I’d fancied a go on Scout Lake at Horcott for a while, so eventually got myself sorted, loaded the gear up and headed down for a session.
No massive expectations really. Just wanted to get the rods out, have a decent bit of peace and hopefully nick a fish.
Scout’s got that sort of feel to it where you’re always watching the water. It’s not one of them places where you can just launch three rods out, sit back and forget about it. I spent a bit of time having a look round, watching for signs and trying to get a rough idea of where they might be.
Eventually I settled into a swim I liked the look of.
Got the bivvy up, rods sorted and then had the usual battle with all the gear I’d somehow convinced myself I needed for one session. By the time everything was set up it looked like I’d moved in permanently.
I kept the fishing pretty simple.
Nothing clever, nothing you need a diagram to understand. Decent rig, sharp hook, sensible bit of bait and get it somewhere I was confident fish would come across it.
For a while it was dead.
Proper dead.
Couple of bleeps here and there, but nothing you’d even bother getting out the chair for.
You start doing that thing where you’re looking at the rods every thirty seconds even though absolutely nothing has changed.
Then eventually one of them absolutely ripped off.
No warning, no little indication beforehand. Just straight into it.
I grabbed the rod and felt a decent weight straight away.
The fish wasn’t doing anything stupid at first, just pulling steadily and using its weight. I could tell fairly early it wasn’t a little one.
Then it got closer in and started giving me grief.
Every time I thought I’d got it under control, it would turn and take a few more yards. Nothing dramatic, but enough to keep you interested.
Eventually it came up in front of me and I got my first proper look at it.
Straight away I thought, “That is a lovely fish.”
Not just because of the size either.
It was absolutely mint.
Proper clean, dark-looking carp, lovely shape, not battered up, not missing half its scales. Just one of them fish you’re happy to catch regardless of the weight.
After another couple of lunges it went over the net cord.
Relief.
I gave it a minute in the net, got everything ready and lifted it onto the mat.
Twenty-five pound.
I know some people get obsessed with numbers, but I couldn’t have cared less that it wasn’t a thirty or a forty.
It was a minter.
One of them fish where you keep looking at it thinking, “Yeah, I’d happily catch that again.”
Got a few pictures, gave it a bit of water and slipped it back.
It sat there for a second, then kicked off and disappeared.
Lovely job.
After that I was buzzing, thinking maybe I’d get another.
Course I didn’t.
That was basically my lot.
The rest of the session was mostly me staring at motionless bobbins, drinking tea and convincing myself every swirl on the lake was definitely a carp over my spot.
I moved one rod, changed a hookbait, put a bit more bait in and generally did all the usual things you do when absolutely nothing needs changing.
Still, I wasn’t bothered.
One fish might not sound like much on paper, but when it’s a fish like that, it makes the session.
Twenty-five pound, immaculate and properly memorable.
I’d rather catch one mint carp like that than five rough ones any day.
Scout Lake did me alright.