About a year ago, I got hooked up with a bad crowd of fishermen at a local lake. Was bound to happen…I had been down on my luck for a while and it seemed I just couldn’t shake the funk. No bluegills, cats weren’t biting and one thing just led to another. It was then that I got hooked on, you got it, carp fishing.
I had heard the stories, the tragic results and the many ruined lives that were in the mix of this worldwide calamity. The fish were bottom feeders, the men who fished for them were bottom feeders and those who had guts enough to admit they actually liked fishing for them were subject to ridicule and scorn. So be it…I was ready for the onslaught, the shame, the jokes and whatever else came with the carp territory.
Before long, I was hooked, addicted, I’d say, to hooking, playing and landing fish far bigger than the customary front-liners that all the outdoor writers write about. But who cares if they aren’t pretty? If you’re goin’ for poundage, carp are the way. But be careful…you, too, might just fall victim to the most popular freshwater gamefish, yes gamefish, in the world.
The gang I fell in with was a shoddy bunch, and they deserved their reputation. There were secret conversations amongst them and closed-door meetings to determine where and when the next carp gig was going to take place. The first time I met the 74 year-old ‘Carp Father’, we’ll call him Joe, was in a local tackle shop, eyeing up doughballs and boilies. Although there was not a single other person in the shop, he spoke to me in hushed secrecy about the timing and planing of the next carp fling. I was both excited and cautious, knowing that I had somehow been ushered into the Carp Mafia. Why would they entrust me, a lowly outdoor writer, with such coveted info? You know those sorts can’t keep a secret! Still, I was allowed into the inner sanctum, the belly of the bottom-feeding beast, with highly confidential stuff. I realized then that, once I was in, I could never get out.
I somehow quickly gained the confidence and favor of other chief Carp Mafia members, most of who were ‘cross-over’ rowdies from other realms of questionable existence. I began to feel weak and vulnerable, despite my acceptance. If the word got out about my association with the CM, I would likely lose my good standing in the community. My integrity would be jeopardized, my honesty questioned. But I quickly caved-in, stopped caring about ’proper-fishing’ and started chumming corn with the rest of the low-lifes. My scruples were gone, my life a shambles and my reputation shot. I didn’t give a carp…!
As I fell deeper and deeper into this quagmire of questionable angling, I found that most of the carpsters were actually likeable, almost halfway decent chaps who had the same desires you and I have…mainly, the desire to catch big fish on a regular basis. This one was a policeman, that one was a retired schoolteacher, another did construction work and yet another actually volunteered for worthy causes. All leading secret lives as carp fishermen, dodging the insults while spodding corn in various areas of the lake to attract the overgrown goldfish. They had bite alarms, rod pods and used hair rigs. They used boilies for bait, employed weigh slings for big fish and kept their bait needles sharp. Their scales were certified and official, and their packbait was always a mix of secret concoctions that were sure to draw the fish. They weren’t into taking photos of their fish, unless it was a very big one. Whenever I went for the camera I got looks that would kill and expressions to die for. Be careful of recorded images, Internet info and never ask too many questions. This is the Carp Mafia.
As my year-long carp adventure progressed, several matters of fact came to light. To my great surprise, carp anglers take better care of their equipment than just about any anglers out there. They are extremely resourceful and are constantly trying new rigs and baits to get the bites. Mafia members seemed to be quite sociable, and enjoy sharing many humorous stories about carping in the past. They like to eat…pizza and fried chicken and brats on the grill…I can live with that. And, yes, they are secretive, especially to other carp anglers whom they might not approve of. Case in point…if an ‘outsider’ or non-Mafia member, fishes the area you chummed all week long to take advantage of your hard work, thus catching carp that you worked hard to draw to the area, then they are frowned upon. And why not? That’s just plain lazy and disrespectful. Who wants even ‘lower’ low-lifes muscling in on their cultivated hotspot? For that reason, several CM members’ spod corn at night, so they cannot be spied upon, and they do it in several different locations. Yes, big, dead carp have been found in the backs of some fisherman’s’ cars, complete with blow flies, stench and territorial warnings.
Also, the serious carp freaks do it all year long, right through the winter. During the record warm winter of 2011-12, Mafia kingpin Mr. Bob banked well over 100 carp in January and February when everybody else sat home and got fat, watching 250- pound bass anglers skate 2- pound largemouths through the water on 50 pound braid. How much fun is that?
And something else is unique to the carpsters…they do it all night, the next day, and then all the next night. Set up camp and brace yourselves for a 24 to 48 hour carp-a-thon, complete with sleeping cots, gas grills and the aforementioned pizza and brats. And, yes, funny stuff happens at night. People fall in the water, lines get crossed and fish get tangled and untold tales of carping past are relived in a lively form, complete with bleeps and a little ‘coarse’ fishing language. But make no mistake…they catch big fish, and lots of them.
The statement was made recently by one of the Carp Mafia members…’It gets lonely out here, when you’re the only one catching big fish, day after day’. Yup, it’s a vicious cycle. Once you’re in, you can’t get out.
