Fishing Republic : Old, Dark, Brutish Fish

A year previously, I'd heard about an old English fish in a club lake not too far from work. Everyone I'd spoken to had stories of gruelling, hard fought battles with the old, dark, brutish fish and how some had failed to capture it after countless years of trying. The challenge and experience sounded right up my street, so the ticket was bought and the hunt began.

The summer, autumn and winter passed with only three glimpses of the illusive fish. One of those being the trophy shots of someone else's capture of it early autumn. Although fishing at least one night a week, the capture of a number of the lakes residents and walks of the lake in-between, I didn't feel anywhere close to catching what I was there for.

The next sighting of the fish came at the end of a session, late June. As I stood removing the buzz bars from the ground, a broad shouldered mirror came swimming literally under my rod tips as they lay on the ground. It was her! Moving past with one other fish, it didn't seem to have a care in the world. The first solid sighting and insight into where she was patrolling. I left for work not wanting to leave but knowing where to return the following week.

The next session arrived and back I was at the peg of the last sighting. Over the previous few days there'd been a significant amount of rainfall. Behind that peg there's a small course lake and overflow pipe joining it to the main lake. The course lake was overflowing, causing a lot of rain water to enter a margin spot to my right hand side. This entry of fresh water was no doubt going intrigue any passing fish. This coupled with the sighting from the previous week, surely this was the one. It was game time. A rig was lowered into the flow and I waited.

5:00am and I was woken by two beeps from the alarms. The head torch went on and the indicator form the margin rod was sat up tight to the rod. Half asleep, I looked at it for a second…. Then all hell broke loose. Twenty minutes I was attached to an absolute lunatic. After four, eighty-yard hammerings, left to right, right to left, she tired and she was mine. I placed her in a floating retainer to rest and for me to stop shaking. I'd honestly never experienced anything like that and haven't since. After a couple of brews and her rest, she was weighed, self takes done and she was safely returned to beat up another unsuspecting angler another day.

Ben Hatcher