A Real Boy Scout Adventure: Tech-less on a Big Reservoir!

There’s something quietly intimidating about a vast reservoir. Maybe it’s the sheer scale of open water, or the feeling that beneath the surface lies a world you’ve yet to understand. Living close to this particular “big res,” I’d walked its banks with the family many times, always fascinated but equally daunted by its enormity. It felt like a place that demanded respect and preparation.

When the rivers and canals fell into disarray thanks to on-going flooding and consistent rainfall, the reservoir suddenly became more than just an idea. It became the destination.

I’d done my research. I knew what swam in those depths. Pike, perch, zander and even trout, though out of season. The potential for a personal best was very real and that alone was enough to set the excitement building. But this trip would be different. No cutting-edge electronics, no fish finders, no technological shortcuts. Just watercraft, observation and instinct.

The plan was simple: treat it like any new venue. Break the water down into manageable sections, spend time in each and let the conditions guide the approach.

Setting Out

After finishing a night shift, I grabbed a much-needed caffeine fix and headed off, daydreaming the entire drive about what might be waiting for me. On arrival, the reservoir greeted me with light rain and rolling waves whipped up by relentless winter storms. Not exactly postcard conditions but I hadn’t come for comfort. I’d come for the adventure.

With gear in hand and life jacket secured, I walked toward the boat ramp. Only one other boat dotted the enormous expanse. Perfect. Solitude is a rare luxury on popular waters and it felt like the reservoir was mine to explore.

I’d used boats before usually with electric motors but this time it was all about the outboard. After a bit of friendly advice from the staff and some coaxing, the engine roared to life. Soon enough, I was heading out into what felt like an abyss on my maiden voyage.

For the first half hour, I simply familiarised myself with the water, letting the boat drift and studying the reservoir’s moods. One thing became immediately clear: the undertow was powerful. At the time it was just an observation; later, it would prove to be a crucial piece of the puzzle.

Reading the Water

My first stop was a sheltered bay tucked away from the wind. Ancient tree stumps littered the area and a pair of cormorants were actively hunting always a promising sign. Where baitfish gather, predators are never far behind.

A few exploratory casts revealed remarkable water clarity. I could see down six feet or more. Near the bank, the bottom was sandy with scattered weed beds prime hunting ground. Yet despite rotating through a few setups, nothing materialised. Time to move.

I powered through the waves toward the reservoir’s top end, a section known for holding zander. No other anglers in sight. Just me, the wind and acres of possibility.

Remembering the clarity, I switched to more natural-coloured presentations. A Carolina rig paired with 10 grams of tungsten gave me decent contact with the bottom enough to detect the faintest bite. Before long, I dragged across rough ground and brought back mussels on the hook.

Now that was interesting. Mussels often signal a rich feeding area, so I refined the setup: a small jig head with a shad and lighter braid to slice through the water. Again, mussels came back. Then it happened a follow from a big fish tracking just a couple of feet beneath the lure. As it neared the surface, it spooked and vanished into the depths. Another cast. Same story. The fish were there but they weren’t committing.

Adjusting to the Conditions

The undertow was stronger than I’d first realised. I needed something denser, something that could punch through the water column and stay in the strike zone.

Out came the Westin Ricky tungsten vibration bait in 9g. Positioning the boat for another drift near the tower, I launched a long cast and feathered extra line to get the lure down quickly, minimising the undertow’s influence. It worked beautifully I felt bottom almost immediately.

A couple of sharp rod flicks. Tighten down. Feel the drop. On the third lift, as the lure fell on a tight line, the rod tip jolted with an almighty smack. Instinct took over. I struck and connected with serious weight.

Battle in the Depths

Hooking a fish that deep sends electricity through your entire body. The rod bent double as powerful kicks pulsed through the blank. My mind raced through possibilities. Pike? A monster perch?

Adrenaline surged. I gained a little line before the fish tore off on long, determined runs. At that point, I was convinced it had to be one of the reservoir’s large resident pike.

Then it came closer to the surface. Thanks to the crystal-clear water, I saw it four or five feet down and my heart nearly stopped. Zander! and not just any zander – the biggest I had ever seen.

All hell broke loose as it lunged for the depths, diving under the boat while the strengthening wind pushed us farther into open water. It was chaos man versus fish, balance versus drift but the tackle held firm, the hook stayed set and slowly, steadily, I clawed back line. Finally, she slid into the net – I dropped the rod, stared down and just stood there in awe. A New PB no doubt about it.

The Moment That Makes It All Worthwhile

A couple of quick photos in the net, then onto the unhooking mat. She was calm thankfully because my hands certainly weren’t. Even as the adrenaline coursed through me, the reality of the capture began to sink in.

She measured 80cm and tipped the scales at exactly 11 pounds. A magnificent fish. After a few self-takes on the camera, I returned her to the net to recover. Soon enough, it was time to say goodbye. The moment she slipped back into the water, she powered straight down and disappeared from sight back to ruling the depths.

Heading Home

The rest of the trip passed in a blur. I floated on cloud nine, grinning like a fool while wind and rain battered the boat. Nothing could dampen that high.

Eventually, I made my way back to the ramp. Before leaving, I paused for one final look across the vast water that had delivered such an unforgettable day. Fishing the big reservoir without technology had forced me to rely on observation, watercraft, and gut instinct the old-school “Boy Scout” approach. And on this occasion, it paid off in the best possible way.

As I packed away the gear, I made myself a quiet promise – I’ll be back for another Boy Scout adventure.