Season 91/92 DEAR DIARY.. PART T WO AUGUST hat which needs to be proved canno t be worth much." NIETZSCHE "Madame, we are the press. You know ou r power. We fix all values. We set all th e standards. Your entire future depends on us." JEAN GIRAUDOUX Following on from the Linear trip the wife and I were invited down to Kevin Maddock's own Withy Pool for a couple of days. The intention was not to do any serious carp fishing, though should I want to the opportunity was there. Kevin's rise from garage mechanic to publisher an d owner of one of the nicest set ups it's been my good fortune to visit, is a classic example of what this country ca n offer someone who is willing to work hard, take risks and go for it. Too many people sit back on their fat backsides and demand a luxurious living from th e State as if it is owed to them. In their eyes Kevin would be viewed as another lucky bastard . Oops, sorry! I almost slipped into lecturing mode there. Arriving at lunchtime on a hot guided tour of the pool. Withy is splendid. Crystal clear waters, landscape gardened banks, and carp of a size to make your ja w drop. We left Kevin's kitchen, walked across his lawn and stood on the banks of the pool. It's as close as that. "Let's go round this way I'll show yo u some fish." We strolled in the sun together whilst he explained how he had turned Withy into the water it is today with hardly a fish under twenty pounds and a best topping forty. "Look through those branches," he said, "there's usually a fish or two laid up here." Even without polaroids I had no difficulty spotting the two fish. Christ, I thought, starin g at two enormous kippers. Kevin peered over my shoulder and said, "They will be about twenty five, c'mon I'll show you some bigger ones if we're lucky." Sure enough, sunbathing in some sunken branches were three carp of the size he was lookin g for. Three thirty pounds plus mirrors. What a sight. FROM T H E RIVERBANK There are two lakes at Withy, the one I have described and a small on e Kevin dug out, which is basically a fun pool. It is chock a block full of fish of all varieties and it was on here that I chose to spend a few hours fishing the pole during the afternoon before we were to go out for a meal. Despite th e clear sk y and high tempe ature s it was a bite a Unhooking my albino Mississippi catfish. H ow longbefore I catch another one? (Courtesy Kevin Maddpcks) chuck with no idea what was going to come out next. Roach followed crucian, which followed skimmer after small common, after perch, mirror, gudgeon etc. It was wonderful fun. After about an hour the tiny Image Worm float buried just like it had done before but the strike was met by a solid resistance that didn't budge. I thought I was fast but it started to nod slowly and kite to the left. Steady pressure saw a big near black shape surface and roll over. It was an enormous bream. Like most stillwater bream coming from heavily stocked waters its weight didn't quite match its size, but at 51b 9ozs I wasn't complaining. I certainly can't recall catching a bigger bream before on the pole. A t steady intervals during the afternoon four more bream cropped u p before I came off one putting an abrupt end to their co-operation. No more showed after that which was a pity because th e first fish was if anything the smallest of the five. Looking back I wish I'd weighed the others but it bigger, it wouldn't have made for any more pleasure. Around four o'cloc k Kevin joined m and was staggered to hear about the bream, "There are only nine in he said, "but the best one we put in did go nine pounds, have you got it?" Only then did I begin to regret losing that last one. W e chatted on discussing his upcoming attempt on the World catfish record in Russia. In between times I continued to catch fish until one of the 'carp' I hooked refused to submit. Despite having the pole directly over its head and with the certainty that it didn't weigh all that much it still stuck to the bottom like a limpet. "I bet this is a cat", said Kevin. Sure enough it was, but not any old cat, this was an Albino Mississippi Catfish and without a shadow of a doubt I had in my possession a British record fish. W e weighed it, photographed it, witnessed it and if I hear much more about blood y introduced records I swear I'll claim it. Now won't that put the 'cat' amongst pidgeons! Poor old Kevin. Catfish King of England, preparing to travel thousands of miles across God knows how many frontiers to the Volga delta, miles from any civilisation, in search of a record ca t and a tosser like me gets one on his back lawn. Ain't life a bitch!!! Seriously we had a good laugh about that fish and in truth it was caught three times in three days, so it obviously isn't very clever, but how many records can you think of caught on the pole? I guess I'm just a star! On the subject of records, the cat isn't m y first involveme nt with a record fish. M y step grandfather caught a record silver bream shortly after the Second World War which he had stuffed and mounted in a glass case. The fish was authenticated by someone from the London Zoo b ut unfortunately was lost in the great floods of 1946/7 before a claim could be made. To my eternal shame I have to admit to compounding the tragedy by losing his personal diary during a house move which fully documented its capture. Th e concept of making re cord claims has always left me a bit cold, particularly nowadays when many fish ar e known b y name. If you catch a carp four ounces under the record today and I catch it again at four ounces over tomorrow what is the difference? W e both have caught the same fish haven't we? Th ere are no doubt anglers around today who are claiming to have caught a hundred twenties when in reality they have actually only caught two dozen different ones. Catching it the 1 1 2