Wednesday began and ended in something of a frenzy. As I rowed full pace toward my mark at around 240 yards, to put out the first of the morning’s rods in the semi-light of dawn, the echo sounder suddenly chirped. It took a moment to process the digital noise amongst the silence of the morning…Fish!
I dipped the oars and brought myself to an abrupt halt. I was only 100 yards from the bank, before even the first underwater ridge, yet according to the sounder there were fish beneath me in 30ft of water, and more than a few.
Down went the rig along with a handful of bait and I rowed back as fast as possible - certain that unless I did so I would not be on dry land before the rod ripped off. Beaching the boat I leapt out and set the rod on the swinger and waited a moment - even with two rods still to position. After hour upon hour of stretching blank it comes down to moments like these: when you’re certain a bite will come.
Nothing happened for a few minutes, yet the optimism remained as I boated out my other baits and everywhere I rowed I found fish. The second rod was dropped in the trough behind the first ridge, and the third rod right out onto the dinner table - where there were no fish showing but I had to keep one rod in there, since it was just the perfect spot.
I sat close to the rods, forgoing the better viewing position at the top of the steep incline that ran from the water’s edge to where our bivvies were set up, for the chance to be on any bite in a flash. It seemed inevitable that something would happen, yet time slipped away and it was soon early afternoon; how fast the expectation had made the morning pass.
Shortly after, Fraser arrived to bring our daily meal. The cooking was excellent, and normally we simply had to heat up what arrived. Without this kind of service it would be hard to fish remote spots such as the one we were on: even if there were roads, the shops were a long way away.
Whilst my confidence was still high, and the thought that a huge number of fish had ‘moved in’ to the swim was encouraging, when given the chance to undertake a quick tour of the lake by speedboat I barely hesitated, knowing this was perhaps the only way to get a feel for the rest of the lake.
I was not disappointed by what we saw; the water stretched and gaped amidst an incredible backdrop of steep rocky mountains, and burnt, terracota coloured earth. Bay after bay revealed the sheer scale of the lake, and on more than one occasion what appeared to be the lake’s edge turned out to be simply a large island, with more and more water running away into the distance. We followed the jaw-dropping scenery to one of the rivers that fed the lake with the most incredibly green water, and where stresses of the past millennia were laid bare in the huge sheets of rock that contorted against one another.
Upon return to camp I was taking my time digesting everything we had just seen - far from demoralising, the scale of this water excited me. What monsters lurked beneath this blue-green water? So foreign in every way from all my fishing experience, yet for a prey I knew so well. I wanted more than ever to catch from this lake, on this trip or the next, I was infected.
What happened next should perhaps have upset me more, but such was my attritional attitude towards the rest of the trip it barely seemed more than a bump in the road. At precisely 6:33pm whilst we were enjoying the company of our host and speculating (forever speculating) about the lake and it’s secrets, a figure appeared from behind our bivvies. it took a split second to realise this was not one of the local fishermen, evidenced by his smart uniform and authoritative air.
We greeted him as we would any other, and yet Fraser appeared immediately agitated. It dawned on me that light was fading, at perhaps he was here to remind us to bring our rods in before dark. It happened quickly, that change in atmosphere, and we soon realised he was here for one reason: to charge us with illegal night fishing. Still hopeful of avoiding the charge, for it was still light, we set about retrieving our remaining lines whilst Fraser spoke to the officer.
The situation soon turned more serious, and from the attitude of both the officer and Fraser it was clear we were caught up in a situation far greater than the sum of our alleged offence. Despite our best attempts to calm the situation, by the time our rods had been wound in a sufficient diplomatic impasse had arisen between Fraser and the officer, that no number of cups of sweet coffee could smooth things over.
In fairness, the representative of the Eau et Foret department was polite to all three of us anglers, and explained that fishing was until sunset - an official time deemed to be (on this day) 6:10pm, and yet although he agreed our transgression was minor he persisted in phoning it in to his colleagues, who arrived some time later by speedboat and impounded two of my rods.
Between the lines of this incident there was clearly a lot of politics in play, that unfortunately left us three firmly in the middle. Fraser, and his company Morocco Carp, do not currently have the rights to night fish any areas of the lake. One other operator running carp angling tours does have this right, within a limited area. Fraser is in the process of applying for this right along a different section of the lake, and until this permission arrives, relies on purchasing day tickets for his visiting anglers.
This sounds a fairly cut and dried situation, yet when you consider that the position of ‘Eau et Foret’ had changed several times in the preceding weeks, and for reasons largely concerned with money, it becomes a situation that lends a certain amount of sympathy to Fraser and his endeavour.
My personal opinion on the situation is that Morocco Carp has some admirable goals; Fraser wishes to give, through his venture, money and other skills back to the Berber residents who survive off the lake. With talk of ‘Skills Transfer Programmes’ and a genuine intent to employ local people, it is easy to see his frustration with the multiple barriers and setbacks along the way that prevent this system from functioning.
Yet I wonder whether the personal rifts caused by the heated discussions that night will have a lasting impact on his ability to pursue his dream at Bin El Ouidane. The horrific overfishing by the locals, who at one stage were taking 200kg of fish (Pike, Zander and Bass, mainly) a week from the lake shows no sign of being curbed by the lake’s governing body in spite of dramatic falls in catches, which indicates a worryingly short-term attitude. Could it be said that the occasional ’shake-down’ of wealthy foreign tourists is more attractive a prospect than properly managing this fabulous asset? Based on what I saw and heard during my time on the lake I have a fear that troubled times lay ahead for all concerned - I hope I’m wrong.
Stumble it!
