The boat ride would give us our first real sense of the scale of the lake: what looked like a 5 minute trip took 20 minutes as the ramp of beige rock set against the red and terracotta banks failed to grow larger in the distance at any great speed, simply due to the sheer scale of the body of water we were crossing.
As the barge finally neared the shore we could see another angler, whose shoes we were stepping into, packed and ready to return home. He had blanked for three days, but had managed two faltering takes; one of which came off early in the proceedings, and the other failed to materialise further than a small drop back bite. Still, as the frantic unloading of gear started I looked into his expression and saw only sadness at having to pull off the swim. Surely this was a good sign?
Again, with fast fading fishing time we made some order in the camp and set about getting the rods out. Thankfully the wind had died off, and we were now equipped with two hard-bottomed boats that seemed immediately easier to row and maneuver. Whilst we were all exhausted and frustrated by the day, the new surroundings gave us all a boost.
The main feature of the swim, and the reason it had stood out amongst the thousand of available acres, was a plateau where the water rose from 60-70ft right up to 15ft - a perfect dining table for the Morrocan Carp! This, and the surrounding gullies had produced one fish so far, and seemed destined to give up a few more, since fish had been showing themselves over the mark for several days.
Once the rods were wound in at dusk, we set about preparing dinner: Wild boar and vegetables. It was a warm evening and as the three of us sat chopping and dicing, my mind began to process the events of the last couple of days: the fact that we were carp fishing in Africa, for a potential world record fish. After all the months of waiting and preparing, we were finally here and doing it.
I know from previous travelling experience that these moments of clarity are to be savoured; where the bigger picture is suddenly clear and uncluttered by the many, more immediate concerns, . There is something wonderful in simply enjoying a moment where every experience is new, and everything else, both before and after feels entirely irrelevant. My smile was masked by the darkness, so the others probably never realised it, but i’d like to think that amidst that odd melange of light - between candle flicker and the twitching glare of headtorches - my two good friends might have smiled a little too.
Sleep came easily that night, and even dreams couldn’t penetrate the void that stretched out between 10pm and 6.20am. However, once that alarm sounded I was awake and buzzing to get the rods out. After taking on some advice the process went much more smoothly than the previous morning and 2 hours later I was much happier that I was now in with a chance of a fish.
We were relying heavily on the advice of our host, given both our inexperience and the unique nature of the challenge in front of us. Fraser has many theories on the lake and it’s carp and we gave good credence to all. The baiting approach was not what I would have expected: instead of baiting heavily Fraser assured us that large beds of maize would spook the carp, whom he is convinced are feeding on some as-yet-unidentified food source - in his opinion some form of worm living beneath the layers of silt. Underwater footage has apparently supported this theory, by showing huge holes in the silt surrounded by pectoral fin marks that indicate carp feeding predatorily and aggressively thrusting themselves deep in the lake bed in search of…something.
Such alien behaviour, seems to me, a more domesticated carper, almost unimaginable - but somehow when setting a line into the vast, deep and incredible lake it is easy to imagine the rule book being thrown out of the window. And so we rolled with these theories for the next two days, baiting lightly and fishing each rod differently to maximise the potential for just one bite. ‘Think of each rod as a separate opportunity’ said Fraser ‘and don’t be afraid to try new things’. So, over the next 2 days we stretched our range of baits, rigs and chosen spots whilst trying to give each a fair chance to work.
I was personally working on boating out the rods only once a day unless something unmissable came up. Such an opportunity arose when Pooch, who had worked tirelessly searching in the boat, came a across a group of fish in front of the bay to our right. To date this was the first time the sounder had shown fish, and with Fraser’s advice echoing in my ears I set off in the boat with a rod, bait and a backpack.
Almost on cue, the weather turned as I pushed off in the boat and a strong wind was soon whipping across the lake. Thankfully I rowed out to find the fish (at depths of 125ft!), dropped my bait and was able to use my arm as a sail to guide me to a rocky spit where the boat was tied up and, by no small miracle, I managed to get a bankstick in and clip on a swinger.
I passed the afternoon sheltering in a tiny cove from the ever strengthening wind, and despite the increasing concern as to whether I would even be able to row back to camp, I waited on - certain that my bait was in the midst of large numbers of fish. ‘This,’ I thought to myself, in the fragrant smoke of my tiny driftwood bonfire ‘is pioneering’.
Sadly no interest was forthcoming, and as the breakers turned back to waves in the dying light of the afternoon I realised it was time to move back to camp whilst I could. Despite not producing a bite, I could be certain that I wasn’t shying away from any opportunity to catch one of these Bin El Ouidane carp - and that was something important in itself.
Stumble it!
