreaming about monster carp and when I jerked awake, in a bit of a sweat, I knew I’d have to get up and try to make the dream a reality.

I crept along to this place by the willow where, for two successive dawns, big carp had been feeding. Both times I sneaked up on them and

cast, yet they shadowed away almost as soon as I’d arrived. Now I am here, ready, before the � sh. I scatter a handful of boiled � eld beans in front of me and cast a bait among them.

Now, I am sitting back against the willow trunk, my rod next to me, and with time enough on my hands to scribble these words in a notebook. Time may well have stopped altogether and I could probably write 10,000 pages before breakfast!

The sun slowly appears, luminous, not dazzling. Time is still working. Then, like a miracle after the hours of stillness, a great beast-like shape towers up through the re� ections; it comes almost clean out of the water, hangs poised for a moment and crashes back again. Time to put away the pen and watch the rod…

It is now about midday. The sun is at its zenith, and there are a few � sh basking at the centre of the pool. My rod and net are leaning against the willow, the net still damp, the mesh festooned with bits of � annel weed. In my camera is, if I got the exposure right, a lovely picture of a 20lb Redmire carp. Here’s how it happened.

Not long after that � rst � sh leapt, the surface in front of me became

peppered with small patches of bubbles. It was obvious the carp were feeding over and probably on the bait.

Just as I was beginning to think about recasting, the line gave a little jump and the angle of it between rod-tip and water changed until it seemed almost parallel to the surface. Before it had completely tightened I struck and there was a wonderful bulging of the re� ected sunrise. Then it exploded in a column of spray.

The old reel sang like a siren, the cane went into a vicious bend, but after 20 yards the carp rolled and kited in towards my own bank. I didn’t want him doing that, so I eased o� and tempted him to make a powerful surge back into more open water.

There were a couple of fraught moments, when the � sh seemed immovably lodged in the aquagrowth, but each time a slight slackening of pressure got him mobile again. Then, with a series of violent but ine� ective plunges, he came round in a long arc that led, in a shower of water and torn-up weed, into my ample net.

He was a broad backed, muscular and darkly golden common of just over 21lb – the perfect way to celebrate mid-summer at Redmire.

Redmire today. No longer the home of the privileged few, it is now open to all.

029 AT Redmire Feb 8.indd 29 26/1/11 12:38:51

CHR IS YATES SPECI A L 30 FEBRUA RY 8 201 1

CHRIS YATES A Passion For Angling

Top TipClassic

angling � lms motivate!

Christmas 1993 stands out for me and, I suspect, many other anglers, because that’s when I � rst watched the

now-legendary A Passion For Angling series.

The double VHS boxset was despatched back-to-back in record time and I remember being absolutely enthralled by Chris Yates and Bob James’s pursuit of huge and interesting � sh, all captured masterfully on camera by Hugh Miles.

But, most of all, I remember the enormous fun they had over the six episodes; the scarecrow sequence at Redmire, perching with Mr Crabtree, Bob catching a brace of monster pike from Chris’s swim and countless other moments that brilliantly translated the joy of the sport onto � lm.

The series has now become � rmly lodged deep into the culture and

Chris Yates on giant barbel, elusive carp and the making of the greatest fi shing show ever made. By Ben Hervey-MurrayHugh Miles fi lming Chris and Bob.

history of the sport, to the point where Angling Times readers recently voted it their number one � shing television program of all time.

The exquisite visuals – a world away from the workman-like angling videos that came before it – owe much to Hugh Miles’ devotion to producing wildlife � lms of the highest quality, but without catches like Bob’s huge roach bag or the numerous other specimens that fell to the duo’s contrasting tactics, it wouldn’t have had quite the same impact on the angling world.

In retrospect, it was a perfect meeting of three di� erent styles that was to be the making of the series. They made it look so easy and enjoyable – you just wanted to be there with them.

But that wasn’t quite the reality of making such an epic set of programs, as Chris described when asked how he sees the seminal set of

� lms almost two decades on.“I view it now in two ways. One side

of me is very glad I did it because it gave a lot of people a lot of pleasure – the other half of me wonders, if I’d known just how hard it was going to be, if I’d taken it on at all,” said Chris.

“I predicted it would take about a year to do – that’s what Hugh more or less predicted.

“It took over four-and-a-half years in the end and it did really bite into a lot of my natural � shing time and it was very hard work plus my children were young and needed me at home.

“It’s the creativity of the actual � lm – that’s the real challenge. Catching a big or rare � sh is quite straightforward but getting those wonderful shots is the big challenge and I didn’t appreciate quite how tough it was going to be to get those shots.

“It was a labour of love in the end and I said afterwards that I’d never ever do anything like that again

“MAKING ‘PASSION’ WAS THE TOUGHEST THING I’VE EVER DONE”

30-31 Fishing Legends Feb 8.indd 30 26/1/11 12:40:25

Chr is Yates speCi a l 31 Februa rY 8 201 1

l Childhood DreamsPerfectly captures the simple joy of catching a first fish.

l Redmire LegendsThe definitive episode. A joyous mix of crack-pot tactics that actually work and huge old carp from the legendary carp pool.

l In Search of SalmonChasing a torpedo-like salmon down the rapids in Scotland provides a favourite television angling moment.

l Autumn Glory Extolling the virtues of river fishing at one of the most productive times of year, Chris and Bob tackle the Hampshire Avon.

l Midwinter Madness Roach, chub and trout all fall to the pair’s rods on a freezing day on the River Kennet, and Chris indulges in a spot of swim poaching.

l Monster MythsThe duo explore a weedy estate lake that contains a carp of legendary proportions. Who can forget the gamekeeper comparing it to his large dog in size while Chris and Bob’s eyes light up?

Chris Yates on giant barbel, elusive carp and the making of the greatest fishing show ever made. By Ben Hervey-Murray

because it just takes so much time – there are just too many other things in life to do!

“To recreate the atmosphere you find with a lake, to express through film the magic of fishing, you need a long time. There are a lot of very hurried and very slapdash angling videos and I feel that if you’re going to do it, do it properly and give it a lot of time, just not necessarily four years!

“But the great thing is that it was worth it in the end. It was 21 years ago this year that we started filming and it’s still being shown on virtually a daily basis which is quite a good reflection of the quality of the film making. It’s stood the test of time.

With such a long shooting schedule, he also admits to a few low points: “I was a bit disappointed that whenever I caught a barbel, I’d always have gone down on my own to start fishing before the camera started rolling and I always caught the barbel when the

cameras weren’t on. I very often regretted that I just couldn’t wait to start fishing!

“But I did lose a huge one – it was probably the biggest barbel I’ve ever hooked...”

But these were countered by innumerable high points, starting with the Redmire Legends episode, a sequence that was vital to the future of the project as Chris reveals: “We had a false sense of how it easy it was going to be when we went to Redmire. We’d decided to have a week there and, if that came off, we were going to make the whole series.

“Everything worked out really well there and the scarecrow worked so well. It was lovely to be able to do all those japes and stunts and to have them work and to do it all in a week. I did know Redmire really well then, it was my second home at times.

“The conditions were also perfect every single day so we did not have

a problem with continuity.“We thought that if we could do a

whole program in a week that the rest would be easy.”

Key to the success of the series was the exploration of the angler’s perrenial big fish dream and the tale in the Monster Myths program about a carp as wide as a labrador certainly stuck in my mind. “That episode was quite difficult.” Chris responds when asked about their time on the mysterious estate lake.

“But I managed to get permission to fish on my own for a couple of days after filming. I had a lovely 26lb Common almost straight away and it was one we’d failed to even interest before when filming. Those fish were very evasive - very elusive.

“They didn’t seem to be when we first got there – we were just feeding them dog biscuits and it seemed like we could’ve caught any of them – but

when Hugh had finished all his filming and gave us permission to cast, Bob won the toss and lost a fish on the first cast.

“Suddenly, they all just disappeared. There was no doubt that the one lost fish had communicated its panic to every single other fish in the lake so for maybe three or four weeks we didn’t see a fish.

“And I saw the monster, which we only saw once during filming although never actually on film.

“We never got near enough to cast for it, either. It was probably a 50-pound fish…”

Knowing that filming this epic series was such incredibly hard work only makes the trio’s achievement more impressive. It’s doubtful it will ever be bettered.

In A Passion For Angling, they have made the definitive fishing film and every person who has been fired up to fish at dawn or heartened after a slow day by one of the episodes owes them a small debt of thanks.

“And I saw the monster. It was probably a 50-pound fish...”

EpISoDES

30-31 Fishing Legends Feb 8.indd 31 26/1/11 12:41:05

COMING SOON...

IVAN MARKS OUT MARCH 15

FREE WITH ANGLING TIMES

DICK WALKER

032 AT Next Issue.indd 32 26/1/11 16:46:39

Documents

Legends Series: Chris Yates