This is a story about my friend David. I know lots of Davids but only one could have possibly carried off the events that I am about to recall. David is a man who cuts an imposing figure. Around 6ft 5ins tall planted to the ground with size 14 feet, he has the look of a slightly mad professor, 5Oish, a bit stooped, bald on top but with long unruly hair around the back and sides. A bit of a rambler is our David. the words come out of him with the boom of a cannon and the speed of a machine gun. In short, he appears sometimes not to have quite got both oars in the water!

David is an avid angler and we had provisionally agreed to share a session for some time. Finally, we set it up, a short summer evening carp fishing session on a tranquil mature lake. We arranged to meet at the lake at 6pm. Knowing that we had only a few short hours. I decided to travel light with just one rod, landing net, small rucksack and a bucket of bait.

Having taken all of five minutes to set up and get ready for a roving session, I was intrigued by David's approach. I never knew you could get so much in a Peugeot 306! First, out came a trolley, followed by an enormous holdall surely carrying not less than six rods, then a gigantic seat box, a chair and finally, a simply gargantuan canvas bag impossibly cluttered with reels, rod rests, bait and an array of bits and pieces. All this was loaded and strapped to the trolley until it was piled high and looked incredibly heavy. It made me feel knackered to just to look at it all, it was after all a very warm sticky evening.

David decided to head for a peninsula, which involved a short trek down a narrow path hidden by trees. As he disappeared into the undergrowth dragging the laden trolley behind him it sounded like one of those movies where a dinosaur rampages through the forest parting the foliage as it goes! Suddenly there was an enormous crash coupled with a guttural roar of pain. David had lost his balance on an uneven bit of ground and the sheer weight of the trolley had brought him down. The combined weight of angler and tackle must have been at least 3001b. You couldn't see it but by god you could hear it! Nevertheless, he obviously picked himself up, dusted himself down and suddenly appeared like an apparition on the peninsula, hands on hip in the style of a stressed out Reggie Perrin and sweating profusely.

By this time 1 had made my way to the opposite side of the lake and was just sitting and watching the water. However, I was distracted by the sheer fascination of watching David tackle up at a distance. I don't ever recall seeing so much chaos, rod rests stuck in the ground everywhere and a multitude of rods leaning precariously on the branches of trees. lines gracefully intertwined. Eventually, he was ready. After casting out. he commenced catapulting floating dog biscuits onto the surface in the hope of getting the carp feeding on top.

Now David obviously comes from the Bomber Harris school of ground baiting, putting out enough biscuits to keep a pack of fox hounds occupied for several hours.

This had a dramatic effect on the local wildlife. I have never fully appreciated the sheer quantity and variety of bird life on a summer lake until that point in time. They came in their hundreds. moorhens, coots, mallards, you name it, charging onto the scene like a wave of pestilence. For a while, little of significance seemed to be happening, it was just David, his tackle and about 200 water birds. Then, huge splashes started to appear in his swim. From a distance I thought they might be signs of carp feeding so I decided to walk round and see what was going on.

Actually, David had got fed up with the birds eating his bait and swimming into his lines so he was tiring lumps of mud at them with his catapult. As yet another huge lump of mud landed with suitable displacement. he said with some surprise 1 haven't had any bites yet"!!! At that point. I examined his set up. He was using surface baits but not for David the traditional delicate approach using a free line or float controller rig. No, David was using "beach casting" rigs where each rod was propped high in the air with the baits anchored in position via 2oz weights!

Frankly, I didn't know what to say. I was fighting back the laughter as it was a scene of utter carnage, the strewn tackle, rods perched high, masses of birds, the water surface littered with bait and the rhythmic sounds of mud hitting the water. Then the inevitable happened. a coot rolled gracefully over one of the lines, went for the bait and got the hook caught in its leg ring. The rod tip plunged, the reel screamed, and the fight was on.

David stood braced, his rod arched against the fading light. The coot fought furiously and at the height of the battle, David turned and announced triumphantly "1 caught a goose last week"!!! Well that just about finished me off. We unhooked the rather bedraggled coot and let it go, none the worse for wear, although it did at least manage to peck a few lumps out of David's hand for good measure.

At this point. David mercifully decided that it was time to go home. I left him to tackle down and said that I would meet him back at the car. While waiting, I saw him once again load up his trolley and disappear into the undergrowth. Crash, bang, wallop, it was a repeat performance as. tragically, he hit the same rut as on arrival and went down again. However, he made it back to the car relatively unscathed and took an absolute age dismantling the laden trolley and loading all the gear back into the car.

David climbed into the car, started the engine and, just before powering off wound down the window and said, "that was a bloody good evening, I really enjoyed it. We must do it again sometime". Yeah right!