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Well, it was about time I got back to the water in pursuit of that magnificent fish once more, and after being 'landlocked' for two weeks the anticipation of the trip had finally caught up with me. Soniq and I had turned his garage into a 'boilie making haven' on the Wednesday previous and had ended the session with hundreds of the things air-drying from the ceiling in netting. I don't actually remember the end of the session too clearly or how the boilies ended up hanging from the ceiling as the beer flowed freely, as it does when you're bait making. It was all heady stuff, what with the 'Trigga' and 'Hutchy's Scopex'. It was a wonder we both didn't pull up a chair for a serving ourselves. The day of the 'Off' arrived and after the obligatory "Starbucks" stop we hit the 210 Freeway and were officially 'Off'. We arrived at the lake and checked into the campground. This was purely a 'cosmetic' move that would allow us legally to fish all night at the bank, besides the head ranger was a friend of ours and we were now part of the 'family'... Or so we thought.  After the long haul to the swim we noticed that the water had risen slightly, but nothing to be alarmed about. We had hoped that our 'contact' had pre-baited for us as arranged, which would hopefully put us ahead of the game. After setting up, settling in and putting on the kettle we noticed that the winds were starting to increase in speed and predicted correctly that we would do best now to ensure that everything was tied down sufficiently.
It was a great little swim, quite snug and just large enough for 2 people to fish comfortably. The actual swim is below the bank right by the water's edge, so it is quite sheltered from the open planes behind it, which would be of huge benefit as we found out later. The water was crystal clear and roughly 59 degrees.  The following is a description of the methods I used for this particular trip:
My left hand rod was fished on the 'method' about 20 yards from the bank in roughly 11 feet of water, and the right hand rod was fished at about 80 yards in about twenty feet with a PVA bag full of powdered milk, bread and maize; a method that was fast becoming my favorite. I had recently purchased some of the new 'distance' bags from www.thefishingbag.com, which are excellent and make a huge difference in the distance achieved as opposed to the conventional shape bags. Both rigs had 40lb Berkley Iron silk shock leaders and also Korda lead core. Now for the most part the lakebed is quite sandy. However, there are some huge boulders, tree stumps and shell beds that have cut through my mono like butter in the past. I had lost far too many fish before and since using the set-up described have yet to lose a fish due to being snagged or 'cut off ' by the rocks. Both rigs were equipped with Nash Fang X hooks size 4. Undoubtedly my favorite, even surpassing the great E.S.P. Raptors for strength in my book. The method rig had a 4 inch Berkeley big game mono hook length of 20lb and the PVA rig had a Korda safety lead set up with 3 oz weight and 25lb Mantis Gold. Both rods are Custom built 2.75 TC Century blanks, and Shimano XT 10000's take care of the reel department. Main line is 15lb Fox soft steel. The alarm set up that I use consists of Fox MMX alarms with Euro Swingers and I am currently using a great Obelisk Pod that Keith Thompson has loaned me until the globetrotter arrives... Which may be a while because I haven't ordered it yet! After a few hours, my left had rod had a screaming run and I hit into what felt to be a good fish. It kited for the sunken trees on the left hand side of the swim, so I had to 'give it some' on the side strain end of things. After turning her head I was able to play the fish out in front of me for a few minutes as she bore down and kept thudding around the bottom of the lake until I was eventually able to get the fish onto the surface and to the net; a scale perfect Common of 21lb exactly. Now the rods had well and truly been christened, so I set about celebrating with a cup of the old amber nectar. Wayne congratulated me on the first fish of the session and I sat and enjoyed the hot cup of tea and a cigar in the beautiful California sun. Life was indeed good. Wayne soon hit into the fish, his first I believe to be around the 16lb mark, and we both continued to catch for the rest of the evening; although none of the fish broke the 30 mark. Wayne's left hand rod would take off every 45 minutes. I think that the strangest incident of the first night, with the exception of holding on for dear life to the bivvies in the gale-force winds, was the 3lb bass that attacked Wayne's hair rig as he was retrieving it from the swim!  First light arrived along with a couple of unfamiliar voices
"Wayne, where's that coming from?" I asked. "Don't know, mate," came the reply. Not two minutes later, it became all too apparent where the voices were coming from as two "Noddies", as Wayne and I have affectionately named them, (Not for the Traditional British meaning although that does somewhat apply. No, it is mainly because the way they bounce around in their method of transport when they kick their legs!) appeared right in the middle of our swim in a couple of inflatable inner tubes casting their lures towards us on the bank! "Bloody Hell" I exclaimed to Wayne. "They haven't got a clue, have they?" "Ahoy there!" I exclaimed, trying not to get angry and having to laugh at the absurdity of it all at the same time. "You're right over our bait, mate," gesturing to the immediate vicinity not 20 yards from the shore directly in front of us! "What?" came the reply as a lure was cast directly at me landing not five yards from the shore. "I said: you're right over my bait" gesturing 'large' like some out-of-work actor. The reponse sinks in... No response. "We are fishing here" ... Even more exaggerated larger gestures... "Fishing here"... Points to rods and exaggerates a casting motion a la John Cleese... No response. Oh for the Love of God... "WILL YOU GET OUT OF MY BLOODY SWIM? CAN'T YOU SEE WE ARE FISHING?" I heard Wayne laugh to himself as he sat shaking his head. "Sorry," came the reply as they started to rapidly paddle away like two oversized floating donuts. I'm going to get a bait boat and glue a needle onto the bloody bow, I swear I am. I actually pulled my rods in after a while as the weed problem was starting to get to me, and rather than let it get too far I reeled in to take a break and contemplate how I was best going to handle the situation. Wayne had left for a trip to 'The John' and I sat on the old bed chair wondering at what to do next. Well, you guessed it, Wayne's left hand rod went screaming off once again. I jumped up and realized that he must still be ahem... Busy, as he was nowhere to be seen. So, I casually stepped over to his rods, as you do, and hit into the fish. I hoped that it wasn't a lump, as I wouldn't have felt good about the capture not being on my rods and all... Where do you think we are Never-Never Land? I was praying with every ounce of my being that it was a Forty! That evening saw us cook a great meal then hunker down and prepare for another night of wind, although luckily it did eventually tail off. I was shattered by this time, not having had a wink of sleep the night before or any of the following day and it looked like I was going to be 'sleepless' this night also. Wayne's left hand rod would scream off like clockwork on the hour. "Those bloody twenties!" I exclaimed with Samsonite luggage under my eyes. "I am not getting out of this bivvy unless it's at least a mid-thirty!" There it was... I was jaded. We had caught enough high doubles, twenties and mid twenties to last me for the entire trip, we were up around the 350lb mark... and Wayne continued to catch. "Put a 30 mill boilie on or something, that'll sort them out!" I shouted, losing myself in my cocoon of a sleeping bag. Well, I actually did doze off. I think I just tuned out the frequency to Soniq's alarm, and all was fine until about midnight. The wind had died down and all was quiet. Wayne was sitting in his chair watching his rods and I was off in 'dreaming of a 50 land' when I was violently awoken with a torch light in my face, dog barking and... "Park Rangers - Step away from the tent and show us your hands!" yelled Dirty Harry, hand firmly placed on his firearm. “Oh no... Not this again!” I thought to myself. "Here comes the lone 'kin Ranger." "What are you doing!" - Dear readers, please note the use of an exclamation mark and NOT question mark here as punctuation - yelled Officer Agitated. I looked at Wayne and the rods... Then back to Wayne and then the Officer. "We are fishing," I said. "Where's your ID?" came the reply... Realizing that their SWAT effort may have been in vain after all. Both Wayne and I handed over our ID's. We proceeded to sit there in the cold while T.J. Hooker and his sidekicks went back and forth on the radio to central command. Wayne continued to try to smooth things over as I sat there... Livid. "We have paid for 3 nights' camping. We can fish at night, " said Wayne. "And you have a sleeping bag!" said T.J. Hooker. "Look, it's bloody freezing out here. Is there some Law about the sleeping bag?" I said. "Well, you're supposed to be fishing and not camping etc.." And so it went on and on with us trying to explain the different methods used and that just because we weren't sitting there with a 5 foot Noddy stick flapping an imitation frog across the water in search of the 'elusive' 10lb 'monster' bass, or racing around the lake in a $25,000 boat at 50 miles an hour... We were actually... fishing. We were getting nowhere and they were now clutching at straws. There was nothing for it; we were going to have to play the trump card. "Listen, we are friends of Rafael's' (Your boss) and he knows we are fishing here tonight." Utter silence... And then "There is NO WAY that Rafael would allow you to have all of this equipment here. NO WAY! I don't believe you." "Here," I said, taking out my cell phone. "If you want to be the one to wake him up, you can call him." There it was in green neon lights illuminating the cell phone and staring her right in the face. Her boss's name and personal cell phone number. I pressed the 'send' button and handed it to her. There was no turning back now. Well, needless to say, there followed a conversation that consisted mostly of back peddling and appologies. It was indeed confirmed that her boss knew full-well that we were fishing and the methods used and why in God's name did she call him at midnight about a couple of fishermen? "Well, I don't know about you, mate, but that's put me right off," I said to Wayne who quickly agreed. It had indeed well and truly burst the carp vibe that we were in and brought home the lack of logic in some people. We both cursed the lack of communication between the relevant parties and eventually fell asleep. The next morning I awoke with the same disheartened feeling that had overcome us both the night before. It was such a violation of the natural countryside and was a little too 'Real' for my liking. One of the greatest pleasures for me whilst carp fishing is escaping Man with all of his misgivings and immersing myself in the countryside... With a few little luxuries such as a pot of tea and some of Rachel's Chili. (Soniq's wife).  As the sun began to slowly rise on the final day I sat quietly by the lakeside with a hot cup of tea in my hand, the negative memories fading into the distance. Wayne had gone for a walk and I began once again to enjoy the magnificent lake in all her splendor. It was that magic time just before the sun actually has any strength in the morning sky, where you can smell the freshness of the coming day and there is... silence. I wound in my left hand rod and re-packed the method mix around the cage. I stood and gazed out into the lake as my eyes were drawn to a patch of water that the sun's rays had illuminated from the Heavens. I compressed the rod to its fullest and let fly the tackle, directly to the golden patch, at about 80 yards range. The feeder broke the still patch of water as the sunlight caught the mono trailing through the air like a serpent. It actually looked like a fly line being cast, catching the sun's rays as everything about the moment felt incredibly right. For some reason, I was now immediately in 'The Zone' and it all came together. I wound down, clipped up and sat back in anticipation. It was again one of those moments of clarity that I knew would end up in the fish I had been waiting for. There's no rational explanation for this, just that inner feeling. I sat back on the chair and sipped the tea; completely focusing on the Euro swinger. I had clipped up really tightly and expected the first indication to be a drop back.
I don't know why it just had to be 'That spot' that I cast to; there were no signs of fish movement, and for all I knew I could have cast directly into a mass of razor sharp boulders, but the instinct or 'little voice' has yet to let me down, and when it's on it really comes together quite quickly. Not five minutes had passed and I was still focused directly on the swinger when it happened. A drop-back of around six inches immediately followed by a slow, deliberate take that signaled a bigger fish. I put down the cup and walked to the rod. I knew this was going to be the best fish for me of the session, before I even picked the rod up. I leant into the fish to feel a very satisfying and powerful lunge on the end. The fish began to take line in a very deliberate motion towards the center of the lake. Now she was about 80 yards or so out and I had no idea what was at the bottom of the lake, so I gave the tackle everything I could to bring the fish higher up in the water before she could get up any speed. I had set my clutches the previous day to the exact point where I knew that I could really use the extremes of the new rods and anything more, the clutch would start to give. She was having none of it and began to kite to the left to which I had to respond with the most amount of side strain, at that distance, I think I have ever used. She was heading towards the tops of a submerged tree just as I managed to turn her head in the opposite direction. Immediately, she went for the depths once again as I used the rod to its full capacity. I really enjoyed playing this fish, as I was able to test the new rods and tackle under these conditions. I eventually had her not 20 yards from the bank in a snag-free area where she stayed on the bottom for a good few minutes slowly swimming back and forth. Wayne had just arrived back from his walk and saw that whatever was on the end of the line was a decent fish. "Is it a lump, mate?" he asked, laughing. "I think so," I said and smiled. This was that wonderful moment that two fisherman can share when a good fish is close to the bank swirling just under the surface. You know it's a good fish, but you don't yet know how big it is. Regardless, for me when it gets to this level they are all magnificent fish and give me such pleasure. Her head eventually broke the surface as she began to tire and after a few more lunges she turned and her flank crossed the net. "Well done, mate," said Wayne. "I know you were waiting for that," as I crouched over her on the mat. And he was right. There are moments that I think we all have when fishing, where there is absolute clarity and we are 'at one' or 'tuned in' with the water. I understand it is the same feeling that golfers have when it all comes together on the green. Those are the moments that we live for, the moments that create the memories for us that we should share with others, for if they could catch a glimpse of what this wonderful sport has to offer then they would surely be hooked as you or I. She came in at just over 30lb and Wayne did the honors for me with the camera. The sun had now fully risen and I went into the water to release her.  "Thank you," I whispered, and kissed her on the head before finally releasing her back to the lake.
We caught over 400lb of fish between us for the 48 hrs fished and had met some new anglers keen to take up the sport. That alone was worth the entire trip.
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