I should know better by now. After years of chasing carp and more than a few decent fish under my belt, you would think I’d have learned my lesson about being prepared for that moment when the alarm screams in the middle of the night. But I’ve been caught out more times than I care to admit—scrambling around in the dark looking for my weigh sling, fumbling with a tripod I haven’t touched since the last session, all while a good fish sits waiting in the net. It’s not a good feeling, and more importantly, it’s not fair on the fish.
That’s why preparation for photography has become part of my religious setup routine. Before I even think about casting out, I make sure everything is in place for when—not if—I need to photograph a fish. Whether it’s midday or 3am, the process should be the same: calm, organised, and with fish safety at the front of my mind every step of the way.
Setting Up Your Fish Care Station
As part of my process of setting up camp, especially on longer sessions, I establish a dedicated fish care station. This isn’t complicated, but it needs to be intentional. I lay out my unhooking mat and have my cradle ready to go. The weigh sling is there, along with a bucket that I keep topped up with lake water. A towel sits nearby for wet hands and to help calm a fish if needed. Everything lives in the same spot, and I know exactly where it all is without having to think.
This station is also where my camera gear lives during the session. Tripod set up, camera attached or within arm’s reach, remote control ready. Now, I’m not advocating leaving your gear out overnight in public places, but at least have it organised and ready to go. In more remote spots, I keep a waterproof bag with my camera gear right beside the fish station—everything I need is in one place and protected from the elements.
If I’m fishing into darkness, I make sure there’s dedicated lighting around this area—not just my headtorch, though I always have that on as well. You need to be able to see what you’re doing properly when you’re handling a fish, and you need enough light to get a decent photograph without blinding yourself or stressing the fish.
I’d recommend taking a test shot before you even wet a line. Check your tripod height, make sure the framing works for where you’ll be kneeling, see how the lighting looks. It takes two minutes and saves you messing about when there’s actually a fish involved.
The Case for Sacking Fish Overnight
Night time is always a bad time to take pictures of fish, especially if you’re fishing solo. The lighting is poor, you’re tired, and rushing to get a shot in the dark rarely ends well for you or the carp. This is where retain sacks become essential—as long as they’re fish safe and used correctly.
I use Trakker Sanctuary sacks and Nash Monster Carp sacks. Both are made from carp-safe materials, big enough for specimen fish to rest comfortably, and designed to be securely staked out overnight. A good sack allows water to flow through freely, lets the fish recover from the fight, and keeps it safe until conditions are right for photography.
My approach is simple: if I catch a fish in the dark, it goes in the sack and stays there until morning. I stake it out securely in a safe margin, check on it a couple of times through the night, and then wait for first light before even thinking about photographs. Once there’s enough natural light to work with, I call in the make-up crew—which, when you’re fishing solo, just means taking your time and doing things properly.
There’s no rush. The fish has had time to recover and calm down. You’ve had time to wake up, sort yourself out, and get your station ready. The result is better photographs and, far more importantly, a fish that goes back in perfect condition. And probably gives you a tail slap for the overnight stay.
Taking the Shot
When it comes to the actual photograph, fish safety remains the priority. Every shot should be taken with the angler kneeling, holding the fish firmly but gently with two hands, directly over the mat or cradle. This way, if the fish kicks—and they do kick—it has minimal distance to fall onto a soft, wet surface.
Make sure all fins are free from any obstructions. Pectoral fins tucked under hands or trapped against clothing not only look bad in photos but can cause damage to the fish. Take a moment to check before you lift, and if something doesn’t look right, put the fish back down on the mat and try again.
I shoot with a variety of cameras depending on the session—DSLR, phone, action camera. Each has its place. For self-takes with the DSLR, the remote control is invaluable. It lets me get the fish in position, settle myself, and take the shot without having to rush back and forth to the camera. A few seconds of patience makes all the difference.
Getting It Wrong and Getting It Right
Look, we’ve all made mistakes. I’ve had fish where I wasn’t ready, where I spent too long getting organised while the carp waited on the mat, where the photos came out blurry or poorly lit or just not worth keeping. It happens. The important thing is learning from it.
And if you see someone else getting it wrong—maybe they’re new to the sport, maybe they just haven’t thought it through—have some patience. Guide them the right way rather than criticising. Most anglers want to do right by the fish; they just might not know what that looks like yet. A bit of friendly advice goes a lot further than judgment.
For me, the turning point was accepting that preparation isn’t optional. It’s not something you do when you remember or when you feel like it. It’s part of the session, every session, built into the routine from the moment you start setting up. Mat out, cradle ready, sling and bucket in place, camera gear sorted, lighting arranged. Do it once, do it properly, and then you can fish with confidence knowing that when that big fish comes along—day or night—you’re ready to handle it right.
Preserving the Memories
Once you get into a routine and start taking your fish photography seriously, you’ll be rewarded with some great pictures that preserve your memories for years to come. That shot of a personal best at dawn, the colours of a pristine common against an autumn backdrop, the grin on your face after a long campaign fish finally slipped over the net cord—these are the moments we fish for. So it’s well worth adding this to your setup routine. A few minutes of preparation makes the difference between a blurry phone snap you’ll never look at again and a photograph you’ll be proud to show for decades.
Because at the end of the day, that trophy shot only matters if the fish swims away strong. Everything else is just pictures.