I was at the lake by seven. Too early for anyone sane, but the light looked good and the air had that cool stillness before the insects wake up. Coffee from the flask, bread already drying at the edges. The float sat clean in the water, just a faint ripple.
Nothing for the first hour. Typical. Spain’s lakes have their own rhythm. The carp don’t care what time you arrive; they move when they feel like it. I was using sweetcorn and a small groundbait mix, bit of pellet thrown in for luck. Same setup that worked last week at Bellús.
By eight, I’d seen one fish roll halfway out. Big shape, bronze back, lazy as anything. Then gone. I sat there holding the rod like it was a fragile secret. The float twitched once, twice, then nothing. I counted to sixty and still nothing. I poured more coffee and tried not to care.
Back home in Sunderland, me and Graham used to fish the Wear. Same story. Hours of nothing, then one good take when you’re least ready. He’d always say the fish could smell impatience. Maybe he was right.
At half nine, the float dipped hard and vanished. Proper take. I lifted, felt the line tighten, and for about three seconds thought I had it. Then a sharp pull, no weight, and the float gone. Line snapped clean. I just sat there and laughed. If that fish could talk, it’d still be laughing too.
I tied on a new hook. Watched the water settle. Wind started picking up from the south, small ripples pushing towards the far bank. The sun came out and made the reeds shine silver. I thought about packing up, but didn’t. Fishing’s like that. You lose more than you catch, but the losing’s half the story.
A local bloke turned up around eleven, nodded once, set up a good twenty metres away. No words needed. Just two stubborn fools waiting for the same fish.
By noon the heat came up and that was that. I packed slowly, float still missing, line still slightly frayed. On the way back to the car I passed a heron standing dead still in the shallows, not blinking, not moving. Probably caught more than me that morning.
Graham would’ve laughed. He’d have said, “At least you lost something worth losing.” I like that thought. Maybe I’ll use it next time someone asks why I still bother.
Location: Bellús Reservoir, inland Valencia.
Water: clear, 18°C, light south wind.
Species: common carp and barbel.
Bait: sweetcorn, pellet, groundbait mix.
Gear: 12 ft float rod, 6 lb line.
Best time: 7–10 a.m. before heat rise.
