‘26/06/1996’
Simon Hartop
It was June 21st 1996, I'd recently finished my degree against all the odds and I was pottering around the Royal parks of West London on my bike enjoying my freedom and musing on what life had in store for me next. Richmond Park was in my sights on this occasion as Ritchie Macdonald had banked an incredible 40 pounder a few seasons before so I cycled off down there for a scope. There was only one angler fishing and we hit it off straight away; his name was Ritchie Curtis, 'Little Ritch' or 'Motormouth' as he was affectionately known down at Yateley.
I'd actually met Ritchie in the winter of 1989 on a walk around the Car Park lake and I reminded him of the big ex-army trench coat he was wearing to break the ice. He was covered in mud with these great big boots on and unshaven which made him look like something from a wartime Russian convoy. After we'd had a good laugh and a chat, the conversation turned to the pond and what he was up too. It became evident very quickly just how much planning and effort he was putting in so I put my ticket on the back burner and I became Ritchie's potential gillie for the latter half of what was a big hit two week session.
Ritchie was really pulling out all the stops and he went on to tell me that he'd dug a deeper hole out next to the silt trap with a shovel which was getting more hemp than Amsterdam. He was shamelessly biking it in on a woman's bike; basket on the front and one at the back. The questionable charabanc was then stashed unceremoniously in the bracken with an underarm lob. To stop it being lost, Ritchie had tied a length of rope to it which he would peg down so he could retrieve it when more hemp was needed. It looked hilarious but it was practical and very good angling.
Once I knew all of this it really was a case of angling etiquette to not fish myself and see if he had got one over on these tricky Pen Pond carp. I excitedly rode down daily with a few cold beers and the odd snack for us to share, knowing that this literally had to be a matter of time, no pressure on the pond, just Ritchie giving it the absolute big un. When these rare occasions manifest in angling, it really is time to put your rods down, enjoy the angling and watch and learn!
'I excitedly rode down daily with a few cold beers and the odd snack for us to share, knowing that this literally had to be a matter of time, no pressure on the pond, just Ritchie giving it the absolute big un. When these rare occasions manifest in angling, it really is time to put your rods down, enjoy the angling and watch and learn'
A few days later I arrived to find a distraught Ritchie and he relayed the story of how he'd lost a super powerful fish that had made the island, flat rodding him in the process and he was convinced his chance had gone. In hindsight it was probably the Big Fully, a streamlined upper twenty and renowned scrap merchant but you have to remember that there was still little known about the pond and the nature of its inhabitants at the time. Ritchie had had all of the Yateley matriarchs amongst others in previous seasons so who was I to argue?!
In those days there was always talk of another big carp that supposedly lurked in the pond and Ritchie had given it the moniker of "The Elusifer". Neither of us had seen it but the myth fired our enthusiasm and despite the bitter loss, Ritchie continued to fish hard in case myth became reality.
Later that night we were sat under the fallen willow chattering about all sorts. The willow's huge spilt trunk hid us perfectly and acted as a great canopy and wind block. Ritchie had fastened a basha to it for extra protection if it rained and we were quite well protected front the elements. All of a sudden Ritchie grabbed my arm and whispered "Sshh, stay still, there's one". Sure enough, a large carp bumped and furled the oily surface as it made its way past us then did a 90 degree turn up along the silt trap and on towards the hemp hole.
It wasn't long before Ritchie said "Fuck man, look at that!" He gave me a battered set of bins and I trained my eyes along the trap and onto the spot. As soon as I focused a huge fizz of bubbles bellowed to the surface and then a massive purple tail bone lifted and waved at us like a flag in the midst of them.
'He gave me a battered set of bins and I trained my eyes along the trap and onto the spot. As soon as I focused a huge fizz of bubbles bellowed to the surface and then a massive purple tail bone lifted and waved at us like a flag in the midst of them'
"Blimey Ritch, looks like he's found his dinner then-that's ridiculous-look at it. How big's that??!!"
Over the next hour we continued to exchange the bins, swear a lot and make the usual comments like
"Surely" and "Watch this space" but the hemp hole eventually went quiet and it looked like the brute had buggered off without giving so much as liner.
I sat around having a few more 'smokes' into dark until midnight when I thought I better get home whilst I still could but as I went to get on my own bike Ritchie received the take from hell, shattering the graveyard silence of the night. I can still visualise his spool spinning at top speed and sounding like a ten bob rocket going off. Before I could get a word out of my stunned mouth, Ritchie picked up the rod and ran headlong into the lake fully clothed! It really went from calm to complete calamity in a matter of seconds!
I was stood frozen in a kind of bemused childlike shock, thinking "He's actually just ran into the lake with all his clothes on" when Ritchie snapped me out of it shouting "Get the chesties on Si and fetch the bloody net!" I'd never worn a pair of chest waders before and now here I was in the pitch black, a little worse for wear and trying to get these old rubber, trouser grippers on whilst Ritchie panicked away in the background.
In the end I just did my best, grabbed the net and went in looking like an Igor type hunchback with the straps so tangled and taught that one shoulder was a good six inches shorter than the other! I couldn't help saying "Coming master" as I unsteadily waded forth in the darkness, gingerly feeling my way along the silt trap as I went.
Then I heard Ritchie shouting again " It's beat Si, where the fuck are ya?" It was so dark that night that Ritch couldn't see me nor I him but I was almost right by his side at this point, heart beating wildly out of my chest and full of adrenalin . "I'm here mate" I gasped "Where is it?" "It's been beaten for a few minutes Si, I've just kept it on a short leash" At that point I could make out this pale shape lying across the surface and it glided over the net first time, no dramas. I said looks 27ish and Ritch agreed, it was just so dark. We were just about to start laughing and cheering when all of a sudden Ritchie hissed "Get down, it's the Old Bill!" Then it was daylight except in a very strange halogen fashion. Ritchie had told me about the parks Police and their huge blitz type spotlights but I remained skeptical until I was stood in the middle of the lake lit up like a Christmas tree with Ritchie and a carp!
'We were just about to start laughing and cheering when all of a sudden Ritchie hissed "Get down, it's the Old Bill!" Then it was daylight except in a very strange halogen fashion. Ritchie had told me about the parks Police and their huge blitz type spotlights but I remained skeptical until I was stood in the middle of the lake lit up like a Christmas tree with Ritchie and a carp!'
We both hunched over and tried to make ourselves small behind the silt trap as there was no metal fence on it in those days. It was virtually impossible, the trap being no more than 3 inches above the water. I thought we were definitely screwed; that bloody spotlight could've lit up a football stadium but somehow we remained undetected, the false daylight was extinguished and they silently drive off leaving us laughing nervously and completely light blind.
"Fucking hell" I said. "Told you" said Ritch!
As we sloshed carefully back to the bank the fish got progressively bigger until we finally had a better look at it. We had no head torches and we were only looking at a bit of back, the head or the tail so we quickly transferred it to a sack. One thing was for sure, it was a bloody big carp and Ritchie and I were almost sure that it had to be The Elusifer, still convinced the 40 had been lost a few days earlier.
We stayed up all night laughing, smoking, drinking tea and making up songs about The Elusifer, eagerly awaiting Ritchies entourage of Topoff and co for the usual post catch shenanigans. It had been light for sometime before the lads turned up and it transpired that they had got hideously lost in the park. Their glowing faces belied the 40 minute hike they had endured and there was a lot of laughter from us and the usual accusatory banter about shit directions.
As I said before we had completely convinced each other through the witching hours that this magnificent carp was The Elusifer, the sub urban myth but true daylight revealed all when we opened the sack and Topoff produced a cutting of Ritchie Macdonald and exclaimed "That's the big un you idiots!" Job done after all!
As we all stood there, I caught something out of the corner of my eye and turned to see a Police Range Rover chug by not ten yards away from all of us but it was academic now. I don't know if they noticed Ritchie wading along the margin with his prize or the bank side drama unfolding but nobody cared anyway, it was game over.
I was so pleased for Ritchie watching him cradle that most majestic carp and it was a fantastic end to an adventure that was a privilege to share when forty pounders were still extremely scarce. I shook the carp by the pectoral fin before the photo session and said "Hello old chap"; mesmerised by his colossal size and beauty.
'I shook the carp by the pectoral fin before the photo session and said "Hello old chap"; mesmerised by his colossal size and beauty'
As I left Ritchie and Richmond park that day I was in that place between unreality and reality after a night of high drama and no sleep. I felt elated but also a little melancholy that the adventure was over; it had been a brilliant experience spent with another like minded soul culminating in a rare fairytale ending. A few weeks later, an eagerly awaited envelope arrived in the post containing some of the pictures I took. On the back one said
"Richmond Park June 27th 1996-40.03. Nice one for the snaps Si-Hope you get the monster! "
In my heart of hearts, I knew I would never catch that special carp, I was happy enough to have met it during a spell of incredible angling but wherever I have fished since, I always remember Ritchie's words "Hope you get the monster" Indeed.
