Fishing in Spain/Europe........

Has anyone been fishing in Spain or anywhere in Europe which is near to an airport and a decent resort?

For a number of years a crowd of us used to go to Estartit on the Costa Brava. It's about half an hours drive from Girona Airport and has plenty of fishing on the Rio Ter (the eastuary is a couple of miles along the beach from the resort and is full of carp and mullet), the River Fluvia and Lake Banyoles. Stretches of both rivers together with the lake are within an hours drive.
Estartit is not one of the big resorts (no high rise hotels) but is ideal for a family holiday and is known for having the biggest and sandiest beach in Spain. The best hotel is the Santa Anna, a friendly family run pension with service and a restaurant that is almost five star. I believe it's still in some of the holiday brochures.
If you need any more info I'll Do my best to help.

Diamond stuff Frank, thanks mate, its for a mates 40th and we are looking to take off for a few days, flight only, car, and a decent resort where we can have a beer and do a bit of fishing!

Whats the situation with licences mate?

I have a Spanish brother-in-law from my last marraige, used to fish out in Majorca a lot. Half an hour from Palma Airport Eddie!

THE MARSH PREDATOR

The canalised irrigation systems of Majorca can be very enticing places for an exiled carp angler trapped on a family holiday. Heavy rain signalled our departure from Manchester’s Ringway Airport and it was in no time at all, and indeed with great relief, which we gazed down from the plane as it crossed the Bay of Alcudia and made its decent into Palma.

Our Paco (my Spanish Brother-in Law) was on time, as usual, to pick us up from the airport and the three quarter hour drive to the villa and the bar passed in no time. Hiding the very minimum of equipment inside the suitcases, the anticipation of three sneaked weeks fishing, between the usual boring day trips, visits to the beach and being stuck on bar duties while Our Paco and Doreen visited the local Menta disco, was too much to suppress.

On this particular visit, I have smuggled a pair of telescopic rods of two pound test curve, a pair of time honoured Mitchell 3oo`s, two optonics, a mini rod pod and an assortment of floating boilies for the mullet, all of which was quickly unpacked and hidden in the villa ready for my escape.

Day one, teatime over and I’m first to get changed, grabbing a quick hour, while the fight goes on for the bathroom. I’m soon sat with baits out on the Lago Canal at the end of the street; two mullet and an eel on floating crust and the wife appears behind me to drag me off down to the bar. Can’t you leave fishing alone for two minutes, she exclaims! Sorry dear.

Three bottles of hazelnut schnapps, a few lagaros and a couple of whiskeys and I’m a quivering mess on the dance floor at the Menta (hic!) Disco. Should have left you at the canal, you ruin every holiday! My beloved exclaims, yes dear!

Monday arrived, thank god, and the girls are off to the market at Manacor, Paco was on bar duty (bless him) and little ole me was off into the darkest reaches of the S, Albufera marshland. The large panniers on Doreen’s bike were indeed ample storage space for carrying my array of fishing tackle and baits, the pedalling however was hard going and I guess carp fishing isn’t the most athletic of sports. Once off the main Alcudia to Can’t Picafort road, I negotiated the dirt tracks where the going really got tough. Buckets of sweat pored from me as I travelled down the scorpion-infested track towards La Puebla and the middle of the marsh.

Let me explain how the Spanish day works, we don’t usually closed the bar until 5 am in the small hours, so early morning rising usually occurs around noon the next day. Today had been no exception. I arrived at my chosen swim as the Spanish sun gently made its decent towards the distant mountains, where indeed Chopin and Sands shared this tranquil and timeless land. It made me feel good to be alive.

It was a quiet spot that I had chosen, well set back from the beaten tracks. Indeed, it was very rare to see another soul, often for days on end. A long forgotten saltwater feeder system with scrum covered banks to hide amongst, while behind the pool lay probably some two kilometres of dense weed bed with what appeared to be small and isolated expanses of water in between, this in turn reached out to the now defunked rail head at the village of La Puebla. The wildlife was a sight to behold, with many the islands purple herons being in domination.

Baits were cast out to the edge of the reed beds, one on leeches (a sort of Spanish worm) and the other on squid section. Buzzers and indicators at the ready and I lay back to watch the Spanish sun gently kiss the distant mountains and soon drifted into an undisturbed slumber….

A sudden chill awakened me. The banks were well lit with a full and radiant Mediterranean moon; its radioactive glow was illuminating the adjacent marshlands. It was as I was gazing across the marsh, that my eyes became transfixed on what appeared to be a large disturbance beneath the rushes. Whatever creature was responsible for this was very slowly edging its way towards me (gulp!), parting the rushes in its wake.

It eventually came to a halt directly behind a thin layer of stems between the pool and me. Indeed it was only a matter of feet away from my squid rod. I could sense that the creature knew of my presence, this made me feel nervous, to such an extent that I could feel the hairs on the back of my neck standing erect. The situation had an unnatural feel about it. After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality would have been minutes, the rushes opposite began to tremble, violently quiver and then slowly part. The creature, whatever it was, must surely have seen the bait by now.

The squid rod diode flashed once, heart in mouth, I was on the rod. A slow jerky type run followed. I wound down and hit the beastie with all my might…and all hell broke loose! I had latched onto one very angry animal that, surprisingly, instead of heading back into the marsh, decided to bolt headlong down the main channel level with the bank. I applied full side strain, but to no avail, tightening the clutch down in the process.

The fifteen-pound maxima was vanishing rapidly, unstoppable I decided to follow the creature down the bank. Flattening numerous varieties of cacti, my progress was eventually curtailed by a huge flourishing of nasty prickly thingies. The beast didn’t stop once and the line from the spool was eventually stripped clean- the lot gone!

I sat down despairingly, all was now quiet and the sun was beginning to rise over the marsh as I made my way back to the villa. Discussing events with Paco the next evening in the bar, he suggested that the creature may have been a fish the locals call a “Yop”, which is apparently a large catfish type specie that inhabits marshlands and brackish waters in the region, but I’m not really sure? Apart from the mullet, the eels, a few carp and numerous Spanish species, I have never experienced anything with the same raw fighting power since my encounters with the Marsh Predator, it was indeed a fish at all, sweet dreams.

CONFFESIONS OF A LONG DISTANT CARP ANGLER

PART 3

TRAVELS ABROAD.

THE MONK

A number of years ago I had a few spare weeks in which to holiday. For my sins, I’m also a casual wedding photographer, and business on that side was a little slow. Wifey number 3 was pushing for a couple of months out at her sisters on Majorca, while I fancied a few trips to more distant parts of the globe. To keep the little lady happy however, we had the usual two-week in Spain, but for latter part of the year, I managed to book at couple of weeks, first in Bulgaria and later in Cyprus. Having read of Andy Littles adventures in Bulgaria, we flew out to Bourgas to tackle the waters in question, this was however a family holiday, so it was a case of hiding as much tackle as possible, in every conceivable areas of luggage. The two telescopic rods I could carry in an extra tripod case, reels were hidden in my photographic bags, buzzers, bite indicators and bait stored away in the suitcases, and the rod pod fit neatly into the hand luggage. We arrived at Bourgas airport late on the Friday evening and were transferred to a coach, which took us North up the Black Sea coast to a resort called Slachen Briag. The hotel looked like something from a Michael Cane movie, typical of a communist regime, with long low corridors, dim lighting and lots of uniform doorways, while the staff was definitely KGB. The following morning I managed to get up before the wife and escaped into the area behind the hotel in search of water, and within the hour I had found some. I found two beautiful lakes that a local farmer informed me were inhabited with 20KG carp, wow, I couldn’t wait to get back to the hotel and get my gear out (unfortunately the wife had an headache, so I got the fishing tackle out instead). Having been granted permission from dearly beloved, I was allowed every third day to fish these fine and enchanting waters.

To arrive at the lakes, these by the way were old mineral extraction quarries, meant that I had to walk over around a mile of scrub land and climb over some very dodgy hills, to gain access, to arrive at the second pit required crossing a fallen pylon on hands and knees and being careful not to fall off, as it was quite high. I persevered however and managed to blank on every visit. As if the blanks were not enough, on my second trip out, I felt like an hammering sensation against my ankle and noted two small holes in my foot, looking down into the thick grass, I just managed to catch sight of what appeared to be a Balkan Viper making a quick escape, I had been bitten by a bloody snake, which resulted in an afternoon in the medical centre trying to communicate with a Bulgaria doctor. On another occasion I arrived at the main pit just before first light and set up the rods in one of the few available areas between the beds of rushes. Just as the distant light was breaking over the hills, I heard the sound of stampeding animals to my rear, turning round I came face to face with an heard of stampeding boar, grabbing the tackle in a total state of panic I dived to one side of the clearing and the boar dived into the water in front of me, followed by a local farmer who was taking these hairy little pigs for a drink. The rest of the holiday was relatively quiet; apart from getting chased by the Bulgarian railway police in Verna for taking photographs were apparently I shouldn’t have?

August finally arrived, and we flew into Pafos Airport on the beautiful island of Cyprus, the hotel was situated further along the coast in a town called Limosol and it didn’t take me long to suss out the nearest water which contained carp. I found a dam called Germinosiga, which was situated 7kms up in the hills at the back of the hotel. Carp fishing trips were available from the town, but they proved to be extortionately expensive. I had been again granted permission by dear beloved, to fish on every third day, so armed with number one son, we set out on a mission to find some bait. In Limosol we found a corn suppliers, who supplied us with around one ton of maze, the maze had to be micro waved back at the hotel, but within days we managed to prepare the lots of the stuff (and create an unusual smell throughout the hotel). The next day the little hire car was weighted down to the axels with bait and the trip up the mountains was attempted. We baited four swims every day over the next three days, and on the morning when we arrived to fish; all four swims were alive with carp. Fishing float method we absolutely battered the carp, it was a carp a cast, unfortunately we couldn’t get into the big ones, but what the hell, and this was a holiday. We also took along a few lures and caught lots of bass. Strange fish bass, you can hook one; drop it off on the way to the bank, recast, and hook the same fish again. The water in the dam however was quite low, and basically it was like sitting in a frying pan sizzling in the Middle Eastern sun. No problems with the fishing then, but I did have other problems. Being a keen photographer I couldn’t resist a few shots inside the Dead Zone at Nicosia, Climbing through a bomb hole in the side of a building I was surprised to find out that I had been followed. Sadly I had my collar felt by the military and got in serious trouble from the wife. Another mission I had while on the Island was to find and photograph a wild Mouflon for one of the University Professors back home, he had an unnatural obsession for sheep, I managed to track one of these beastie down in the Pafos forest, failed to get a photograph, and managed to get lost on the forest tracks, arriving back at the hotel the following day, needless to say I was kept on a short lease for the rest of the holiday by dear beloved, but Cyprus however had been good for me. It is however sad that the Island has been split since the Turkish invasion of 1974, Nicosia is the last divided city in the world. On one of my sorties, I crossed the border into Northern Cyprus at the Famugusta Gate and found both the Turkish and Greek Cypriots very friendly people indeed, and I do hope they eventually sort out their problems and unify this absolutely beautiful island.

Family holiday are all right of course, and in the periods of your life when you are married, you must give the little lady some time. It is great however great to get away with the lads, especially to some exotic countries were time allows you solely to fish. One of my most favourite places has got to be France, this is a lovely unexplored country and within driving time of Britain. I envy the guys who live in the South of England (that’s South of Stockport), who can Channel hop and be over there in no time at all. I have visited France however on a few occasions and will deal with this in a future piece. I was fortunate to visit the USA a few years ago and it was a great privilege to fish for truly wild fish. The St Lawrence was the venue, and although the carp don’t appear to be as large as the European fish, fight wise, they certainly make up for it. The St Laurence is an interesting river and varies considerably over its length. Two main problems however, we found while fishing for St Lawrence carp, the first one is the zebra mussels, zebras are small mussels with razor sharp edges, you find them attached to most of the weed species in the St Laurence and they damage your lines considerable and account for a lot of lost fish. The other major problem is that of rocks, the river contains lots of big sharp rocks, which additionally increase the changes of lost of fish. Carp in the USA are considered in a lot of areas to be vermin, as many of the American anglers are sports fish orientated. In this particular area they were organising annual cross bow matches specifically to shoot the carp and we found examples of this in some of the fish we caught. While fishing for carp on the St Laurence, I have had it suggested that freelining could increase the amount of takes into fish put onto the bank, however I have never really felt comfortable about freelining, even in the days when it was an accepted method. We did however, find that by increasing the braid strength from 50 to 80lbs B/S, our results significantly improved, and the increased strengths didn’t appear to significantly decrease the amount of takes we were getting. It was a case of hitting the takes hard and pulling the fish to the surface as soon as possible, once the carp dived into the weed or rocks, then that was it and you had lost him. I would therefore suggest any visiting anglers to the St Laurence, particularly along the Canadian border regions, to arm themselves with plenty of high B/S braid. The majority of carp on the St Laurence are virgin fish, in that it is unlikely they have been caught before, although obviously this situation is changing with visiting anglers becoming more frequent. It’s certainly worth a trip though!

Thanks Monkey lad, but what did you catch in majorca?
What was the access like? Licence situation etc?

I caught Yop (funny catfish type things, loads of mullell, eels and two more varieties like bream with yellow stripes on, plus a specie like a perch with white stripes laterally. No license, or at least I could never get any information about one on Majorca and no one bothered me over about 6 years fishing there. Access was very good, you can folow the canal system all over the area, it even runs through the streets in places

Could be a goer, does this system run all over the island mate?

no just in the north mate, Lake Esperanza is a lovely place, the canals away from the villas run east from the lake. Plenty of hotels around PTO Alcudia, Leg a monte area, Belle Vue apartments, Saturno, Mars Jupiter complex, ca`nt picafort etc, plus loads of German and Swedish ruffe slappers, you`ll love it mate!

Sorry for not coming back sooner Eddie.
For the Cataluna area of Spain (which includes the Costa Brava) you will need a licence that is only available from the Generaliatat de Cataluna office in Girona As most hoteliers or members of their staff regularly visit the city I would suggest that you contact the manager of your hotel a few weeks prior to your visit and ask them if they can obtain one for you. You will need to fax them a copy of your passport as the licence cannot be issued without ID. The owner of the Santa Anna hotel always had ours ready for us when we arrived and I know a few other hotels in Estartit did the same for anglers staying with them.
A word of warning though. Never go fishing without your licence or your passport otherwise you could find yourself banged up in the nick until they're produced. It's not only the Generalitat baillif that can ask to see your licence but also the local police and the Guarda Civil.
Obtaining a licence might sound a bit daunting but once you have it you will find that the fishing is fantastic and weel worth the effort.