A Case for Carp: A Gentleman’s Fish

To carp, i.e. “to chatter”, is a verb that originated during the late middle ages, likely from late Latin carpa, meaning “to pluck at,” or “to slander”. A fitting name for the fish, considering that my fellow MG Anglers had some not-so-charitable words for me when I informed them earlier this week that I’d be going Carp fishing.

Many in the Americas consider carp to be the trashiest of trash fish, and there’s plenty of reason to think so. They reportedly taste like gruel, with a meat that’s described as mushy, morose and bitter by those foolish enough to taste of that forbidden fruit. There are zero carp species that are native to the USA, and certain species are considered highly invasive in certain bodies of water, like the Mississippi River. There are even bounties in some states for dispatching carp, and if they are caught it’s often illegal to release them back into the wild. Carp are slimy, bottom dwelling, and the typical bait of choice is either bread, corn or some combination of the two. Hardly exciting.

Why, then, are Carp so prized in other parts of the world? European Carp fishing is particularly perplexing, because Carp aren’t really native across the pond either. Yet, the “Euro Style” of Carp fishing drives a multimillion dollar enterprise in Europe, with specialized rods, reels, bait recipes, and even rod holders that buzz and light up at the slightest twitch of the bait. The American Carp Society claims there to be approximately 8-20 thousand Carp anglers in America, out of over 44 million American generalist anglers, a shocking disparity. Why is there such a mania for Carp in Europe, but Americans pay the fish no mind? I was dead-set on finding out (and really wanted those 2 points in the Community Classic, too).

My first observation was that Carp fishing is quite accessible, even in the Boston suburbs where I live. The Charles and Mystic rivers, which intersect near the heart of Boston, host a thriving Carp fishery. These fish are widely considered to be naturalized, which means that they were originally introduced into the waterway, but don’t cause any obvious harm to native species, even hundreds of years after their introduction. They were probably transplanted here as a food source in the 1700s or early 1800s, so there’s plenty of data to show that they pose no obvious harm to the environment. I’ve seen plenty of Carp in the Mystic, tailing in a foot of water like bonefish, only quite a bit stockier. I knew where they were, I just needed to put a bit of time into fishing for them.

After work on Wednesday, I ran out to my local Stop-n-Shop and picked up a can of Goya brand canned corn. Apparently the canned stuff works better than cobbed corn, because it’s often soaking in sugary/salty water. Carp have an excellent sense of smell, I guess, so chumming the water is often a must in order to attract cruising fish. With my 7 foot striper rod and canned corn in hand, I trotted down to the spot I’d seen Carp before, scooped a few handfuls of corn out of the can, and threw them out in a wide arc along the riverbed. I then baited a size 8 hook with 3 or 4 kernels, chucked it just out beyond my chum line, flipped the bail and set it down on a modified rod holder that I found near the bank of the river.

What luck! A rod holder!

I then sat and waited. Minutes turned to hours as the afternoon slipped by. A lone mallard kept me company, probably entirely unaware that mallard flank is my favorite fly tying material. River herring flipped in the center of the river every minute or two, the only sign of life I’d seen so far. Birds chirped, car horns blared, police sirens wailed and car horns blared again as the minutes ticked on. I threw out some more corn, then in frustration I launched the majority of the can out in a pile a few feet from the bank. After about two and a half hours I was ready to pack it in, defeated. I rose and began to reel in my line, when a huge swirl emanated from the water near my bait. I froze and stopped my retrieve, letting my bait glide back down to the bottom. Just then, I noticed a dark shadow at the center of the pile of corn I’d left at my feet - in only about a foot of water. It was a nice sized carp, a different one to the one I’d just spooked.

It was really going to town on that shit!

Not wanting to spook this second fish, I left my bait where it was, a good 10 feet from the center of the corn slick. I watched the carp as it ate - even the slightest twitch of my line or leaf landing on the water would send it away, only for it to come back to eat a minute or two later. I let it do its thing and waited, since I knew that it’d eventually make it out to my bait. Finally, it did - I saw my line get yanked and I set immediately.

The fish took off on a powerful initial run and made it almost to the midpoint of the river before I was able to horse it in. The Carp had no interest in giving up, although once it was a foot away from the bank I was able to net it with my trout net. I took a quick measurement - 24 inches, maybe a 9 lber - and got it quickly back into the water unscathed. Almost immediately, a second carp started gulping down on the center of the corn slick. When it moved to the far end, I took my weight off and was able to gingerly lower my bait down onto the slick, only a few feet from the bank. I watched the carp inhale my bait, and it took off like the first with a strong hook set. Sight casting on carp might be my new favorite pastime.

Shit photo, nice fish!

Ultimately, I found that Carp fishing is, in no particular order: shockingly easy to get into, cheap, accessible to loads of anglers living in urban/suburban areas. Carp are plentiful and grow huge, and they fight like hell. Maybe those Euro guys have the right idea. So here I sit, still perplexed as to why fishermen in America have such strong negative opinions about them. I’d encourage anyone to at least give it a try; it’s always exciting to catch big fish, at the very least.

There’s actually a second possible etymology for the word carp. The Latin term was likely influenced by, or perhaps blended with, Old Norse karpa. The word means, quite literally, “to brag”. I certainly had a great time bragging to the MG Anglers crew after my success, and although they might still not appreciate the fish, I hope I can change their minds in the future.