So much of life seems to be about a pretty bland level of comfort and security these days. In fact, if you listen to the news or get sucker-punched by advertising, that is almost all that is seemingly on offer. Sanitised experiences; Just Eat, Netflix, Costa, Sky … live your best life through Instagram, but settle for mediocrity and homogenisation in reality. ‘Treat yourself, you deserve it’ the adverts bleat on, but sitting down in Extremadura with Samir, life couldn’t have felt any further away from that.
It was near midnight by the time we rolled the tape, on the last evening of a 12-night filming trip, both exhausted, sleep deprived and beaten. Six nights on Orellana, three swims, 45 kilometres of moves and just one carp to show for our efforts, but the biggest smiles still. ‘There’s no sad faces here,’ I’d said to Samir on that last morning, when we woke up and realised it hadn’t happened again and we didn’t have one last redemptive bite with which to close the film. How could you possibly have a sad face, surrounded by huge purple and pink tinged skies, mountains, olive groves and 14,000 acres of crystalline pure water, full of pristine, mainly uncaught carp.
Back in the February of 2019, we were in the Pyrenees, daydreaming and trying to figure out ways to fund lives on the road, lives full of experience, led by the seasons and a different set of values. Three years (and a global pandemic) later, that is exactly the life Samir is living. To me, it felt like a huge leap of faith, and in many ways it was, trading in 25 years of experience in a vehicle bodyshop and the solid, profitable business he owned, for a life lived on wit and determination and the whims of the fickle carp media game. From an outside perspective, it can seem like an easy life, making a living from fishing, but the reality is anything but. The reality for Samir is a beautiful one, and in some ways an idyll, but it is a rough, raw, hard-earned idyll, a million miles away from the shiny pre-packaged ones sold to you back home with an extra insurance add-on. We rolled the tape, and I tried to dig some cohesive questions out of my addled head.
The first thing I asked was when he had first considered the possibilities of making a living from carp fishing. He batted me off with some deeply cemented motivations prior to even considering that.
‘It sounds pretty cliché, but it was just about following my dreams. The main motivation for me leaving was my mum dying, quite suddenly and tragically from a horrible illness. For years, Mum and Dad had been planning this big round-the-world cruise for their retirement, and she died just three months before they were due to leave. That set my mind in motion; you work, you save for retirement, you invest, plan a pension, all the traditional ways of western living, but the reality is – you might not even make it.’
Until the spring of 2020, Samir had a successful bodyshop business, having been self-employed in the motor trade since 1997. Business was strong, and profitable, but that belied the reality.
‘It was a solid business, you know. Back then, I could buy whatever I wanted; nice clothes, cars, restaurant dinners, whatever, but I was fucking miserable. I was dealing with customers every day, insurance companies squeezing every last penny out, the tax-man knocking at the door, managing staff … the constant stress of working ‘key-to-key’ times and meeting strict deadlines, but I had money and that was the trade-off. When Mum died, I realised, you can’t take your money or your possessions with you. I might save up for this or that, but tomorrow won’t always come, and if I wanted to do anything, I’d better do it now.’
'When Mum died, I realised, you can’t take your money or your possessions with you. I might save up for this or that, but tomorrow won’t always come, and if I wanted to do anything, I’d better do it now'
The European adventures started back in 2014 for Samir, and the following year his first trip to the proving grounds of Du Der flicked a switch for him.
‘Standing there on the shore of that vast lake, barely able to see the other side, changed the game for me. It took me back to being ten years old again. That’s the feeling I’ve been chasing my whole life’.
Trips to the likes of Du Der demand more than your average 48-hour session, especially when you live in Hastings, and finding a week a month for a trip, in the year before he left, really stacked up the time spent over the water. I asked how he managed to balance taking on that sort of fishing with a busy work schedule and commitments back home – the importance of having a reliable, trustworthy manager clearly paramount. I know from fishing with him during that time, that work was never far away, even when he was 800 miles south; spot-finding in the boat, 300 yards out, with a phone in one hand booking vehicles in, or finding parts and dealing with issues the lads back home couldn’t – and a bottle donking for spots in the other, and probably a drone overhead filming.
That vision still feels like a microcosm of the life balance that Samir has always rolled with.
‘I just like to get shit done, whatever it is, just do it. I’ve worked until 3am, painting cars, just to make the time for trips. I’ve slept in the workshop before now – whatever – skanking it out, covered in paint, just to make sure I had it ready for a customer at 9am. There’s no point sitting there crying about stuff. You’ve been fishing with me, you know how it is – stuff breaks, you fix it. Stuff goes wrong, you make it right. I think that’s a good mindset to have – you have to be flexible and adaptable, it is important in life.’
Truer words I have never heard, and a lot of us would do well to heed that on a daily basis.
Samir had a solid backing from Nash, but nothing close to what would provide a salary. Whilst tentatively making films as a way to preserve and archive his memories, testing the waters for the possibilities of earning from fishing, he started offering guided trips, and lads were queueing up for a slice of the adventure that they hadn’t been bold, or confident enough to consider doing solo – testament perhaps to the motivation Samir inspires in people. It all came as a welcome surprise though.
‘I didn’t think anyone would be interested. I wasn’t a videographer, I wasn’t trained, I just taught myself through YouTube, so it came as a shock when I realised that people were really enjoying it.’
It’s a strange set of skills; plate-spinning – filming on multiple cameras, with physical and logistically difficult fishing, and I don’t think anyone out there manages to do it better.
‘As you well know, nothing in angling pays as well as the real world, but the tuitions made the prospect viable, so I made a trailer, put it out there and the bookings flowed in. I ended up with a waiting list, and with a few income streams I could make it work, despite taking what equated roughly to a 65% pay cut! Way more importantly, I could find some happiness, so I decided to roll the dice.’
Samir is a ‘no fucks’ kind of guy, but I still asked if he was worried about taking that gamble. ‘Who wouldn’t be! Of course, I was, massively! The day I sold the business I thought, ‘What have I done? What the fuck have I done! Have I just taken my obsession for angling a step too far?’ I’d thrown away a career I’d worked for all my life, just to pursue a dream.’
It is a heavy life choice, no two ways about it, and it involved a hell of a lot of complications; houses, assets, selling classic car collections he’d built and put his heart and soul into, rental, contracts, legalities, staff, family … but testament to Samir’s belief in the true meaning of life, and chasing that at all costs, he made it, trading comfort and security, for a life on the road, on the eve of the pandemic and a global lockdown.
‘Imagine getting to 60 years old, still stuck doing the same shitty job you hate, and regretting it all. What if I’d done that? It’s too late then, it’s too late … The best years of your life are spent earning money for when you’re too old to enjoy it. It’s the way our society has been engineered; 14 hour days were no stranger to me, and finding more time to spend with my family was another major thing – it wasn’t just about the fishing. Brexit had already started to complicate things, and then Covid just brought a whole new level of issues along with it. My hand was forced early, but I’d rolled the dice already. I didn’t want to be tied to a place any more – I’d lived and worked in the same town all my life.’
'Imagine getting to 60 years old, still stuck doing the same shitty job you hate, and regretting it all. What if I’d done that? It’s too late then, it’s too late … The best years of your life are spent earning money for when you’re too old to enjoy it. It’s the way our society has been engineered'
It was always obvious to me that Samir values freedom and a sense of control over his life over anything else, which in the UK is quite hard to hang on to.
‘Once you are in Europe, you can travel wherever you like. It is all different, and so varied – France, Belgium, Spain, Germany, Austria, Poland … I’ve never been that guy who has enjoyed spending years on the same lake.’
The egalitarian nature of Europe’s public waters fitted perfectly into that transient way of life, and angling.
‘Once I’ve worked out how to catch them, I get bored, quite quickly. A couple of the good-uns is enough for me. I’ve never felt the need to stay somewhere, catch them all and ‘complete’ a lake. For me, chasing a fresh adventure is the way to keep my buzz alive, and going somewhere new is the best way I’ve found to do that.’
'A couple of the good-uns is enough for me. I’ve never felt the need to stay somewhere, catch them all and ‘complete’ a lake. For me, chasing a fresh adventure is the way to keep my buzz alive, and going somewhere new is the best way I’ve found to do that'
The plan was to leave at the end of April 2020, but spiralling Covid restrictions pushed things forward dramatically when France announced it was going into a national lockdown and borders would be closing.
‘Claire motivated me to pack faster! I wasn’t sure, to be honest. Heading into a global pandemic, everything suddenly felt so different. No one knew what was happening, how serious it was. We’d already signed a contract to rent our house in Hastings from April, and everything started to feel like it was falling apart. I spoke to Lolo, my French friend from the Nash team, and he said if I didn’t make it over within 24 hours, that would be it. So we packed the two vans, scrambled our lives together, and left. We didn’t have a plan – we didn’t even have anywhere to move into when we left.’
I couldn’t imagine a bolder life choice at that time, and you couldn’t write it – they caught the last train at Folkestone before the borders closed.
‘It was really strange. There was only one other vehicle on the Eurotunnel train. I’d never seen anything like it – it was eerily quiet.’
I asked how they’d felt, getting on the tunnel.
‘I felt good. Lots of people talk a good game, or dream of doing things, but we were actually doing it. I wasn’t fearful of the prospects, not at that point, not until things started to get bad anyway!’ (laughing)
We talked for a while about adaptability, in life, as well as fishing, and it was clear that Samir is adept at that, and it doesn’t faze him one bit. Within days of getting to Europe, restrictions tightened, incursions to the usual freedoms closed in, and it became obvious that ‘life as normal’ was no longer possible. Suddenly, the prospects of earning money from fishing, filming and travelling were no longer an option, nor were the guided trips – and the tenant back home couldn’t move in either.
‘Within three weeks of leaving, everything just started to fall apart. It was frightening in France as well, from a control point of view. I arrived at a supermarket one day to be greeted by two Gendarmerie carrying machine guns with perspex cartridges so the bullets were on show … checking people’s papers. It was so strange, so surreal. From a financial point of view, I’d sold a lot of assets, so I had savings, but I had to blaze through it. I had no income, but still had loads of outgoings; a mortgage back home, insurance for cameras, vehicles, rent on the new place, food, diesel … the costs soon stacked up.’
'I had savings, but I had to blaze through it. I had no income, but still had loads of outgoings; a mortgage back home, insurance for cameras, vehicles, rent on the new place, food, diesel … the costs soon stacked up'
There was no SEISS, no government support, everything was headed downhill very fast, and by the third month in lockdown, it was looking unlikely that the journey could continue. I asked what he’d have done if he’d had to go home.
‘I’ve no idea. I really don’t know, mate. I honestly thought I’d fucked it, though, having gone from a comfortable position, to being completely at a loss.’
Samir was no stranger to the hustle and he worked out a deal with Cypography, KWO and BV Media to start producing regular video content, and negotiated a new deal with Nash that would allow him to continue the journey, again in exchange for more regular film content. Even if the guided trips couldn’t continue due to the lack of cross-border travel, it was a way forward.
At that point, Samir had only made about half a dozen films, and by his own admission, was pretty green to it – in comparison to last year when he put out 14 – it was a steep, and brisk learning curve.
‘I’m happy to jump in at the deep end and learn to swim once I’m in. I over-committed initially, and everyone wanted a lot from me. I was green, and keen, but the brands could see the potential of the quality I could produce and bought into the story of the journey. I’m forever grateful to Nash, KWO and Cyp for supporting that, because without them, I’d have been back in England. It was a one-time gig, as well. I couldn’t have gone back and found the funds to go again – we just had to make it work first time.
‘Once the borders opened up again, I did have a few clients over, and it turned out to be the best year of my angling life. I caught more big’uns last year than I ever have; five around 60lbs, loads of 50s, and I lost count of the 40s. It was an amazing years fishing. Guiding the lads was a real buzz, too; teaching them new skills, opening their eyes to new places, showing them ways to catch carp they’d never dreamed of … everyone went home and bought a big water set-up! (laughing) It was amazing to share the buzz I’d had about these places, to instil that in them. That really put a smile on my face and I’m still in contact with all the lads now.’
'It was amazing to share the buzz I’d had about these places, to instil that in them. That really put a smile on my face and I’m still in contact with all the lads now'
Spending ten days with a complete stranger would be daunting enough for many, but it was just another thing that Samir took in his stride.
‘It’s hard work, no doubt. You’re on call 24 hours a day; every alarm was dialled into my receiver, I’d be out for every fish, in the boat for every fight, every rig drop, but I really enjoyed them all, and every guy was really cool.’
Time was ticking on the tuitions, though. New commitments and contracts didn’t allow the time to continue with them, and the pandemic was still ongoing, so it became an unviable prospect. With clients sometimes cancelling due to changes in restrictions or guidelines just the week before, it made sense to focus elsewhere. France was expensive, the winters cold, and with his eye always on Spain – for the cold months – and another lockdown looming, Samir and Claire made another bolt for freedom – with just three days’ warning before Spain closed its borders.
Whilst the borders all around him were closing, humanity opened up, and Samir waxes lyrical about how open people have been along the journey. Whether that be friends, or other anglers, or people like the Algerian/French boxer who, whilst training, swam across one of the lakes every morning for a coffee, or the guy they became friends with on the beach at Perpignan – a Moroccan Jew who had left home sometime in the ‘50s to travel the world. He was living in a caravan on the beach there, living a simple subsistence life, growing food on an allotment and catching fish from the sea. Simple human connections are made on the road; they can be easy to lose living an all-too-familiar life.
‘Travelling as we have has been amazing. I’ve met people not the same as me; people from different cultures, with different viewpoints, or political stances. One guy I met in a café was a staunch communist and had run for office. We had a two-hour political debate over coffee, and I enjoyed that conversation so much – no frustrations, no arguments, no conflict, just debate. I didn’t suddenly become a communist, of course, but I understood that way of thinking a lot clearer. I left that conversation feeling happy and enriched. Part of the beauty of travelling is being exposed to different people, different world views, different landscapes, sunsets, cultures … unlike the algorithm that just gives you more of the same every day, more of what you already know and consume. The real world is different. It is great when you put your phone away.’
'Part of the beauty of travelling is being exposed to different people, different world views, different landscapes, sunsets, cultures … unlike the algorithm that just gives you more of the same every day, more of what you already know and consume. The real world is different. It is great when you put your phone away'
Settling in Spain didn’t come without its challenges, either. After a landlord bailed on a contract at the death, on a place in Valencia, they found a small villa in Cadiz and Samir and Claire fell in love with Spain – the climate, the people, the food …. The pandemic wasn’t showing signs of going away, and so they made the decision to put down some roots.
A few weeks later, a new love affair began with a first trip to Orellana. Funnily enough, the first bite is still his biggest carp from the lake, all 59lbs of it. You couldn’t write it. When the tenancy was up on the Cadiz house, the plan was made to move to Orellana. The first place was a beautiful but flawed, palm tree-lined idyll – with an ant infestation, a well with a rusting chamber and dirty-brown, undrinkable, iron-tainted water, and a solar power system that didn’t cut it. Samir looked to buy, and the second house, albeit in a state of disrepair and in serious need of some work, is where life has rooted. After weeks of work, rewiring and painting, much from a new community of friends, life settled down and found a natural, Spanish rhythm, dictated by the weather and the seasons.
Samir’s trademark smile would have you believe that he has always been permanently happy, so his next sentence took me by surprise.
‘You know what, Gaz? Suddenly, for the first time in my life, I started to feel truly happy. I’d wake up happy, I’d make a coffee each morning, walk down to the lake, sit and watch the sun come up … it was so good to be alive – this was it.’
There’s a darkness to every bit of light, and Samir is honest in talking about the ups as well as well as the downs, but the Spanish life seems to have balanced things out in an unexpected way. We chatted for another 20 minutes about the romance of living off-grid, and the realities of that.
‘I’m no eco-warrior. I burn diesel every day, but it feels good to be off-grid as well; to be self-sufficient, and not getting those fucking big energy bills, and fuelling all that industry. It isn’t particularly easy living like this. Everything is a resource; you have to turn every light off when you’re not using it, be careful with water, maintain your well, look after your solar panels and batteries. There’s so much you take for granted in a normal connected house, but I’d never go back. I truly love it here, and feel absolutely contented, and so much more connected to the place itself.’
We closed things up by talking about the realities of making videos for a living. I’ve always had the impression a lot of guys think it is a breeze and laughable as far as ‘hard work’ goes, but I wanted Samir’s take on it.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I would never complain about my life, but the idea that I’m just fishing all the time, and swanning around eating great food in restaurants is so far removed from the truth. For the last 12 months I’ve fished less than I did when I had the garage – can you imagine that? I’ve given up my life to go fishing, and fished less! (laughter) I’m a one guy team now; I’m cameraman, director, editor, narrator, colourist – and the angler. I definitely haven’t mastered all those, but I can just about put something together that people can connect with. Look at this week as an example; we’ve just done 12 days’ filming, come home, sorted the kit, spent hours backing up all the files, it’s midnight and we’re still working. (laughter) Tomorrow I’ll have a day off, but I’ll be straight back in the office after that, working on finishing an edit to go out next week, processing all the stills, making multiple trailers in different aspect ratios for it, etc. Currently, my life is a continuous cycle of a few days’ fishing, backing up and organising files, then maybe 10 solid days of editing and processing before repeating – with prep and everything else in between. Since I left the UK, Claire and I have only been fishing once without the cameras.’
'Look at this week as an example; we’ve just done 12 days’ filming, come home, sorted the kit, spent hours backing up all the files, it’s midnight and we’re still working. (laughter)'
I asked bluntly whether it was worth the trade-off.
‘Look at it this way – back when I was in Hastings and had the garage, I’d go fishing maybe ten, or 12 times a year and I’d be happy for those weeks. The rest of the time, the other 40 weeks, I was pretty fucking miserable because I was at work doing a job I no longer liked. Look, nothing comes free in life, so whilst I enjoy my fishing maybe a fraction less now because filming can be a chore sometimes, however you look at it, I now enjoy my whole life so much more. As much as you might like to click your fingers and have a dream lifestyle, behind that always lies hard work, and that is no different in angling. ‘Living the dream’ comes at a cost. The difference now is, my life has averaged out to be much, much better overall. Instead of angling as an escape from the weekly stresses of running the garage, it is now a plateau of happiness, instead of peaks and troughs of the good and the shit.’
'As much as you might like to click your fingers and have a dream lifestyle, behind that always lies hard work, and that is no different in angling. ‘Living the dream’ comes at a cost'
In honesty, I can’t sum it up it any better than that. We knocked off the tape, fired up the generator so I could have a shower ready for the 6am departure back to the motherland, and had a well-earned kip. I left Extremadura with a heavy heart the next morning, but one filled with a sense of love and massive respect for the choices Samir and Claire had made, and I started planning a return. No sad faces here.
