I’ve been leafing through The Secret Carp again, Chris Yates’s reflection on carp lakes, a man associated, as much as Dick Walker, with Redmire Pool. Once he was enamoured of the water but in the book he thinks
‘… its jewel-in-the-crown status has now robbed it of much of its enchantment. Over the last forty years it has generated so much interest and attention — much of it of the wrong kind — that its finest quality has become diminished.’
Most anglers, of those who haunt the depressing world of social media, will be aware that Redmire Pool has had some restoration work done. This has drawn intense interest from many coarse fishermen. Mark Walsingham, who managed the work, has written a commentary on TFF and articles in the magazine of carping longueurs, Carpworld. The sentimental TFFs, who lack Yates’s sensibility, have dribbled over their keyboards at this chronicle and sniped at critics of this restorative work (apparently there are some). Is this the attention of ‘the wrong kind’ that Yates refers to?
Like with so many artificial lakes, siltation and algae became a problem, caused or worsened by agricultural pollution and runoff. The original stock of carp from Poland were put in by Donald Leney in 1934. Now the term ‘Leneys’ is bandied about ostentatiously. More recently some ghost carp, a koi hybrid, were put in. These were removed during the work, along with a lot of silt and the progeny of the original stocking. Fifty of these were returned once the lake refilled.
What was the motivation for the Redmire rehabilitation, presumably funded by the estate owners? Well it had silted badly, the record fish, Redmire’s sine qua non, were no longer apparent, and the water had become thick and murky. One view, Walsingham’s, is that Redmire would be returned to its ‘former glory.’
But has it? The pool is not as it was, the exclusivity and rarity have long gone. In the Fifties very few waters held big carp, now there are many. No one knew quite how big the Redmire carp grew, sightings and imaginings of great fish were frequent. No wonder it felt enchanted to those early anglers. Now the exact inventory is recorded, though details are known only to a few people. In an effort to remanufacture the ‘mystery’ this information has been withheld. From the commercial point of view this makes good sense. According to Les Bamford, who still manages the bookings, ‘Redmire is a commercial water and has been for many years.’ Redmire is now run as a business and anyone can buy tickets to fish there, for which they gain the ‘Redmire experience’ and the chance to catch a mystery carp, perhaps a monster for all they know. More egalitarian, more mercantile.
But the mystery left is artificial. Redmire is literally history, its fascination lying in the past exploits of Yates, Walker and a handful of others who were privileged to fish there over 40 years ago. It is a myth, and now that myth has been drained and laid bare. No lake of fifty catalogued carp surrounded by anglers throughout the season can survive as a place of wonder. More an interactive museum. Walsingham’s project has returned the water to an earlier physical state but stripped of all its former romance once and for all. It was primarily a business decision, and customers for the revitalised Redmire experience may book their place at redmire.biz (note the biz).
There is never any going back and the aggressive romantics nouveaux would do well to recognise this. But perhaps a tiny bit of romance can be rekindled. I wonder if Walsingham, as he returned his secret carps to the water, gave names to any. If perchance he called one Matilda, and the fish were to vanish forever more, that could give rise to a legend to be captured forever in a song, Walsingham’s Matilda.
Once a jolly carpman bivvied by a carping lake
Under the shade of the old Oaks’ tree
He baited as he watched and waited till his boilies dried
You’ll come a-Walsingham’s Matilda to me.
The Secret Angler 