Equilibrium

I’m one of those who believe that life is all about balance.

Every situation has its opposite, and it’s precisely because one exists that the other can.

My relationship with fishing has endured over the years thanks to this constant balance between one world and another.

Whether it’s the waters I fish, the approaches I take, the seasons, or even the time I dedicate to each session, I need change.

At a very young age, I realized that practicing something too intensively—even something you love—inevitably leads to a loss of intensity.

That subtle routine that slowly settles in tends to chip away at my pleasure, my attention, and my sense of wonder.

It’s a formidable trap, and one I’ve had to develop strategies to avoid falling into.

For a curious carp angler, boredom is relatively easy to push back, given how many different ways there are to approach the craft.

"The Rhône Expérience"

Personally, most of my sessions revolve around large, wild, open waters.

The main reason is simple: the bigger the playground, the easier it is for my mind to drift away.

I fish for many reasons, but mental escape is certainly number one.

It’s my pressure valve. A kind of miracle pill that lets me step away, for a moment, from the harshness of the modern world.

Even though big waters move me the most, I’m lucky to have kept my childlike imagination, which means that, overall, no body of water leaves me indifferent.

I can invest just as much energy into a small canal as I would into a 5,000-hectare lake—and as I hinted earlier, I need both to appreciate each other. They go hand in hand. It’s my way of flirting with what we call balance.

Whatever the nature of the venue, one of the most important aspects revolves around mystery.

As a result, gathering information is something I deliberately remove from the equation right from the start.

Simply put: the less I know, the more I dream—and the more I dream, the more I enjoy it.

Big and "unknown", this is my favorite cocktail.

This approach gives me the opportunity to feel less affected by the growing number of anglers along the banks.

Like blinkers on a horse to keep it focused on what lies ahead, I try to stay centered on what truly matters to me, protecting myself as much as possible from others—and especially from their impact on the environment.

It’s just one way of seeing things, of course—flexible and ever-evolving—but it helps me maintain a more personal connection with every water I fish.

Nowadays, in France, the types of waters that best preserve this sense of mystery are large lakes and rivers, simply because of their vastness.

On the other hand, the smallest, most intimate waters—often overlooked—also hold something fascinating and can make my mind race just as much.

How long has it been since a carp angler last cast a line into that stream?

What could be hiding in that forgotten canal?

Are there carp in that small pond deep in the forest?

The unknown adds a unique flavor to any situation. I’m clearly addicted to it—and fortunately, it’s not too hard to keep it alive.

Small, medium, or big waters—it doesn’t matter, as long as the stock is clean.

For a long time, my favorite combination in France was those rare waters that were still hidden and/or difficult to access…

But let’s be realistic: since the widespread use of satellite imagery as a primary scouting tool, that “species” is now on the brink of extinction.

That was probably one of the reasons that pushed me to cross borders in search of new mysteries—but I won’t go down that road this time.

I say it often: in France today, even if you try to “protect” yourself from information in order to build a more intimate relationship with a body of water, it tends to catch up with you much faster than expected.

Be careful about telling other anglers where you plan to fish—you might end up facing a flood of information, more or less accurate, and more or less welcome.

Try not to be too affected by what you observe on the bank.

To be honest, that’s something I still struggle with.

When approaching a new water, one of the keys to progressing quickly is to stay highly observant.

And once your senses are sharpened, it becomes quite easy to spot signs of carp anglers—cleared swims, broken branches, flattened grass, leftover baiting spots, and so on.

These signs clearly indicate regular pressure and the likelihood of encountering fish that already bear the marks of previous captures.

It’s something that gives me goosebumps—but it’s also a reality I have to accept, unless I want to stop fishing in my own country. Because yes, truly “untouched” waters are now almost nonexistent.

The evolution has to come from within, otherwise you risk getting stuck in a deeply destructive nostalgic mindset.

The illusion is still possible—but only fleeting.

I’ve come across waters where nothing (or almost nothing) suggested that carp anglers had ever been there. And yet, from the very first captures, it became obvious that those fish had already been caught far too many times.

Crossing boundaries to awaken dreams once lost?

As disappointing as that may be, it’s no longer a reason to give up—because things are changing.

Over the past decade, the evolution of fish stocks has honestly amazed me.

The abundance of natural food, combined with milder winters, supports long-term regeneration.

Water quality has slightly improved compared to readings from many rivers since the 1980s.

Quality stocking efforts are gradually spreading, paving the way for a promising future for anglers.

And finally, a slow but steady shift in awareness is bringing back a sense of hope where I had almost lost it.

Fish populations are constantly evolving—they are “healing” faster and faster, and there are many examples of this.

Far be it from me to fuel selfish behavior by giving easy excuses to those who might double down on overexploiting certain waters—but I have to acknowledge that nature has an incredible ability to recover.

Healing in progress…

I used to believe some truths were unshakable.

I once said: “This lake is dead.” Dead, yes… until it was reborn.

Nothing is ever final, and every setback should serve as a lesson.

Even a slight adjustment in our behavior could drastically change things.Now is the time to be attentive—because it’s through awareness, responsibility, and care that we

can get closer to that elusive balance.

This shift in awareness can be seen every day, in small details, both online and on the bank.

Of course, there are still far too many meaningless actions driven by individualism and

overconsumption—but amidst all of that, small gestures with big consequences are growing, feeding the fire of hope.

Pointing out problems is good. Debating them is even better… The next step is to take action.

Yet I still see far too many pointless debates on issues that call for real, concrete action.

Despite a rich exchange of ideas, it too often ends in nothing more than shallow, subjective criticism of others.

Many people forget that just because we haven’t found a solution yet doesn’t mean one doesn’t exist.

ADAPTATION

Whatever the subject, whatever the situation, the world needs positive momentum.

We all need positivity—and like many things, it must be cultivated through thoughts, actions, and words.

Every situation carries its share of positivity… you just have to make the effort to see it.

I was among the first to criticize the herd mentality so present in the carp world—

this tendency to all go to the same spots, replicate the same approaches, envy others, and try to reproduce their success to briefly claim it as your own.

There’s nothing particularly appealing about that trend.

Yet, if you look at it more closely, it becomes obvious that a crowd—like a swarm of flies on a single cake—cannot be on every cake at once.

From a purely mathematical point of view, I might be tempted to wish for a more even distribution of anglers across all waters.

But in reality, I struggle to believe that this is a true solution—because the “answer” always seems to lie just beyond the line.

While the carp fishing crowd puts heavy pressure on certain fish populations, others are out there living their best lives.

Fortunately, fish adapt their behavior much faster than we tend to believe, and once again, nature finds ways to outsmart human traps.

As reassuring as this may be, it’s not enough to restore balance. But the idea put forward here is that something positive can be drawn from every situation. And while waiting for a better world, we can always try to shape its blueprint.

No better than anyone else...

Stepping out of your comfort zone means adopting a different perspective on the bigger picture and opening the door to new perceptions. It’s about embracing the unknown, discovering your ability to adapt to the unexpected, and nurturing the hope of brushing up against what we call balance.

Soël