Pete McKenna let's us in on his latest exploits including mobile river fishing and a run in with an angry old man.


Over Christmas I managed to get a fair bit of fishing in. However, for the most part I took a break from the carping and satisfied my anglers’ itch with a few afternoons roving my local river with a bag of lures, a rod and a net. It was really nice to adopt such a mobile approach for a change. Of course it’s possible to be mobile when carp angling; it’s often recommended, but rarely to the extent of having ten chucks in quick succession in one swim before moving on. On two separate occasions, I managed to comb about a half-mile stretch of the river in just a couple of hours. I landed a few small pike on each, and thoroughly enjoyed myself. Before you ask the question “What is this, Total Pike?” I better talk carp.

I only did the one night in the holidays and it was at my beloved local-quarry pit. I managed one from a lightly baited area just after dark, a mirror of about 12lbs, and then the lake seemingly shut up shop and I didn’t have as much as a bleep before I packed up early afternoon the next day.

A few days later I went to do a day session, zig fishing at another quarry pit with my mates and colleagues Dan Wildbore and Ben Harrison. I arrived late morning after a much-needed lie in, only to find England International Carp Angler, Dan had expertly cracked off the only spod we had with us. The trick at the place was spodding slop over zigs and without one we didn’t have any action between us for the rest of the day. Well in Dan!

Other than that I had another disaster in my quest for a big river carp. I’d been little and often baiting another spot for nearly a month and was adamant this was ‘the one’. Two days before the much anticipated session I went down there to prune a few overhanging branches and clear a space for the bivvy. Quite literally two minutes before finishing the task I was approached by a rather angry looking old man, asking what the hell I was doing.

I told him I was just doing a bit of gardening, to which he replied “This is my garden”. Oh ****! I cannot for the life of me understand why an overgrown, bramble choked wood in the middle of nowhere can be classed as ‘my garden’. Nevertheless, after five minutes of explaining what I was really doing and trying to reason with him, I had to concede, he wouldn’t have any of it. Anyway, another blow but effort equals reward and all that.

I’m taking a break from the river now for a while to regroup, and also to let the ‘trespassing’ situation blow over a bit. I’m planning to get back into it before spring has sprung. Even if I have to don the camou face paint and risk a court order I will be fishing my spot soon enough! Tight Lines

Pete McKenna