I’ve been carp fishing since 1981. Like most, I spent the first few years just trying to get to grips with it all, learning through trial and error. It wasn’t until around 1984 that everything finally clicked into place—and that’s when the real obsession with carp fishing began.

My angling journey actually started much earlier, around 1974, fishing in ponds, rivers, and the Norfolk Broads. I even fished Llandrindod Wells Carp Lake, which was a turning point for me. That’s where I truly discovered carp—the power, the fight, and what set them apart from anything else I’d caught before. From that moment on, I was hooked.

Over the years, I moved between countless venues, always trying to learn more, to understand more. I wanted to absorb as much knowledge as I possibly could. Looking back, it mirrored my approach in the shipping industry, where I also started working in 1981. I moved through different roles, constantly learning, constantly evolving. Whether it was fishing or work, I’ve always had that need to understand every aspect as deeply as possible.

As my experience grew, I began targeting specific carp on specific waters. That phase of my fishing lasted many years and brought a lot of satisfaction. In 1997, I moved to Hampshire with work, which opened up even more opportunities. With progression in my career—and, if I’m honest, the financial rewards that came with it—I was able to join more clubs and syndicates, travelling between them in pursuit of particular fish.

But over time, something changed. The number of anglers increased, and the values and etiquette I’d grown up with started to fade. The atmosphere shifted, and with it came a level of aggravation I simply didn’t want. I’ve never fished to compete with others—I fish to enjoy it, to switch off. Eventually, I realised I needed to step away from that environment.

That’s when I turned to the rivers, seeking solitude and space away from the crowds. Around the same time, I made a conscious decision to limit my memberships. Where once I’d spread myself across multiple clubs and syndicates, I reduced it down to just a couple. That change alone made a huge difference.

Somewhere along that journey, I was introduced to the Airfield Lake syndicate—and that truly reignited my passion. It turned out to be exactly what I’d been missing. A group of like-minded anglers, all respecting each other, all fishing in the right way. I’ve now been a member there for over ten years, which is unusual for me, as I’d typically move on after five. But this place is different. It’s the people, the atmosphere, the unwritten understanding between anglers. There’s no ego, no one-upmanship—just mutual respect.

I come from an era where information was closely guarded. You’d be asked to leave a swim if you cast into someone’s water, and no one would give anything away. That was just how it was. But here, things feel more balanced—still respectful, but without the tension.

These days, my mindset has completely changed. There’s no rush anymore. Just catching a carp—any carp—is an achievement. You’re not competing against other anglers; you’re up against the fish. It probably took me five years to truly adopt that way of thinking, but once I did, it transformed everything.

I started focusing on what I love most about fishing. For me, it’s the anticipation. Even now, I still don’t sleep properly the night before a session—or even the first night on the bank. That sense of expectation never leaves you. Then the moment comes—the buzzer sounds. Whether it’s a subtle drop-back or a full-on screaming run, your heart kicks in. You’re connected to the fish, adrenaline flowing, fully in the moment. You’re thinking everything and nothing at the same time—“don’t lose this one,” or simply reacting to the power on the end.

Then it rolls into the net, and there’s that instant release—that deep breath of relief.

And at that point, does the size really matter?

That fish picked up your bait. You outwitted it. Your watercraft, your baiting, your decision-making—all of it came together in that moment. That’s something to be proud of, regardless of the weight.

But fishing is more than just the capture. Sitting quietly in nature, surrounded by wildlife, is something else entirely. It’s good for the soul, the mind, and the body. These days, when I close the gate behind me at the lake, I leave the rest of the world outside. For a couple of days each week, it’s just me, the water, and whatever comes with it—and that’s priceless.

As I sit here writing this on the bank, I’m watching birds picking insects from the trees, listening to their calls—and the unmistakable sound of a cuckoo in the distance. Yes, fishing is about catching carp, but it’s not only about that.

There’s also the social side. The camaraderie among like-minded anglers is something special. It’s not quite a tight-knit family, as people come and go, moving between waters—but there’s an unspoken bond, a shared understanding. It’s just part of the angling life, and it works.

Right now, my mindset towards fishing is the best it’s ever been—and that carries over into my day-to-day life as well. There’s a balance now that perhaps took me years to find.

I hope this gives some insight into how important mindset can be in fishing—and how much more rewarding it becomes when you find the right one.

Until next time,
Richard