Penny Black

Who remembers Jim Baines? Jim, the author for a German fishing magazine, who many years ago has published these wonderful articles on carp fishing. With his contributions, Jim has led the introduction of modern carping into continental Europe. Until suddenly, Jim died. Died while fishing on his home water on a frosty night in March.

Let me tell you how I have met Jim. It might sound unreal - however, it is true from start to finish. At times, truth is the strangest of all tales.

Every carp fisher has his own story about how he got to this admittedly bizarre hobby. My story is Jim. Without his publications, I would have never got hooked. How delighted was I when I finally succeeded in establishing personal contact with Jim! I had sent him a long letter, criticizing some of his rigs, and then I just called him. We had a telephone conversation that lasted several hours. This was the first occasion where I heard about this fish, about Penny Black. Jim told about a giant carp, a fish that he had hunted for many years without success. A fish that since long had fascinated him. Seen he had him many times, and because of a little black spot of the size of a penny on one of the fish’s flanks, he had given this carp the name of Penny Black.

As we chatted that night on the telephone about carp lost in battle and carp caught in dreams, as our conversation took the course so typical for tales from field and stream, an incredible idea sprung up: We would catch Penny Black together! We planned a joint fishing trip to his home lake for May of the same year.

A few weeks later in his regular column, Jim wrote about the comments from my letter. As was soon to be found out, this was the last contribution to the paper Jim would ever make: Soon thereafter, I received the news that Jim was dead. He died while hunting Penny Black one lonely winter night. When he was found in the morning he had fished alone one of his rods lay beside the rod pod. Apparently, Jim had had a take in the middle of the night. The resulting rush of adrenaline induced an asthma attack that Jim did not survive.

It was hard to believe what had happened. Jim left behind a wife and two young children. Also my own carp fishing went astray in the ensuing months. I spent a year overseas and did not return to Germany and carp fishing until the summer of the following year. Unsure about where to pick up fishing again, I decided to start the first session at Jim’s old home water, a venue I had never fished before.

We fished three days and two nights. On the last day - I was still blanking - my buddy Noar came over. Noar had fished on the opposite bank and had already packed up. The only thing that kept me from doing the same was our wonderful conversation about the countless fishing trips that we had shared in the past. While reminiscing days long gone, in this last hour of my session, it happened: I had a run on my right hand rod. A carp had found my bait, somewhere down in the dark where it had been laying for more than a day in over 50 feet of water. After I struck, it was immediately clear that this was one of the very big! On and on the carp tried to escape into the nearby reeds, and only with extraordinary effort could I keep him from getting lost. Several times during the fight the fish turned on his head and opened his gigantic tail fin above the surface - a sight that almost made me collapse of excitement!

After more than half an hour, we were able to draw the fish closer to the net. In a last hoist, I pulled the carp into the meshes. My first carp after a fishless year: A beast, a giant! Together, we carried the fish to the unhooking mat, where we lifted him out of the net. Then, turning him on the side, suddenly time stood still. A cold shiver ran down my spine. Right on the fish’s flank, there was a green-blackish, soft and penny-sized spot! In front of me lay Penny Black, the fish that Jim had never caught.

Very carefully, we measured the carp and took a couple of photographs. It was a carp of terrific length, a majestic creature. A true king of the water.

Very soon, it was time to bid farewell to Penny Black. The fish in my arms, I waded a few steps into the lake. Slowly, I lowered his heavy body into the warm water. A last look on the catch of my dreams: I stroke his broad, green head while his fins shoveled calmly in the water. Then I lowered him deeper, and deeper, until he slowly swam away. Silently, Penny Black returned to his realm of depth and darkness. After a while, I returned to my camp. It was strange: The scenery had taken no notice of the event; everything was as before. And yet, nothing was the same: Penny Black had been beaten, and I had found what I had been looking for during those endless and solitary nights by the water.

This carp was almost one and a half times bigger than my biggest fish before. But it is not the size that makes this catch memorable: The heart of a true fisherman measures with more than pounds and ounces. I have caught this fish for Jim. Catching Penny Black was a dream I fulfilled not for me but for him. This catch was the due return to my master who fulfilled my dream to become a carp fisher.