I was about 12 years old when I first met Ric Francis, the younger brother of
a school classmate. We clicked immediately, and down through the years spent a lot of time
together in shared interests. Birding and running featured, but in the early days it was fishing. Lots and lots of fishing. We shared an almost obsessive passion for coarse angling, and I
have many happy memories from that era. However, by June 1981 I was married,
with a mortgage, and birding had begun to dominate my outdoors time. Ric,
meanwhile, was fishing as hard as ever, and looking forward to a solid season
on the Tring Reservoirs complex as a member of the new syndicate. The omens were immensely good. Within hours
of the new season commencing on 16th June, Tony Chester landed a new British
record Tench of 10lb 1¼oz from Wilstone. The 16th was a Wednesday, and
our tale begins the following Sunday evening.
To put events in context, when I started fishing in the 1960s the Tench record
was 9lb 1oz, a fish caught in 1963. The notion that anyone could ever catch
one bigger than 10lb would have seemed preposterous. Yet in 1975 that is what
happened, and at a stroke the record increased by an astonishing 1lb and 2 drams. Tony
Chester's fish was only the second double-figure Tench ever caught, and just 2
drams, ie, one eighth of an ounce, heavier.
And thus the scene is set. The following events began exactly 40 years ago
today. In Ric's own words, and never previously published. A painful but
salutary lesson in human fallibility...
"Admit it. You were not fishing for Bream when you had that twelve
pounder!"
Such were the very first words spoken to me by the late great Lester
Strudwick. He was right of course. Quite correct. Not sure that I knew how
to catch anything back then. I was simply casting out a worm in the hope
that a fish might take it. Let’s face it. Catching something is one thing,
knowing why that something was caught is another. Me? I was just there. No
plan, no expectations. Just going along with a suggestion from John Hugill
that in the light of the recent record Tench coming out of Wilstone
Reservoir, it could be worth a go. Which was why I found myself
there on Sunday, 20th June 1981. Get casting!
Well, not yet awhile. At Tring back then, no fishing was allowed on a Sunday.
I assume management thought it appropriate that instead of a day
off enjoying ourselves fishing, we would be going to church instead.
Somewhat ironic considering the owners of the estate were rumoured to have
done a deal with the 'other side' a century or three earlier. However,
money talks and members of the syndicate had some leeway on hours, so our
'no fishing' slot was 07:30-22:30. And, despite there being no one around to
enforce them, we all adhered to these hours.
Sunday evening then. There were several players involved, none of whom had been present for the opening act where a 10lb 1¼oz then British
record-breaking Tench was beached. As we were now only five days into the
season (which back then opened on June 16th) this might sound surprising were
it not for the revelation (to me at least) that to secure the most
favoured swims on the bank, several participants had arrived the best part
of a week before the season had even started! As Jim Gibbinson famously
put it, "The mind boggles!"
Looking back, there are two amusing aspects of that fanaticism that I
recall. First, the enormous pressure to catch before any casual 'Johnny
come sensible' who simply rocked up on opening day! One year, exactly that
happened, an angler settling in on the end of the bivvy encampment,
casting out and promptly catching a nine pounder! Took him about 90
minutes. Called home for relatives to come out for a look. Pictures taken
and off home for breakfast. Have it! Yeah!
Secondly, Google Earth indicates that the spot which the hoards were fighting
to secure was in reality further along the bank than they thought! Such
are the benefits of an aeriel view. As things turned out, it was that spot
which I ended up in, the evening I arrived. Not immediately mind. I’d sat
down in one place only for John H to mention there were a lot of fish
topping further along. So I moved. To a spot on the bank I would now call
position A. If I went and fished Wilstone today, I’d fish right there.
The reason it was such a good spot was the 'Gravel Pit'. Wilstone had
historically been dug out in stages to provide top-up water for the Grand
Union Canal and for other reasons, but one feature of these excavations
was a deep hole set among shallows at the north-west end. A channel led from
this hole towards the fishable bank, approaching it at an
angle. By placing themselves in a particular position an angler could
access both the channel and the shallows. All depths and features covered.
Ideal. Anyway, that's exactly where I found myself. By accident. The bit I
don’t get is that the early arrivers all talked about the channel - they
all knew it was there - but were fishing in the wrong place for it! Me, I
didn’t even check the channel out. Meant nothing to me at all.
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Where the deed was done...ish (with thanks to Google satellite view)
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We must have been an obedient bunch back then. Despite there being no one
about (in the shape of Bernie Double, the Tring bailiff) to keep an eye on
proceedings, the starting-time rules weren't even bent, let alone ignored.
As a result, none of us cast out until 10:30 pm. It was like a lesser
version of midnight on opening day. There was nothing special
about my set up, just open-ended feeders with liquidized bread.
Sweetcorn bait on one rod, lobworm on the other.
Looking back, I can see there was no real thinking or analysis about my
methods. It was generally as simple as I could muster. All the tackle
tweaks, upgrades, ringing the changes and constant reassessments were, and
for me still are, too much like hard work. If I thought something would work, I'd
do it, but like I found when fishing for Pike with lures, I might try every lure in my possession and still blank. Nil bites, nil
everything. It doesn’t give you any information to work with. And nil
bites or action was the usual pattern. If I found a method that worked, I
stuck with it.
Well, something worked that night. Fifteen minutes after casting out, the sweetcorn
rod came to life. The indicator sailed up, to the accompanying beeps of the
Optonic, and the resultant strike met with a resultant nothing! Damn! I
kind of thought the sweetcorn might have masked the hook point. Of course,
nowadays we would hair-rig the stuff, but that was for the future. So, to
bolster my confidence I replaced the corn with another lobworm, at the
same time convincing myself the bite I missed was simply a 'liner'.
I didn’t have to wait long to test the liner theory. The indicator sailed
up and the strike was met with a slow, heavy resistance. Tench? A solid
thud followed by some more heavy dragging made me think it might be a
Bream. Yes, I was sure it was. Soon enough the bronze flanks of a slab
were being lit up by torches held by the various helpers to this capture.
And on to the bank it came. It was clear to me that the fish was into
double figures but I thought nothing more of it. Out with the weigh
bag, scales zeroed, and…the shock of my life as the needle tracked
around past 12lb. This called for some steady hands and an "All agreed are
we?" 12lb 9½ oz! Which I understood to be the biggest Bream ever caught
from Wilstone. The British record was 13lb 8oz and this fish might have
been fourth or fifth biggest on the all-time list. Which was nice.
I bagged the fish up, intending to get a picture when it got light,
before settling back for what I hoped would be a night of Bream action. No
chance. That fish was the sum total of the night's efforts. I don't recall
even another bite. I guess I was lucky then. Fluke capture? Probably. Time
and place.
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Early morning, 21st June 1981. The Wilstone Bream - 12lb 9½oz
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6:00am. And the Bream was back where it belonged. I'd got the pictures as
soon as it was light enough, so no need to keep it a moment longer. Shows
how my attitude to such things has changed. These days it's odds on the
fish would have been put back the moment it was caught, but getting
pictures of fish seemed to matter then. A view that was to have
consequences in the very near future.
The morning conditions by now were clear and bright. Hardly a breeze
either. The odd Tench was getting caught by others, but nothing massive,
and to be fair my own efforts were hardly sound. I'd already messed up as
it was. Leaving the rods in, I'd nipped off down to the car for some item
only to discover on my return that I'd had a bite. I must have retrieved a
hundred yards of line before the end rig appeared with that one. Typical!
At 6:30am I was away again. Good, solid bite, the line tightening up to
the fish before I'd even grabbed the rod. No need to strike; this one was
going for it, taking line against the clutch from the get-go. But
something felt odd about the fight. The fish hit the surface about thirty
yards out, and with a strange rotating motion continued to take line at
will. I mean, I was leaning on it all right but simply had no control over
proceedings. I guess it had gone about fifty yards before it
stopped.
Now encased in a weed bed, I set to dragging it back. But something
wasn't right about the way it was fighting. It was broadside on. So,
either the line had got looped around a pectoral fin or it was hooked
there. Either way, it was a protracted slog getting the fish in. Once on
the bank, my suspicions that it was foul-hooked were confirmed; the hook
was located in a pectoral fin. It wasn’t the first fish to be hooked in
that position either. That could have been a function of the distended
pre-spawning bellies these fish possessed. Who knows? What I did know was
John Hugill saying, "I wouldn't weigh that if I were you." I really should
have listened.
A foul-hooked fish is not deemed to have been caught by 'fair angling'
and doesn't count. Full stop. But I was really curious to see how much it weighed. I
guessed maybe eight pounds. However, an initial rough weighing had it at
10lb 6oz! It was a fact, but nothing else. I called out, "Hey guys, it’s a
double! Tell you what. I’ll bag it up, we'll get a few pictures and then
let it go." And that was all there was to it. Simply getting a picture of
a curiosity. And then fate stepped in. In the form of one Bernie
Double.
Now Bernie was the long-time resident bailiff at Tring, and one of his
duties was to sell tickets. I guess I was somewhat naïve regards what
lengths he would go to in order to sell those tickets, but there you go. Whatever the dos
and don'ts of the situation, he was keen on publicity for the fishery, so
when one of the guys let him know I'd caught a couple he wasted no time in
tracking along to see what was what.
Clearly I hadn't got the Bream any more, but the Tench was still in play.
I told him what my intentions were, but Bernie had other ideas. He
mentioned that an Angling Times photographer was nearby and that I
should hang on to the fish until he could get there. He also wanted a look
at the fish, and to weigh it for himself. Exactly 10lb 4oz.
The photographer arrived.
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21st June 1981. The Wilstone Tench. At 10lb 4oz only the third ever
double-figure Tench caught, and 2¾oz heavier than Tony Chester's new
British record, landed only a few days earlier and yet to
appear in the angling press.
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Before I knew it, this pair were talking in terms of a new British
record. But it wasn't. It had been foul-hooked and therefore didn't count.
They were persistent though, making out that it would be a disappointment
if the capture wasn't rewarded in some way. I felt they were suggesting I
was somehow letting them down. But really they were just thinking of
themselves.
It was difficult to know what to do under the pressure. Asking advice
from the others met with either no answer at all or, "It’s up to you." So,
on one side I had proactive operators and on the other side, apathy.
In the end I yielded to the pressure and made the mistake of going along
with the fraud. This was a Monday, and I planned to wait until the
Angling Times was published on the Wednesday to see what emerged.
Only then would I decide how to proceed. I didn't feel good, but rather a
bit cornered. My own fault of course. I was down the rabbit hole. Would I
get out?
From Monday until Wednesday I fished along in a cloud of guilt. I never
let on to a number of people who were no doubt puzzled at my lack of joy
in relation to this event. I felt terrible. For some people, lying,
cheating and basic dishonesty are just them. They don't care. It's what
they do. Not me. Integrity meant a lot to me, but there were gatherings on
the bank discussing just that. As in, my apparent lack of it.
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No prizes for guessing the topic of conversation
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Wednesday arrived and so did the Angling Times. I’d remained at
Tring, but on seeing the news felt I'd be better off elsewhere. It didn't
look good. There I was on the front cover with the whole pack of lies. I
went home. Once there, I revealed all. Gerry Savage, coordinator of the
National Benzole 'Angler of the Month' award, phoned to say I'd won that
month’s prize. I told him the score and said I couldn't accept. He said
he'd phone back. He did. I was still the winner! Seems the judges regarded
the situation worthy of an award despite the foul-hooking issue. I mean,
they thought the Bream was worth something, along with my honesty. It was
still a mess, but at least I could breathe again.
Having nothing else to do, I went back to Tring. In the meantime, all
hell had been let loose between the angling publications.
Anglers Mail v Angling Times. To be fair, they were either
about controversy or sensationalism, and here they got both. Other
publications got involved, but despite all that I was never contacted
again about the subject by anyone. Maybe they thought I'd been upset
enough. Whatever the reasons, I was able to carry on fishing much as
before, but it was never quite the same again.
That Tench is still the biggest I’ve ever seen. My pb is actually 8lb
8oz. However, there's a chance that I'll soon have access to a gravel pit
where double-figure Tench appear to be almost common. If I can avoid the
Carp there's a good chance I can land a fish bigger than 10lb 4oz. I'll
settle for that, as well as the lack of headlines.
Ric Francis...June 2021
A few days after the above, I drove over to Startops Reservoir - also on the
Tring complex - with another fishing friend to visit Ric and commiserate. Both
Roy and I were fully aware of the whole story, and in the Startops car park we
posed with the latest issue of Angling Times prominently displayed, hamming it
up for Ric's camera with appropriately sceptical expressions. We all
turned it into a bit of a joke, but being young I had little idea of what Ric
had actually been through...
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'Tench record tumbles TWICE!' yells the Angling Times. Except it
hadn't.
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