The Brute

It all started back in 2014 when I purchased my Reading club ticket after hearing of the huge, beautiful carp their waters held. The lakes were set in the Kennet Valley and had completely different feels and challenges, which was just what I was after. The pit that took my fancy first was Pingewood Lagoon. It contained a very large, grey and crusty, deep-bodied carp known as the Brute, a fish I dearly wanted to have my time with. It also held a variety of cool characters as back-up.

The lake itself is around 15-acres, has average depths of 7 to 8ft, and features humps, bays and snags. At the time, however, I knew nothing about the topography or layout of the water, and so couldn’t wait to get started. I couldn’t make the starting week of the ticket, so my first trip was planned for the one after. I remember pulling up at those green gates for the first time, nervous and full of anticipation, but ready to put my skills to the test. It was the first time I’d ventured from Kent and London. 

I found a very busy lake, so I barrowed my gear round to a quiet swim known as the Secret for my first night. I arrived in darkness and didn’t want to cause a fuss. The night passed quietly and I didn’t see a sign. It’s a funny little swim, the Secret, very all or nothing, so a move was on the cards as the viewing was awful. After wrapping up all the gear, I noticed that a swim called the Slipway had become vacant. The Slipway commands a very good area of the lake. It has a set of overhanging snags down the right-hand margin where you can see the carp regularly. Once settled in, I crept towards the overhangs, and for the first time, I got to observe some of the lake’s prizes, literally feet from me. 

After seeing the reaction to my bait in those snags, I carefully flicked the rig as close as I could to where I thought they would enter or exit throughout the night or early morning. No more than 10 yards out, there was a small depression in the overhang, and a very lucky cast soon had me fishing. That night, the Neville let out and battle commenced. It’s always very nervy when it’s the first one, and it was especially so after I saw what was ripping the bait to bits. Once the tussle was over, I peered down into the net at a really mahogany-coloured, scaly carp, one which I thought at the time was the Pretty Lin. After inspection on the mat, it turned out to be Baby Plated, but what a first carp to have, nonetheless; its flanks just keep you looking! 

As the cameras clicked away, I couldn’t help feeling confident, believing what I was doing was correct as it was my first trip to the pit. Now it was just a case of working out where they were and when they wanted to feed. At the time, I had access to a bait, but after experimenting for myself, I realised how quality really does matter on these kinds of venues. I used to purchase bait from a friend who made the best, high-quality bait I’ve encountered. My Trap Baits Deepfish is still based around the same concept after all these years. When it came to fishing, as with rigs, only the best would do. There is no point sitting behind your rods with no confidence in the bait you are using. The feeding reactions of the carp when I applied this bait were unbelievable. Noticeably, the bigger ones would turf the smaller ones out to get to it. As soon as I saw that, I knew I was on to a winner.

The rest of that first season was pretty uneventful. Unfortunately, you can’t get near them sometimes when you live so far away from a lake. Also, I never dropped my leads until the session before I had the Brute, and that resulted in a few painful losses. With them being such a desirable set of carp, many others were pursuing them. I learned a lot, though, ready for my return the following year. I pulled off in October that first season, as the action slowed down and I had other places to go.

My next trip down was late March, 2015. It was evident they were on the fly hatches. I’ve never been one to fish Zigs, though, not because I can’t, rather I just never have—maybe one day, perhaps. A few weeks passed with them eating flies, and then it was time for the dance floor! 

I think it was mid-April when I was sitting with a friend having a tea, that a big fish showed itself out in front of a swim known as the Mad Dogs. With that, I was up and pushing my gear straight to the swim to secure my spot. I was shattered after travelling down around four in the morning following another special capture, the stars having aligned for me elsewhere. Once I’d secured the swim, I put the house up and grabbed a few hours of much-needed kip. Once awake, I fanned three rods out across the swim and proceeded to scatter bait in the deep silty area in front of me. It didn’t take long, and at around 7 p.m., my left-hand rod melted off. Pleasingly, one of the stockies had made an appearance… I was on them! After a few pictures, the rod was soon back in position. 

At around seven the following morning, I started receiving liners, and I felt excited, knowing that they were out there again. It was around seven thirty when the line finally pinged from the clip on the right-hander, and soon after I was doing battle with the classic stocky, Floppy Tail. For the first time, it went 40lb, a mega bonus. Things were looking up, as I now knew they were awake and ready for catching off the bottom. With Pingewood being so far from home, however, it was hard to get things going. It was a case of seeing what they were doing on the Sunday and basing my approach when I returned, on what I’d observed, before going from there. 

Next, I found them in a swim called the Pallets, where I’d seen her numerous times. I remember finding her one session, then having a bite, only for the fish to come off. I thought that it could have been the one, but knew that perseverance was the key. I went on to land three carp from the area, including a lovely 37lb common named Birthmark. One of the bites—from a fish called Two Scales—came within minutes of casting. I thought at first that the undertow was pulling my line as I was sinking it, but it became apparent very quickly that I had one on. A repeat capture of a stocky was the last action I had from the area. 

As summer faded into autumn, the carp began to migrate to the central area of the lake. There, they would do most of their feeding, but they’d still creep into the Slipway snags during the day. I remember turning up one session torn as to what to do—having options was a rarity. I opted to fish one rod down the edge where I had them feeding, rather than chancing it out in the pond. I had some good ones going on a lovely clean, hard spot, just off where they’d made their home. I had to do some bobbing and weaving to get the rod into position, but it was to prove a golden little spot. 

That weekend was probably Pingewood’s worst for losses, as my mate, Tom, lost a good few, as I did, one of which was the second in command. I remember climbing into the tree that overlooked the spot down the margin, and as I threw the last of seven pieces of bait in, I could see Pecs homing in on the spot. I clambered down the tree as fast as I could and ran back to the ready set trap. I remember lighting my cigarette and taking just one pull before the rod buckled into its full test curve. After an intense battle, with the rod tip down in the water for most of it, I finally got to see that the fish was near the end of the overhangs, having hugged them the whole way. I lifted the rod to near vertical, but as I did so, the fish kicked and came off, leaving me in a right mess.

I had a good sulk for 20 minutes or more and ordered an Indian takeaway, and that sorted my head out. I replaced the rig not long after I’d finished my beautiful Burghfield Spice. The rod eventually burst into action once again, and soon after I’d landed a beautiful upper-twenty common, a fish with a tiny little mouth. 

I needed a plan of action, as I wanted a larder of my own out in the pit. There was a large, barren area amongst the dense Canadian pondweed beds out in the middle. This could be attacked from two swims, Motorway Point and Slipway. I took the decision to go into the Asian swim and go long.

The lead-up to the September moon was electric. All day at work, all I could think about was the zone. Were they on it? Would I get in there? As I set off, I thought I’d call a local angler whom I’d met whilst fishing the lake, and to my surprise, he said that the whole lake was stitched. I had that sinking feeling as I’d come up on a weekday to put out 10 kilos of bait before my return. Something, however, told me to go and have a look before I diverted and headed elsewhere, and lo and behold, the only swim left on the lake was the one I wanted. As I walked into the swim, a fish clattered out right over my spot. I remember ringing matey and saying, “Did you see that? I’m having the Brute this session!” With everything in sync, it was merely a case of hitting the clips and putting out a big bed of bait, given that I had four nights ahead of me. 

On the first day, I duly put out 10 kilos, and by 11 o’clock the next morning, the right-hander was away. Soon after, I had the Kinky Tail stocky laying in my net. Not wanting to cause too much disturbance as I know the fish are very pressured, I re-cast only the rod I’d had the fish on. I left the other two as they’d gone down perfectly and they had more bait over them.

Forty-eight hours passed. I was sitting beside the rod at bite time, looking out at the spot, and then back down at the rod, as you do. Peering out across the pit in hope, I saw a colossal, mahogany-coloured mirror boom out over the baited long spot. That had me sitting up, waiting in anticipation. 

Around 11:20, the bobbin slammed up and the rod tip pulled down as a fish stripped a scary amount of line from the spool. After the fish had slowed, I teased it back past the dense Canadian pondweed, but as I did so, it managed to swing right and catch my right-hand rod’s line. This sent me into a blind panic as I looked at an upper-thirty some twenty yards out. I just couldn’t get it closer. I could see that the line had jammed into the bobbin chain, so with one hand on the rod, I reached down with my left to twiddle with the bobbin. Miraculously, I released the line, and shortly after the fish began moving again, inching slowly towards me until finally, it hit the triangle. It was Cluster, a classic old mirror and one of the A-Team—my relief was biblical! I knew that my friend Tom was due to leave Burghfield that day. I made a quick call and diverted him, so he could do the photos for me. Once the fish had been safely returned, Tom left and I set about putting out what bait I had left, which was about 8 kilos.

Around four the following morning, the same rod was away again, the bite resulting in a repeat capture of the Birthmark, at 36lb. I was in a bit of a pickle at that point, as I had no bait left and I knew that another angler was due to arrive to fish the same area. I re-cast as soon as I could see the spot. The usual 11 o’clock bite time had passed and I needed food from the shop. I remember running down to the van before heading off to grab something, but when I turned the car key, I found that the battery had gone flat. It was like my world had ended! 

I made a phone call to my bait man, telling him that I really needed some dropping off, otherwise I could miss out on a chance of banking the big grey beast! Unfortunately, however, nothing could be done. I returned to the swim and sat on my bed thinking that that was it, that it was all over. I rang my dad and explained the whole situation. His reply was, “Go and do some work.” That left me unamused, but at around one in the afternoon with bite time having supposedly well and truly gone, I was very surprised when, mid-call, the middle rod, the one doing the bites, wrapped up tight before its tip bent down. I was away. I remember then saying, “Dad, I’ve got to go… it could be it!”

The battle ensued. I pumped on the heavy weight and saw a huge tail leave the water as the fish hit the surface alongside the dense weed. I was so glad that I’d started dropping my leads, having lost a few in the lead-up to the session. The fish had just made it past the thickest part of the weed. I looked back for my net, just as Marcus walked casually into the swim. He picked up my net and followed me down the margin. The fish chugged hard left on a long line. We were silent for the next few minutes, until a grey, dog-sized head popped up. That’s when I let out the famous, “Net it!” At the first attempt, Marcus scooped her up. He looked back at me, and once again, my relief was unimaginable. I knew exactly which fish it was. It was an incredibly emotional moment in my life, for sure. It was forty-seven pounds of historic English carp which had been outwitted by some of the best. 

After the magic was all over, I left with a sense of both pride, and belief in myself. The big-carp journey was about to begin…