4 June, 2025 | Carp | Angler Blogs | Articles

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Andy Bradnock: A Frimley Winter’s Tale

A brilliantly written extract this from Andy who takes us all the way back to mid-winter and his adventures on Frimley during a torrid time weather-wise. Despite this, Andy was rewarded with some very special fish. Read on to find out how he got on…

 

After getting back from France as always, my fishing cupboard was full so I had a couple of weeks where I was happy to work a few extra shifts and help fit a supercharger to the Speedster whilst looking forward to a return to Frimley.

The sucking whoosh the engine now makes as the supercharger forces extra air into the engine made us giggle as we test drove the car. We had to make a few modcations to the engine lid but other than that, the whole process went relatively smoothly.

After a couple of weeks of this domesticated bliss, my feral side started to yearn for nights sat under canvas so a couple of nights on the bank at Frimley were called for.

I dropped into ‘Daisy Bay’ for this trip, it was mid-November, and the weather was settled with high pressure but the chances of a bite still seemed ok as the occasional fish was being caught. Adam joined me for this trip so we built a big fire between our swims, started a BBQ and sat whiling away a couple of days with very little happening rod wise. We did witness some lovely dawns; her mate Julie was a bog trotter though…

This was my last carping trip for a while but I managed to keep myself sane by having a few evening trips to a local stretch of river chasing some giant Barbel. If possible, I like to have the chance of some sort of PB tickling around the edges of my mind most years.

The stretch of river I was targeting only has a few barbel present as far as we can work out but, pretty well all of them will eclipse my 11lb 11oz best from the Kennet.

So far, my barbeling skills have been found wanting – only a few chub have had my quiver tip bouncing.

Chris has joined me on this quest and it turns out he is better at this than I and has managed 3 fish all over 12lb already. Sadly, I haven’t been able to get the barbel rods out for ages as the river has been in the surrounding fields for much of this winter.

While the rods have been left languishing in the wall racks, I started the next instalment in our long-term house renovation project. The hallway has looked a mess since we moved in a damp patch had finally dried out and I could start work.

The first bit involved me pulling down a false ceiling that had been put up in the 40’s but covered some beautiful old Victorian cornice.

With eighty years’ worth of dust and spider infestation raining down on me, a crowbar and belligerence were employed in the first job of pulling the ceiling down.

However, as a bonus much of the original wallpaper on the ceiling from the 1850’s was still present and in reasonable condition. They seemed to make things to last in those days.

I was also confronted with a bird’s nest of wiring which was beyond my ability to sort out. For the princely sum of a couple of mugs of coffee my good friend Tom came round and in fairly short order managed to make sense of what went where.

I now just needed to cut channels in the plaster and hide the wires away.

My next trip carping was mid-December, the weather for some time had been cold, wet and with high pressure but, this week the first of the winter storms was due to hit.

I therefore, swapped my plastering trowel for 13ft of carbon and headed out into the wet and wind.

The big winds were due to hit Frimley from the SW and arrive on Sunday night. I was lake bound by Sunday lunchtime in front of the storm that Radio 4 were reporting was on its way.

After a thankfully incident free trip I was pushing a laden barrow to the top end of the lake into a swim that should be in the teeth of the oncoming warm wind.

‘Henry’s’ was my plot of choice and in short order I had 3 baits positioned on spots I have had takes from on previous sessions.

Maggots and casters are only allowed on Frimley for a few months of the year so they formed the basis of my assault on the lake’s carp population.

To add some smell and no substance to the mix, some Liquid Krill, Crab Extract and Fish Gutz was added to some Swim Stim Margin Mix groundbait and a handful of this accompanied each hookbait.

The wind arrived just after dark but was not the ferocious maelstrom that had been predicted.

After the long cold spell we had had, the 8-degree temperatures accompanying the storm felt quite balmy. The water temperature told a different story though and the 5-degrees I recorded dented my confidence somewhat.

I was sound asleep at 02.30am when the right-hand rod which I had waded down the treeline on the near margin started to bleep and yell its warning that I had slept long enough.

I was soon out and bending into my latest adversary, the rod low, sunk to the spigot to keep the line down and away from any trailing branches.

After a minute or so I had gained enough line to be confident it was away from any potential danger, so the rod was raised to a more conventional playing position. The slow plodding battle I was now immersed in, as with all heavy inert feeling fights was stressful and whispered prayers were offered up to the black night sky ‘please don’t let this fall off’.

A couple of pings as the tight line pulled over the fins of the turning fish made the bile rise in my throat as the fish was slowly drawn towards the waiting net.

The cold water had probably reduced the fish’s endurance and so within a reasonable time a substantial amount of Frimley common carp rolled into the outstretched net.

Pulling the net into the torch beam, my eyes were greeted by the sight of 38lb 4oz of cold-water success – which was the first fish caught from Frimley for a few weeks.

The rest of the trip was uneventful apart from a month’s worth of rain falling over the remaining 24 hours.

A very wet angler packed away a pile of soggy kit the following morning, but I had an unshakable smile of triumph plastered all over my drenched face.

I managed to get out a week later just before Christmas during what was predicted to be the next warm storm front.

This didn’t materialize as predicted and the freezing cold rain, wind and sleet did nothing to encourage the Frimley carp to feed.

I didn’t get out over Christmas and on the 27^th managed to hit myself in the head with a gym bar leaving me needing 3 stitches. Luckily, I was working so managed to do it myself but it is always awkward trying to suture yourself looking in a mirror!

It didn’t look too bad – just yet another scar to add to my collection of reminders of clumsy behaviour. Let’s just say my beauty pageant days are now well and truly over!

This meant my 2024 fishing was done and it would be after the New Year before I was out again, the high pressure and freezing temperatures that dominated the next few weeks did little to encourage any forays onto the bank.

In January, Adam and I booked a day trotting for grayling on the Lower Itchen, this is usually reliable for some cold-water bites. Normally a day would be filled with dipping floats and hard fighting Ladies of the Stream, but the conditions were so bad that even these fish refused to play ball. Just a few fish each was all we could manage, our faith in our angling ability was severely rocked.

In the middle of January Adam and I decided on a little mini-break, so we loaded his van up with some trotting tackle, plumbing kit and my power tools and headed to Matlock.

On the way up the weather was really strange – a very fine snow was falling interspersed with sunlight, this weird weather phenomenon resulted in the first snow rainbow that I have ever seen.

On a farm in this peak district oasis, lives our friend Warren who has just kitting out a ‘pod’ thing to rent out for romantic weekends away.

He was having issues fitting the bathroom so our job was to help with this. However, it seemed to be me doing all the work while the other two miscreants seemingly fascinated by my balding head were just stood around taking photos.

We stayed on Warrens farm, that just happens to have a section of the river Derwent running through it – it would have been rude if between shifts fitting bathrooms, we didn’t sample a few hours trotting this fast-paced river.

We both caught a few grayling and a couple of what looked like wild spawned Brownies.

The highlight for me was a fly past by a pair of Dippers each morning. A piercing call before they arrived diverted my eyes away from the float to a brown streak going up-river. They are fantastic birds which have such a restricted habitat they aren’t seen by many people, I think I am right in saying that they are the only birds that ‘fly’ underwater while hunting amongst the stones for fly larva.

A fantastic Indian takeaway the first night in front of a roaring fire and, a warm pub for burgers and chips the second night finished off a great trip.

All too soon we were back heading south but importantly with an inner peace that this part of the country instils in your soul.

On the way back we had organised a pass-through Nottingham, to see the Dynamite factory.

This was a real eye opener, I know this is their website and I am contractually obliged to say the right things but, this factory is mind-blowing.

When you first arrive it is like walking back into your childhood – an all-pervasive smell that brought back memories of every tackle shop I walked into when I was a kid, an array of enticing exotic fish catching wonders.

We were shown around by Duncan who’s one of the big bosses which was above and beyond what two hairy-arsed carpers expected or deserved.

He was an absolute gent, in fact everyone we met was friendly and pleasant, what we thought would be a quick hour-long stop ended up with us staying for most of the day. We got a real insight into how the bait we use is created, cooked and bottled then sent out for delivery.

I had no idea how much work was involved in producing the bait I happily fling about willy-nilly all over the South-East.

My next trip out fishing was at the end of January, the weekend before this, my map reading skills were put to the test as with my wife and faithful hound I headed into the wilds of Surrey to find an ancient Roman road. This was achieved but we stupidly decided a slightly longer walk was in order.

Eventually we arrived back at the car with an exhausted dog, sore feet and a five-hour deficit in our clock.

The Roman Road was incredible though well worth the sore feet, individual cobble stones laid down over 2000 years ago are clearly visible.

If Surrey County Council were as good at their jobs maybe my trips to Frimley would involve less tyre shredding hazards.

This trip again was supposed to coincide with a ‘bit of weather’. The warm wind and high night time temperatures did not materialize and I spent a miserable couple of cold days watching absolutely nothing happen.

The one significant thing of note from this trip was the realisation that I produce magical stools. I took a slightly clenched stroll down to the toilet block to utilise the facilities that were, shall we say, bearing the marks of a previous occupant.

After completing my ablutions, I was about to attend to the cleaning of the toilet, but miraculously the whole pan shone as if it was brand new!

On walking back into my swim, I looked down the lake towards the toilet block and a rainbow ended right over where my bum had been parked a few minutes earlier. I didn’t see the Leprechaun but I am fairly sure I heard a few notes of him singing a wee shanty. Despite my magical nethers nothing occurred and nothing was seen. The last capture recorded was on the 3^rd of January.

The whole of February weather wise was awful with high pressure and freezing cold Easterlies battering the country.

Not a single fish was caught until Tom on a guest night managed to sneak out a 37lb common but apart from this, not the merest hint of a bite was proffered up by this contrary lake.

By the 23^rd of February I was crawling the walls desperate to be out on the bank at Frimley. Every spare moment had been spent doing the hallway and I was finally making some headway all the lining paper was up, filling and sanding all complete and just the painting needed to be done.

At this point there was a window of opportunity that had opened.

It was a small window and only open a crack but a few days of warm weather, high night time temperatures and a warm SW wind were predicted. I had to be out and the only obstacle in my way was Micky Gray’s 60^th birthday party.

This was due to be celebrated at the local rugby club and all the miscreants of the carping community would be present.

It was the first time in ages that the ‘wrongs uns’ had all been together and a night of catching up was gladly enjoyed. I was busy mingling and chatting to people I hadn’t seen for ages and had a thoroughly enjoyable night.

As the evening progressed some over indulgence occurred and at one point I was called to sort out poor Terry Petrolbreath, some sort of dance-floor stumbling incident had resulted in a laceration to the back of his head…

Luckily a trip to the car and a rummage in the first aid kit I managed to steri-strip and glue his head back together.

Terry has been unlucky enough to require my administrations on numerous occasions, he is getting more accident prone sadly and his ageing legs are not as stable as he once was, the doddery old bugger.

He was just concerned how long I was taking as he was missing out on drinking and dancing time.

Once back in the warm of the hall a group of us were chatting away when Lewis Read and his wife joined us. Lewis was taking full advantage of the fact that his wife was driving him home, so he was gallantly striving to drink her share of the alcohol available as well as his own.

We were laughing so much my belly was hurting and for some reason Lewis decided that this was the perfect time to dart in and give me a right good mouth kissing. I am just lucky he didn’t manage tongues.

The party wound down and broke up around midnight so I loaded Adam into my car, wished Lewis’ wife the best of luck with her sexually confused husband and drove home.

The Sunday morning dawned to the sound of the Greater Spotted Woodpeckers in my garden drumming away on a dead branch – a sure sign that spring is on its way.

There had been moths out flying on the way home the previous night as well, so finally winter seemed to be losing its grip and nature was beginning to emerge from its slumber.

The predicted warm weather had arrived with a balmy 10 degrees recorded on my weather station, once Adam was cleared out from our spare room and plied with lots of coffee, I loaded up my car for the trip to Frimley – the next 48hrs mine to waste as I saw fit.

The wind was from the South-West again so Henry’s was on my mind during the lake bound journey and if free it would be here that I plotted up.

There was also encouraging news from Frimley as ‘Sweaty Jay’ had managed to record the first capture in ages, a 32lb common.

On the way to the lake, I had to detour to collect maggots and casters from ‘The Tackle Warehouse’ then turned west again and slowly wove my way to the level-crossing that is the gateway to Frimley.

When I arrived in the car-park I opened the boot and realised I had left an important bit of kit behind. The battery for my power-porter was missing.

They can be pushed as the wheel can be un-coupled from the motor but the knobbly high friction tyre is designed to pull you rather than be pushed, having a heavy motor strapped to the axle doesn’t help either.

On the way to ‘Henry’s’, I had to negotiate the bottom section of path – I use the word path in the loosest possible terms. It’s a bit like referring to the French Revolution as a mild disagreement.

Mark seems to revel in a sadistic delight in making the Frimley paths just about impassable, his digger and dumper tyres combined with water-logged ground have made waders a necessary accessory while negotiating around.

With mud up to my knees and over the wheel axle on the barrow I clogged, stumbled, swore and vomited my way round to thankfully firmer ground.

I was eventually setting up on the familiar wood-chip of ‘Henry’s’ and sorting bait out for the session.

I had mixed things up a little this time as I thought maybe in the cold water, my usual fishy/krill additives may not be dispersing so well.

I made up some Big Fish Explosive Caster ground-bait with Dynamites Tiger Nut Liquid and CSL liquid, producing a much sweeter smelling high sugar mix that hopefully the carp would find acceptable.

To this I added a handful of amino pellets and a little Fish Gutz, a good handful of this concoction accompanied the maggots and casters deposited around each maggot hookbait.

The rods were all positioned on spots I have caught from previously so as darkness fell, I was as confident as I could be.

I had been set up and settled for about half an hour when Adam called on his way home from work. We were just discussing how high I thought my chances of success were.

The water temperature at Frimley had risen to 7.5 degrees and an overnight temperature of 10 degrees had given me a false sense of optimism – as Adam and I were discussing this, our conversation was interrupted by a flurry of bleeps from my middle alarm.

This had been positioned on a tiny gravel hump in the middle of an old lily bed so for most of the year it is un-fishable – the bobbin was held up at the blank so I bent into whatever was making off with my bunch of maggots.

Adam hung up and let me concentrate on the job in hand and what turned out to be a Frimley tench was eased into the net.

Why this tench was even awake let alone stealing baits beggared belief, but as I bent down to un-hook it, I realised it was a bit special.

With pelvic fins like dinner plates that were all curled and gnarly this was a big male.

At 8lb 3oz it is the largest male tench I have ever caught; it’s almost orange hue made it a spectacular looking specimen. I now wish, I had taken some proper pictures of it rather than just a mat shot with a phone however, in the dark and rain it seemed the sensible option.

I don’t think my in the dark recast hit the spot so the next day I spent a bit of time getting it back on the money.

The other two rods I didn’t think I could do any better so left them as they were.

As I drifted into a peaceful slumber that night I just hoped I had made the right decision. It was 05.30am the following morning when I awoke, and peered at the stationary line of bobbins.

Annoyed at the lack of activity I flung a curse in their direction and began preparations to make my first tea of the day. Just as I was about to light the stove all hell broke loose and the swim was filled with electronic screaming and flashing LEDs.

I lurched forward and plucked the rod from the protesting right Delkim while keeping the rod half buried in the lake to keep the line down and away from the trailing branches of the tree line.

The fish initially felt heavy and slow but came away from the snags without any hassle allowing me to elevate the rod to a more conventional position. The fish had kited out into the open water in front of me.

The fight was fairly stress free, the Frimley carp doing nothing unexpected just the occasional ping as the line pulled across a fin making my cardiovascular system jump and flutter a bit.

Just as the battle was slowly reaching what I hoped would be a successful conclusion, I switched on my head torch and was greeted by the unmistakable form of a mirror.

As I have said before with mirrors being the minority in the lake it makes each one of them really special – added to this they all seem to be spectacular examples of the strain.

The sight of this mirror scaling meant my bottle went; this prolonged the fight for a while longer as I was suddenly unwilling to put any pressure on the fish.

Fortunately, my name was well and truly on it and before long the net had a visitor in the shape of 32lb 11oz of glorious Frimley mirror carp. The best bit is I didn’t recognise the fish and it isn’t one I have previously seen a picture of, so it could be a relatively rare visitor to the bank.

I got all the self-take pictures completed and the rod was waded back to its tree-line spot the smile on my face due to wear off in about a week.

Sadly, this was the last action of the session and was the only bite while during this trip to Frimley. Jay came round as he was looking for a move and planned to drop into the ‘Pads’ the next swim up. He was a true gent and loaned me his battery for my barrow so at least the trip back to the car didn’t half kill me.

On the trip home my mind was processing the good fortune I had experienced this trip, I initially couldn’t explain it – I hadn’t seen a pair of magpies, the moon phase according to all the mystic-megs was terrible and no mole hills had appeared under my rod butts. I was halfway home when the realisation dawned on me, my good fortune must have been due to being mouth kissed by Lewis. Thanks mate.

Good god the terrible predicament I am now in as surely, no carp catching is worth a repeat of such a harrowing experience.

I wrote this pretty well straight after getting home from this last Frimley trip.

In two weeks, I am due to go on a guest session with the Doc and Chris to an exclusive little syndicate they belong to. I am hoping to get an invitation to join this year, so have to be on my best behaviour during the 24hr trip where I will meet the lake owner and plead my case for acceptance to the syndicate.

This will the accumulation of a few years of gentle cajoling for a ticket so hopefully I won’t mess it up. I am quite excited about this trip and am looking forward to spending a night on the bank with Chris and the Doc. The lake has really good form for a winter bite as well so hopefully we may even catch a couple.