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One of my most recounted moments from the event on Lac Amance in 2001 has often caused peels of laughter whenever I tell the tale. 

My partner for the competition, a (much younger, then) friend named Danny and I, had drawn the swim next to the heavily forested nature reserve at the remote end of a very long bay.  On our first night in the swim, a night which was set aside to bait up without fishing, we settled down in our respective bivvies as darkness fell. 

No sooner had the last rays of the sun been consumed by the darkness, than the sounds of the resident wildlife began to reverberate around the forest.  Boar could be heard not too far away, but something else, something sounding far more sinister, echoed through the night air.  Instantly, being familiar with such things, I recognised exactly what the creatures were that were making these sounds, they were huge deer, but my young, and dare I say, naïve, friend had never before heard their deep, gruff bellows. The 'Bear' of Amance!

When Dan asked “what the hell is that?”, being a self-confessed fan for relentless teasing of the unwary, offering my summation, I informed him that the said creatures were bears, but he shouldn’t worry too much as they only very rarely attacked anyone.  His reaction was classic, a mixture of shock and disbelief… he really didn’t want to believe what he was hearing - either my words, or the ‘bear-calls’ - but it was too late, he had revealed a weakness that I could now exploit!     

Dan, bless him, quipped “they don’t have wild bears in France, do they?” and his eyes flickered as he searched the archives of his mind for absent information.  Mischievously, with a dead-pan face and chastising tone to my voice, I confirmed his worst fears “of course they do, you idiot, didn’t you read about the case of an angler being mauled by one only a few months back?” 

Being a good deal older in situations such as these is sometimes an unfair advantage, as it’s hard to dismiss the information from a more life-experienced person, especially if their words are spoken convincingly!  Poor guy, he had no choice but to reluctantly believe me. 

That night the ‘bears’ - which unbeknown to Dan were in fact huge deer - were very active.  Although, as they were some distance off, deep in the forest, Dan eventually settled, this, despite being visually disturbed that he might be eaten in his sleep by some ferocious foraging beast!  Every now and then, as if seeking assurance, Dan would make comments like “Did you hear that one? – that sounded close!” to which I would offer words of comfort, like “don’t worry mate, he’ll never come into your bivvy, your trainers stink too much!” 

The poor lad, he really was quite nervous.  I was beginning to feel quite guilty for teasing him, but, as yet, not quite guilty enough to tell him the truth! In the cool light of day, it was a very dreary-eyed Dan who hauled his weary bones from the bivvy as the competition got underway at 9AM.  I almost confessed at that point, as I was finding it very difficult to keep a straight face, but I resisted and as the day progressed we both forgot about the matter.  That is, until the onset of darkness loomed once more. 

The wildlife had now become bolder and more accustomed to our presence, and deep into the night something occurred that leaves a vivid memory with me, and certainly Dan, until this very day. Earlier that day, we had been required to wade out into the knee-deep mud to get those few-extra vital yards to get the particle out to where we wanted it, and there was a good deal of spillage from the spods. 

For hours we had been spodding particles out to our marks.  That night, totally oblivious to the family of wild boar feasting on this spod-spill, I was sound asleep in my bivvy when something, which I now presume to have been the boars snuffling around, woke me with a start. I sat bolt upright, as it startled me, and in doing so I must have spooked Mr & Mrs Boar and their large tribe of youngsters. 

Total carnage prevailed, and with the piglets squealing, the adults emitting noises like a herd of panic stricken zebra being chased by a pack of marauding lionesses, and a totally involuntary startled shout from me, all hell broke loose.  The boar raced away taking out my lines and with my buzzers screaming amid this horrific cacophony of noise Dan was finally woken!   The poor sod didn’t have a Scooby-doo (clue) what was happening. 

His first thoughts were, quite obviously, that a rampaging bear was attacking me, and was busily ripping my flesh from its bones… and as a result, his terrified, ear-drum-bursting, high-pitched screams, on still nights, can still be heard reverberating around the Foret D’Orient to this day! 

The resulting scene was hilarious, and we both had copious tears running down our cheeks, mine from hysterical laughter, and Dan’s being more of a mixture of laughter and shock - Dear oh deer, what an experience that was! Ultimately, although we blanked, it certainly left us feeling that yes, indeed, the World Carp Classic had been ‘worth it’.   

I can only speak from personal experience here, but I’m sure that what I took from it - the sheer excitement of the occasion, the memories and newly-forged friendships, the exhilaration and pride (yes pride, in the fact that I’d had the courage to rise to the challenge) – far outweighed anything that I could ever put in.   

In fact, such was the magnitude of the experience that I just couldn’t wait to repeat it... oddly Dan has never revisited Amance... I wonder, hmm!

Steve Howard, Editor of Carp Addict Magazine