Carp & Otters – Mike Vlog – Borrowed Time

In this feature-length diary, Baitworks consultant Mike Holly chases the last of the original big carp of the Crazy Park, a public lake that tests his patience at every turn. Between otter sightings, litter, and a promo trip to film the new EDGE pellets, it’s an honest look at obsession, friendship and the fish he calls the last of the Mohicans. Full transcript below.

Obsession, fear and the last of the Mohicans

I was really worried I’d never get a chance to catch one of these carp. I was obsessed by them, so obsessed they were occupying all my thoughts. I’d reflect and say it’s really unhealthy, to let a carp, or a small family of carp, create such an obsession that you put it in front of everything else in life.

Friend: That’s probably the biggest carp of this one we caught. Do we get him, do we get the rod back in?

Mike: This obsession was partly fuelled by fear. I was really worried the otter predation was rife and might rob me of my chance of a special moment with one of these carp. The evidence was clear. I was seeing otters on a regular basis, and even seeing carp that had run-ins with them that very winter. I didn’t want to leave it to luck. These fish were really special, and if I was to catch them, this year had to be now or never.

The carp in question, that I’d dearly love a run-in with, were only two or three fish. There’s already a small family of maybe up to 20 carp in this lake, but the ones I was focused on were the two or three left of the original crop of fish that found their way into the Crazy Park. I’ve always referred to these as the last of the Mohicans. They were everything I wanted a carp to be. Three big male carp. I didn’t know which had the hierarchy, but I had a gut feeling, and if I was to ever meet that one, wow, that would be a dream come true. But the task was big. These carp rarely came out, and all the challenges the Crazy Park presents are enough to put anybody off.

I had tunnel vision to catch these carp. It fuelled me to get up at six in the morning to put bait in, or to walk the pit at midnight and sit at the top end just listening. These carp got really under my skin, and my friends and family would probably say in a very unhealthy way. I’m always aware these campaigns don’t come along often, and I can’t continue to operate like this, because other things in my life suffer. But I knew this year it was now or never. Covid had restricted travelling, so I had spare holiday from work that I didn’t have to dedicate to anything else. Even my holiday days I could dedicate to catching a couple of these carp. I had everything in my armoury.

The reality of the Crazy Park: rubbish everywhere

What I hadn’t planned for were the challenges thrown at me almost every trip through the summer, a constant reminder of why this Crazy Park is often left alone. On the very next trip, grabbing some bait before work, I was faced with something I’d become very familiar with, and it never failed to really upset me. Have a look at this, and I’m sure you’ll agree, it was absolutely devastating.

That’s a new one this morning. Not too sure that’s going to fit in my rubbish bag. Just look at this. This is the second pile of rubbish I’ve witnessed in as many days, where a family have had a party at the public park, got up, left, and felt it’s fine to leave all this stuffed in the hedge. I know it’s a family, because there are things like children’s bricks, a child’s bib, a small child’s trainer, and some toys. I cannot believe that at grassroots level we can’t even look after the planet by picking up our rubbish. It’s horrific, and it’s not an isolated incident. If I walk round this lake there are piles like this everywhere. I’m ashamed to think we share the planet with humans who conduct themselves this way. Like I did on Monday, I’ve got some litter-picking apparatus in the car, and I’ll spend a couple of hours picking this up. But I shouldn’t have to, when every human has an obligation to do the same. Very sad day.

Why I haven’t been able to fish

It’s seven o’clock on a Sunday morning, my son’s still in bed, so this is the only slot I’ve got to check in. All my friends warned me, avoid the park in summer, it will drive you crazy. They’re absolutely right. I haven’t done any fishing the last couple of weeks, none at all, because I can’t. Every time I turn up after work, it’s been biblical, boiling hot, and there are only seven or eight areas you can fish. Every single one has a family with a picnic blanket and a barbecue in it. I’ve come back through the night, up until eleven or twelve, and they’re still there, music going, barbecue going. I don’t blame them, it’s beautiful weather, as long as they pick their rubbish up. But it means I can’t get into the areas I want, which is hugely frustrating.

It would be easy to lift up a carp and say I’ve caught one without showing any backstory, but this campaign has a real challenging backstory. Still, it’s been time well spent, because although I haven’t wet a line, I’ve been able to get bait into the area I want to focus on, and observe the fish. Going in every morning before work and most evenings after, my observations led to a bit of a eureka moment.

Observation pays off: a change of tactics

Two weeks of dedicated observation led to a slight change of tactics. These big male carp have massive fins, and when they come down onto the spot, the big fins anchor them to the area where they pick up a bait, but there’s lots of water displacement. Any delicate, balanced rig is going to be wafting all over the place. So I’m going to anchor my baits, almost pin them to the bottom, so when these big fish come down to feed they’re not wafted off the spot. I’ll add a bit of weight, go a bit more agricultural, slightly bigger baits, big-fish tactics, but done differently. I’ll weight the baits down and anchor them to the spot.

The proof will be in the pudding, because next week the weather’s going to break and turn overcast, which should stop the public descending on the park, so hopefully I can squeeze into the area I’ve been trickling bait into. I did try a couple of weeks ago and it was a disaster. I set up where I wanted to be, and within 20 minutes a family turned up next to me and swam right through my lines, wiping me out. I ended up packing up and going to another lake about ten o’clock that night. Luckily, I caught one in the morning, a beautiful dark mahogany common I hadn’t caught before, almost a consolation prize. After what I’d been through, that one made up for the effort and the busy park.

Filming the EDGE pellets at Hatchmore

My mind is firmly fixed on the Crazy Park, but tomorrow I’ve got a couple of days away for work. I’m going down to Hatchmore Fishery with a few friends to film a promo video on the new EDGE pellets. That’s a couple of days away from the Cotswolds where I can’t pop in and put bait in, so tonight I’ll have to give it more than usual. The consistency of the bait on the spot, if you’re pre-baiting regularly, is everything. I’ve always tried to get it in little and often, and I’ve seen no lines, which is another important point. If you’re going to bait up, make sure it sees no lines for a good couple of weeks.

I wasn’t really looking forward to it, because it broke up the pre-baiting rhythm at the park, and I find that really challenging. But it was work-related. I met Dave, Giles and Ben at the local Wetherspoons and kicked off the drive with a hearty English breakfast.

Mike: Happy birthday. How do you feel being a year older?

Friend: Exactly as I did the day before. A day older.

Mike: As I approached Hatchmore, that lovely bumpy track confirmed I was heading into the wonderful Devonshire countryside. It was a stark reality check from the park. No ravers, no dog walkers, no rubbish, definitely no lilos. Despite not wanting to break up my campaign, it gave me a bit of a rest. No sooner had we opened the doors than Ben was chucking a few handfuls of the EDGE pellet around the lake, and the fish were very obliging, feeding almost instantly. We hadn’t wheeled our barrows round yet, so they didn’t know we were there. A good opportunity to capitalise on a quick bite, and that’s exactly what I did.

There was bubbling everywhere and coloured water, and it looked good for a bite. As I was there to record a promo, I dropped some rods tight in the edge, sat back, and put the camera on the pellets. No sooner had I pressed record than the rod was screaming off, and I was into my first Hatchmore carp.

The rod’s been out ten minutes. I lowered a solid bag of micro pellet out and this one rattled off within five or ten minutes. The first, we hope, of a few. All the guys have taken some pellet, and hopefully we’ll get them feeding in the edge.

With that one back, I hoped it would spur Dave on, but Dave, a man of leisure, takes it at his own pace. He was more interested in bird-spotting, one of his favourite pastimes. Then it was Ben’s turn. He’d been prepping a couple of areas and had them absolutely rocking, the fish tearing the bottom up. He got a rig out quietly enough not to arouse suspicion, and less than five minutes later it hooped round and we were into our second Hatchmore carp, a lovely linear.

With Ben’s fish back, we set our bivvies up for the evening and congregated around the barbecue, one of the main reasons we were there, to do a bit of socialising once the work was done. These are my good friends, and we put the world to rights. We did Angus beef burgers and all the trimmings, dips and crisps, olives, really pushing the boat out. Where I’m usually used to ration packs, this was a banquet. We enjoyed each other’s company before retiring with a full belly, dreaming of an alarm screaming carp. And that’s exactly what happened the next morning.

Just as the sun broke, the margin rod over the mini-mix pellet produced this lovely long, angry-mouthed common, closely followed by another. Look at that one, he’s a bar of scales, beautiful. That’s what we’re after, a nice social carp, in good company, with a nice barbecue.

It continued like that for the rest of the trip. Three or four more carp. The second evening we ate like kings again, and I cooked up a lovely massaman chicken curry that went down a storm. I caught one more the next day, and that was it. The work was done, we got all the footage, we’d filmed the carp feeding on the pellet, and caught plenty. Time to head back.

Back to the routine

It’s eleven o’clock at night, I’m in the car with some bait on the passenger seat, driving up to the Crazy Park. The weather’s broken, right on cue, so fingers crossed there’ll be no anglers and no public in the area I want. The consistency is crucial. I’ll head up to the garage for my Costa coffee, my little routine, then to the park. It’ll be at least two hours with the driving, but if I can get that bait in, I’m stacking the odds in my favour for when I wet a line later this week.

Steph and Wilf: unexpected friends

It’s been about four weeks since I checked in, so I apologise, but it’s been manic. I’m under canvas, in the bivvy, which is a great start, it means I’ve got into the area I’d been trickling bait into for three or four weeks. I’ve even caught a couple, which I’ll come to.

It was really ironic that a couple set up behind my bivvy on the grass verge. I’ve since become friends with them, a wonderful couple by the name of Steph and Wilf. They don’t conform to society’s normal vision of how people should live. Both from traditional farming backgrounds, early in life they decided they wanted a nomadic lifestyle, touring the country in hand-built caravans, living outside. Wilf does wood carving, he’s got his own business called Wilf’s Wonky Wood Carvings, and it’s amazing what he can carve out of a piece of wood with a chainsaw. He sells them on the roadside. Steph has the most intricate, delicate painter’s hand, she paints little details on horseshoes, does sign writing, you name it.

Those two have been a pleasure. Because they’re set up just behind the bivvy with their three dogs, the public haven’t been keen to set up their picnic blanket right here while I’m fishing, which has been great for me. I’ve been able to drop in after work and actually fish, with the bonus of spending the evening with them. They’ve even cooked me dinner, so I haven’t had to have a Pot Noodle. I’m a massive dog lover, and they’ve got fantastic dogs, one called Bodge who’s a real character. They’ve kept me entertained, and it’s been a pleasure to talk about life, how differently people live. Sometimes I leave the lake craving that sort of life. They’ve also been my eyes and ears, so on my morning walks I can ask Wilf if anyone’s been fishing the area. As far as edges go, that’s about as big as it gets.

First fish in the swim

The first night, about three weeks ago, I got the rods out just after arriving, because there are definitely more fish in this area early evening than late. The first carp was a lovely little scaly one, but sadly it had evidence of otter damage.

I couldn’t quite believe it. I saw the other rod tip lift and slide off the rest, and got this one, a very small carp again but beautifully scaled, with little pearly scales on its belly. But there’s a sad edge to it, as you’ll see, he’s only got half a tail. The otters are still here, still predating on this carp, and this one’s clearly had a very close run-in this winter. I just hope he learned from his mistake, and that one day this will be the future of the lake, but I don’t hold much hope. Off you go, mate, go and get your mother or father.

That kicked off proceedings. As far as a baiting pyramid goes, the first bite is crucial, it spurs you on to keep bait in the area, because you know the carp are visiting and feeding. All those boxes were ticked. Every bite from this park is hard won, so I was off and running, another carp on my park-lake tally.

The Struggler: a true survivor

The following week I was back with more bait, and with Wilf’s insight that nobody had been in the area, I caught a really old carp, one of probably the oldest fish in the lake. For me it doesn’t get any better, ignore size, size doesn’t matter. Within an hour of getting the rods out, it’s gone again.

One of the true survivors of this place, because it’s been otter’d a couple of times. I actually thought it was gone, but clearly not, he’s still alive and kicking. Not the biggest, but what a beautiful creature. Bristling with testosterone, he seems to have half a pec growing back on this side, and the bottom of his tail growing back. A warrior of the lake. He looks a little bit like Choco, the fish at Stoneacres all those years ago. What a carp, I’m really happy with this one. The old guard from the lake, all these little bumps and scratches and run-ins with the otter. He survived.

That carp has seen all the predation this pit has ever had and escaped every otter invasion. I have to admire a fish like that. I think that one’s called the Struggler. I don’t know how old he is, but he’s one of the oldest in the lake, which puts a massive smile on my face. Things were off and running, about a fish every trip, with a couple of small ones mixed in. Now I want to get the rods out and go and have a cup of tea with Wilf and Steph. They’ll bring one to the swim and we’ll chew the fat until the sun goes down, which is bliss.

The otter takes a duckling

I’ve been watching these ducks. Last night there were four, a mum and four chicks, proudly parading round the lake. I’ve watched these chicks from the moment they were born. You grow up with nature around the lake, and these little buggers have been fantastic company. But really sadly, last night at one in the morning, I watched an otter take one of them off the surface, take it into the trees and crunch it up. It was the most horrific experience I’ve had on the lake so far. I watched the otter creep up behind mum, she went into hysterics, and we lost a chick. So we’re down to three. The trials and tribulations of the park.

Counting the miles

A bit of deja vu, on my way to bait up, stopped for my Costa coffee at the local 24-hour petrol station. It’s quarter past eleven. I reflected this morning and wondered how many miles I’ve done since I started in March. Based on the trips per week, I worked it out to be about 4,500 miles for this campaign. It caught me by surprise, a serious amount of miles and money. But these carp have truly got under my skin, and with last week’s sighting of the ducks being taken by the otter, I don’t know how long I’ve got, so it’s full steam ahead. I guess you could say I’m punishing myself, though I find this part of the journey really enjoyable. It’s all about stacking the odds in my favour.

Time with my son

This weekend has been busy family time. I’ve spent time with my son outside, which is hard at the best of times, because like most kids his age he loves nothing more than his games console, which I try to limit and peel him away from to enjoy nature.

Mike: That was a mission, mate, wasn’t it. As a parent I try to limit his hours on these consoles, but it’s difficult. They’re from a different generation. I love building tree houses, he loves gaming. A sign of the times.

I dragged him out, and on Steph and Wilf’s recommendation we dashed over to the Brecon Beacons. We had the most enjoyable time and saw some incredible waterfalls. It gave me my fix. There’s nothing better than a day outside for your mental health, it invigorates you, energises you for Monday. Come on, let’s go, off you go.

A glow-in-the-dark marker float tip

It was great to spend time with Declan. Before I left the house I spent half an hour repainting the tip of my marker float. I’m still using a marker float even this late at night, so I can pull it to the edge of the spot and bait up beyond it. Obviously you can’t see a marker float in the dark, so I’ve been painting the top with glow-in-the-dark paint. It gives me a visual marker, because I’m baiting with a throwing stick, and if I can see the plops in the moonlight beyond the float, I know I’m in the area. It’s some hobby paint I ordered off eBay. It flakes off, but a couple of recoats through the campaign and it’s good to go. Flick the light off and it does the trick.

Small fish and a conundrum

The rain is walloping down on the bivvy and I’m getting some crazy liners, so the fish are on the spot. I’ve got a small one in the net, resting for ten minutes while the rain eases.

This is not how I thought the park-lake campaign was going to pan out. Between a few friends who’ve fished here and my own observations over the last 15 years or so, the consensus is there are about 15 carp in here at most, maybe 20, but I’m erring on 15. I was hoping to latch into the bigger residents. This is my tenth bite, and most have been really small, including this one. The funny thing is, I have no idea where they’re coming from. I’m pretty sure these have never been in here, unless they’ve self-spawned and are now an age where they can eat a lot of bait and get caught. They’re becoming a bit of a distraction, but a bite’s a bite. I just need to keep ploughing on.

The battle royale

You just saw me taking a bit of footage of that little black one. I was waiting for the rain to subside to do some pictures, when my other rod lifted off the rest and went. I’m soaked from the chest down. This fish went absolutely ballistic. Ironically, I’d seen a fish head-and-shoulder on the spot about ten minutes before, and thought, that looks a better one, but no, I can’t get two in an hour, and it’s literally melted off.

This battle royale lasted easily 20 minutes, then started to go horribly wrong. It went round the corner, around this bush, and the line was going underneath. For all intents and purposes I thought I’d lost it. So, whether quick thinking or a bit crazy, I grabbed the net, jumped in the water and paddled my way around the tree. I’m a good swimmer, so it was fine. I traced the line under the trees with my hand, net in one hand, rod in the other, beached myself in the corner and played the fish in. That resulted in another 20-minute battle, but I’ve got it in the net. It’s one of the better fish in the lake, probably one of the top four. I’ve seen it many times on my walks, and you’ve probably seen it in a previous diary, it’s got the top of its tail missing, otter damage, but it adds to the character. A real gnarly old carp. It’s usually around 35 pound, but who cares, it’s not about the weight, it’s about how personal this journey is. I couldn’t be happier.

This one’s had a lucky escape. If you speak to the regulars, this one’s been otter’d twice, so it should be called Lucky. Within a few years the tail should grow back. I’ve seen carp with the whole tail gone that grows back within a year or two, it’s amazing. Of course you don’t want to see it, but on the park, especially unfenced venues, it’s a sign of the times. One last look, an absolutely cracking carp. Hopefully he’ll live to fight another day and stay away from the otters.

No tea for the lads

A celebratory cup of tea with the lads, a massive thank you to them for coming down to do pictures. But they’re going to miss out, because I’ve got no tea bags.

After last week’s result I felt terrible, because I couldn’t even offer the guys a cup of tea. That’s the life of an overnight angler. I usually just fish 12 hours, and my condiment stash is about three tea bags, a couple of spoons of sugar and something quick to eat. Sadly the guys who did me proud with the pictures had to have a coffee. So I need to stock up, because I’m off fishing tomorrow. I’m in work for half a day, then getting to the Crazy Park, because all the action’s coming in the afternoon. I’d be stupid not to cash in.

Declan’s farm pond fish

The weekend went past in a blur, but I managed to take Declan fishing again, to a little farm pond, getting him away from the games consoles.

Mike: That didn’t take long, did it. Cast by yourself. That was a hell of a run, wasn’t it. What was the result?

Declan: The rod absolutely tore off. It lifts up a bit higher, then it stopped, so it was running and then it stopped.

Mike: And we actually have one. Look at him. He even caught a couple of small carp, so I’m feeling really chuffed. For now, the week’s about to start again, and I’m heading back to the park. I’ve put the sweatbands on the spools, soaked in water to keep the braid nice and limp, and I’ve even tied the baits on, so I’m ready to rock.

Borrowed time pays off

Wow, what a great start. I’ve literally had the rod in an hour or so. You can hear my heavy breathing, because this fight pulled me all around the lake, on the surface, dummied in the snags to the left of the swim. It was real touch and go, but I’ve won the battle. Look at the saddle on that. Things are going really well, I cannot put a foot wrong, and the effort feels like it’s paying off. I’m going to sort this one out and call a couple of friends to do me proud with the pictures.

I’ve calmed down a little, only a little. Thankfully I can call on a few good friends. Giles has kindly popped in to calm my nerves with a cup of tea, two sugars. I haven’t quite taken it in yet, I’m still gobsmacked. I’ve weighed it, it’s 41 pounds. A huge carp. I might come back down to earth in a little while, but for the moment I need this cup of tea. Look at the size of its head.

Mike: These are actually my hospital pants, from when I shattered my pelvis. Dan’s turned away, he’s embarrassed.

Friend: What are you wearing?

Mike: This is what I requested when I was in hospital after my coma. It’s all a bit of a blur, I’m just thankful the guys are here to give me a hand, because when you catch a good one you’re a bit blown away. I’ve got Giles’s waders on, which he claims 100% don’t leak. I’ve definitely got a leaky crotch, 100%.

The boys have caught me out. I called it on the snide rod, the margin rod tethered to the bank, and that was its downfall. It’s a bright red treble with a boilie on each hook, and that’s the fluoro topper. Soon to be released. Josh, want your rod back? Cheers, mate.