Fishing is the most stressful relaxing activity
Today, I headed out for a quick perch session. The plan was simple: a medium-powered rod, a small landing net, and the confidence that it would be a nice, relaxing day. How naïve...
I got to my usual spot and immediately had two choices: either try fishing in what looked like a giant bowl of salad, or politely ask the carp anglers if they'd be willing to spare me the two square meters they hadn't already claimed. Somehow, I didn't think the negotiations would end well.
So I started heading home when I spotted a small pond that caught my eye. I thought, "One cast... just one."
First cast.
BANG!
Not a bite. It honestly felt like someone had just smashed my rod with a baseball bat.
The drag starts screaming, the rod folds over, and I quickly realize this isn't a perch on steroids.
Then I see it...
Pike.
More pike.
Even more pike.
With every head shake I kept thinking, "Where the hell does this thing end?"
Over a meter long. Probably around 1.10 m (3 ft 7 in).
And that's exactly when my brain reminds me that my big landing net is sitting comfortably at home. The one I had with me was perfect for perch... but for this fish, it was like trying to fit a wild boar into a shoebox.
After about fifteen minutes of battle, I finally managed to guide it alongside a small wooden dock. I grabbed it carefully by the jaw, lifted it onto the dock, and, as always, my unhooking mat was already laid out.
As I put it down, I thought:
"Alright... don't do anything stupid now..."
My plan was to gently pin it between my knees, unhook the lure, take a quick picture, and send it back on its way.
The pike, however, clearly had a different plan.
The instant it touched the mat, it launched itself into the air like it was competing for Olympic gold. Before I even had time to react, the fishing line wrapped around one of the dock boards...
SNAP!
The line broke clean off.
After a fifteen-minute fight, the fish was exhausted and didn't swim away immediately. I managed to support it gently by the tail for a few moments, hoping it would recover before taking off.
For a split second, I thought,
"Well... maybe this is still going to end okay."
Spoiler: it didn't.
With one last powerful swipe of its tail, it slipped through my hands, soaked me in the process, and disappeared back into the depths.
So there I stood... soaked, with no photo, no video, no witnesses... and a story that will probably end with someone saying, "Sure... and it was five feet long too, right?"
The only thing still bothering me is the lure left in the corner of its mouth. I'm really hoping it manages to throw it soon.
Moral of the story? The day I go out targeting perch is apparently the day the fish of a lifetime decides to bite... and, of course, it's also the one day I leave my big landing net at home.
I got to my usual spot and immediately had two choices: either try fishing in what looked like a giant bowl of salad, or politely ask the carp anglers if they'd be willing to spare me the two square meters they hadn't already claimed. Somehow, I didn't think the negotiations would end well.
So I started heading home when I spotted a small pond that caught my eye. I thought, "One cast... just one."
First cast.
BANG!
Not a bite. It honestly felt like someone had just smashed my rod with a baseball bat.
The drag starts screaming, the rod folds over, and I quickly realize this isn't a perch on steroids.
Then I see it...
Pike.
More pike.
Even more pike.
With every head shake I kept thinking, "Where the hell does this thing end?"
Over a meter long. Probably around 1.10 m (3 ft 7 in).
And that's exactly when my brain reminds me that my big landing net is sitting comfortably at home. The one I had with me was perfect for perch... but for this fish, it was like trying to fit a wild boar into a shoebox.
After about fifteen minutes of battle, I finally managed to guide it alongside a small wooden dock. I grabbed it carefully by the jaw, lifted it onto the dock, and, as always, my unhooking mat was already laid out.
As I put it down, I thought:
"Alright... don't do anything stupid now..."
My plan was to gently pin it between my knees, unhook the lure, take a quick picture, and send it back on its way.
The pike, however, clearly had a different plan.
The instant it touched the mat, it launched itself into the air like it was competing for Olympic gold. Before I even had time to react, the fishing line wrapped around one of the dock boards...
SNAP!
The line broke clean off.
After a fifteen-minute fight, the fish was exhausted and didn't swim away immediately. I managed to support it gently by the tail for a few moments, hoping it would recover before taking off.
For a split second, I thought,
"Well... maybe this is still going to end okay."
Spoiler: it didn't.
With one last powerful swipe of its tail, it slipped through my hands, soaked me in the process, and disappeared back into the depths.
So there I stood... soaked, with no photo, no video, no witnesses... and a story that will probably end with someone saying, "Sure... and it was five feet long too, right?"
The only thing still bothering me is the lure left in the corner of its mouth. I'm really hoping it manages to throw it soon.
Moral of the story? The day I go out targeting perch is apparently the day the fish of a lifetime decides to bite... and, of course, it's also the one day I leave my big landing net at home.
