Last gasp success.

One of those days comes round every so often when with all experience and knowledge the fishing is just terrible. I had hit the tow path around midday in an area I knew held pike, perch and zander in range of sizes going from uh right through ahhhh. I had started in a spot that has produced some startling captures in the past and which is generally quite reliable, only to receive about as much attention as a white crayon. 

I worked that canal over like I have never worked anywhere before in my life. I was methodical and broke down every area I fished into zones and covered each with varying tactics. Lures were changed, line was scaled down and the variations of retrieve were just about incomprehensible, but still nothing could raise a take.

By two hours in I was dreaming about pole fishing and by four hours I had come to the conclusion that the only possible explanation was that a mass alien fish abduction had taken place. But we all know that isn't true and the fact was that the fish were just switched off or were at least switched off to what I was doing! It was a bit of a pisser really as this was really the only session I would get over the weekend and here I was with it dribbling away in what I thought was perfect conditions.

After working tight along the margins for what seemed like miles I resigned to give in and turned tail for the car. By the time I was in sight of the auto mobile the canal had began to look good again, but I just didn't have it in me to make any more casts. Instead I concluded to just tow a small orange paddle tail along the margin until I had to turn off to get to the car.

Lazily I tugged and dropped the lure backward and forward until I could see the path that lead me off the canal. I was somewhere between dreaming of mixed grills or beer when the line went solid. I swear I would have just yanked violently for the break if the line hadn't of surged off in the canal. Holy sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph it was a fish.. a wonderful slimy wriggling writhing fish. I was as gooey eyed as Gollum with a trout in his hands by the time it was middle cut, and then I got the most spectacular fight I have had in years.

The little jack went in acrobat mode and lunched itself from the water little a tarpon shaking its mouth violently from side to side. It had only just disappeared back into the water when it came cartwheeling out again. After shooting into the margin and me reeling down, it tail walked into a third jump projecting itself a good three feet out of the water. Bearing in mind this jack was little more than a couple of pounds it would not give up. Every time I got it near the net it shot off across the surface until the pressure of the line and clutch sent it into a little jump. After it nearly jumped onto the bank I made a daring scoop for my prize. It did go in the net but no net was going to hold this determined fellow. It only began trying to jump out of the net which resulted in me having to lift it from the water and keep it wrapped up until I could find my forceps.

I have to give this little fighter credit for being the most determined and hard fighting Jack I have ever seen. Though I think there might be a clue to why this fish was so eager to escape on its flank. Given that this fish is probably only a few years old, the scar two thirds of the way down it's body looks to me like it's guile and determination may have already got it out of a much bigger cannibal pikes mouth some time not so long ago. 

Maybe it thought it had been got again and thats was the reason for it's very impressive display or maybe it was just a particularly spirited young jack. Either way I don't mind because it absolutely made my day with its antics and was the perfect way to end a generally poor session.

One Last Run. part 4

The sun was warm on his face and George felt as relaxed as he ever had. From his lounger he looked over the garden at Cynthia as knelt over the flower bed wearing that old straw hat she always wore and old flannel shirt of his she had rescued from the rag box. She always hummed as she pottered in the garden and although it was no particular tune, the sound of her humming away always made him feel happy. Content in the moment he closed his eyes and rested his head back into the warmth of the sun.

“Are you going to lie around all day George?” she called softly across the lawn

“It is quite possible my dear”

“You know there’s other chores need doing in the garden”

“But darling you love gardening and I would want to take away what you love”

“mmm… Well I don’t love pruning back that infernal gorse bush that’s popped up in the front garden”

“I’ll do it in a while. Right now I am ever so comfortable”

“Don’t make me come over there husband!”

“I think my dear wife that you might just need to come over here and persuade me somewhat”

He never heard her approach and only when her silhouette blocked the sun did he realize he had been called out.

“Up!”

“It’s going to take more persuading than that my dear”

“I’ll chuck a bucket of water over you and that will get you up?”

“Calm down all I am just asking for is a bit of a cuddle”

“You’re a soppy old bugger George”

Gently she slid onto the edge of the lounger put her arms around him and kissed him on the cheek. He couldn't have been more happy than he was right now sat with his love in his arms as the hazy sun warming them as they sat listening to the hypnotic sound  grasshoppers buzzing from somewhere over the garden.

A violent splashing woke him. Could it really be that he was wrong and the great fish still lived? He sat bolt upright before leaning over the edge. Expecting to see the fish writhing still tied to the boat he was shattered when he saw what disturbed the water. A big old dog otter clawed and bit at the pike under its gills tearing the flesh sending scales sinking down in the water. The sight of the otter eating the great fish was too much. Enraged, he grabbed for the oar and swung down hard onto the water well beyond the otter. It was more than enough to send the creature diving away from its free meal. Even with the otter well and truly sent packing he still swung the oar onto the water again and again screaming with anger until finally the oar contacted with the edge of the boat and snapped in two. Calm again he looked down at the fish. Not so long ago it had been perfection then he had killed it. Even dead it was still in some ways perfect but now at the hands of one hungry otter it had been tainted. There was no way he could leave her to be spoilt further, he had to take it back with him even just so others could see it dead and witness what a fish it once had been, even if they condemned him.  So he went about attaching it to his boat.

The head was still tethered so all he had to do was to get another piece of rope and secure the tail so the fish would be tight to the boat for the trip back. Wanting to get away before the otter returned he began priming the little seagull. The fact that it had been out and uncovered all night was a worry but he had to try. The normal six or seven pulls on the cord failed to spark life into the engine and after a few more he removed the petrol cap to check the fuel. There wasn't much but there was some and maybe even enough to make it back again. There was no way he would give up until that motor sparked up. A nasty blister had formed on his right hand were the rope rubbed when he tugged at the engine, well before it came to life one last time. The engine did not sound good at all. Running it was, but not in a healthy way for sure. The damp must have got into it or the fuel tank over night and now it sputtered occasionally as if about to stall. All he could do was chance it and give the little engine more gas. The boat moved and he was off. Having a large pike tethered to the side of the little tub made it handle very badly, the disturbance to the flow of the water round the hull caused the boat to drag on one side and he had to constantly compensate.  The engine still struggled and he could barely maintain a straight line never mind any speed. He was only just off the main Broad when the fuel reserve expired and again powerless he realised he was going to have to row all the way back. If only he hadn't of broken one of the oars fending away the otter then the rowing might have been easier, but with only one complete oar remaining it was going to be a long journey rowing Indian style with the single oar from the front of the boat.

He was far too old for this. In his youth he and a friend had spent a summer camping and canoeing on some of the Scottish rivers and lochs but that was more than fifty years ago when he was young and strong. Now every time he leant forward to dip the single oar into the water his back and shoulders ached. The muscles in his arms had not known exertion like this for many years and after the fight with the fish he wondered whether his old body would hold up long enough to get them both back to moorings.

He saw the first herring gull flying towards him low scanning the water for a meal. The moment it sighted him and the fish it let out a shriek and turned on the wing diving towards him. Holding the oar in the air and jabbing it in the bird’s direction halted its descent, but this was no timid otter, this was a true scavenger of the coast and lands, a real landfill hunter. Repeatedly it dropped out of the air and every time George waved his oar it screamed louder and louder. It was only a matter of time before it attracted more of its brethren. When they came they did en masse in a flock like the ones you see following a trawler on its way back to port, or tractor ploughing up a field. One he could deter, fifty he could not. For every one he batted off the fish two more dove in picking at the loosened flesh. One or two took hard enough shots to end up flailing on the water with broken wings.  For hours this went on as the whole fiasco drifted down the stream between the reeds. His defence of the fish grew less and he could hardly stop them turning the fish and his boat into a mess of gore and shit. When they had had their fill the birds just silently drifted away into the sky satisfied with their find, leaving him to survey the damage. The fish was hardly recognisable any more, now it just looked like a fleshy mess. It was as he peered down into the water that he saw the sea gulls were not the only ones who had found the carcass. Hundreds of tiny roach pecked at the unseasonal bounty and worst of all the vibration had brought the eels up from and they now took their piece too. The fish was disappearing and George could do nothing to stop it, all he could do was push on for home.

Even the sight of the dyke entrance after such an arduous experience did nothing to raise his spirits. It was all he could to slowly keep going after rowing all day. The boat turned easily into the dyke as if to help the broken old man out one last time. Panting and wheezing George called forth what little he had left to get up the last few hundred yards towards the deserted wooden moorings. It certainly didn't feel real as he pulled the oar from the water and let the boats momentum carry it thumping into the dock. With nothing left in the tank he grasped for the wooden platform scratching the skin from his finger tips on the rough surface as he did. For a moment he just sat with his head hung low panting. There was no thinking to be done no considering the situation. He simply tied off the boat to the dock with a single half hearted knot and then dragged himself slowly up onto the wooden stage. Unsteady on his feet he nearly dove head first into the reeds behind the walkway, he was that tired. He was about to walk away when he stopped in his tracks and thought of the fish. Turning back he could make out nothing but the very tip of its tail beyond the boat from where he stood. The image of that beautiful giant came back into his mind; then the sight of its haunting eye. Looking down towards the water he could still see the ripples caused by a million tiny scavengers emanating from where the carcass was still tied up. It was too much to bear, he had to walk away and resist one last look.

The walk along the lane was one he had made alone hundreds if not thousands of times before but this was the loneliest journey he had ever made. It was like he was trapped in a bubble and all he could hear was his own laboured breath as he plodded forth back towards his home. With little care of how long it had taken him to silently walk back, George suddenly found himself looking at the over grown gorse which dominated his front garden. “I really must do something about that” he said as he stepped around the bush towards the house. Inside it was cold and crisp. No heat came from the agar and he would not stop to light a fire in it either. Still in his own world he walked right by towards the creaky old stairs. After only two boards he stopped and exhaled before sucking in a deep breath and pushing on. It really did take the very last scrap of life to drag himself up those few wooden boards before turning off into his bedroom. Only his boots were removed before he dropped onto the bed and pulled the sheets around him where upon he softly slipped away.

For Peter, Mondays were always slow at school, having double maths and double science both on the same day. But this Monday was far worse than normal. The previous afternoon he had waited round at the mooring for George to return from his fishing trip. But after hours of hanging around darkness had fallen and his old mentor had still not returned. Concerned, Peter had gone up to the cafe to speak with the other anglers and inform them of George’s absence. More mockingly than concerned they discarded Peter’s worries saying that George was probably just fishing into dark. But even the young man’s assurance that George never fished into dark did nothing to incline them into action. After running home he had pleaded with his father to help him look into it but all his father said they could do was contact the community police officer over the phone.  PC Gallington had assured both Peter and his father that George had to actually be missing for some time before he could do anything and that it was more than likely that he was just out late fishing. None of this was good enough for Peter, he knew his old friend so well and he knew something wasn’t right. After a sleepless night he had thought to do an early runner out of the house and bunk off of school to go and looking for George, but his father anticipated this and was waiting downstairs when Peter tried to sneak out. Forced to go to school, Peter bided his time, but once that bell went no one would stop him from heading out looking for his friend.

Like a greyhound from a trap Peter burst out of the door knocking over two first years as he did. The moorings were on the opposite side of the village so he would have to use every alley and short cut he knew to shorten the journey. With his rucksack banging up and down on his back he charged through the streets in a record time until he found himself outside the cafe at the top of the lane. Strangely he could see others hurrying down the lane towards the alley that lead to the moorings. Running twice as fast he pushed his way past to get through until he came to a solid mass on mooring right by where George moored his boat. With thirty or more voices all talking in different directions he could barely make out what was going on. Desperate to get through he jumped down into another boat and then began unsteadily making his way forward. As he tried to avoid going in the water he heard his name called, “Peter!” It wasn’t his old friend calling him, but instead Johno.

“Peter have you seen it?”

“Seen what?”

“That!” Johno pointed frantically down to the walk way alongside George’s boat.

There lay the most unbelievable thing Peter had ever seen.  The head of the pike was huge! Probably close on a foot wide and certainly close on two feet long. It was perfectly intact all the way back to the gills. From there it was nothing but a four feet long skeleton. Every speck of flesh back from the solid head had been picked clean off the bone. The tail was still in near perfect condition from above were the rope had secured it out of the water even though it was a little dried up. It was amazing to see.

“How big do you think it was?” was all he could think to say? The now silent crowd burst in to action all speaking at once. Fifty, sixty and seventy pounds were all called out as well as every weight between. It was the bullish Johno who quietened them all down by yelling, “Shut the hell up will you’s.” He then held up a set of scales before calling for them to weigh it.

They all fell silent once again as two of them lifted what was left of the fish up to hang it on the scales. Struggling to hold the weight up high Johno peered down to read the weight.

“Well bugger me! Just over twenty pounds for the head and bones alone.”

The whole crowd burst out with some outlandish weights and the discussion went into over drive. It must have been half an hour before they all decided that with the head making up maybe only a quarter or fifth of the fishes weight eighty plus pounds was not out of the question. The whole time this was going on Peter just stared at the giant pikes lifeless eye. As he did he filled in the blanks of what might have happened and then he came back to his friend.

“Get out of my way,” he yelled pushing, his way along the moorings.

“Where are you going Peter?” called Johno

But all the young man called back was, “George!”

The house was not far away but Peter ran faster than he had ever done in his life before. He ran so fast that his feet hurt where he pounded them at the ground needing to go ever faster. He skidded round the last corner and finally caught sight of the over grown gorse hanging out of the garden. Not stopping for a moment he charged down the street and through the open gate.  He caught his knuckle on the stone covering of the wall but that didn’t stop him. What did though was when he reached the back door of the house and found it wide open. His heart pounded in his chest and he dared not call out. Slowly he crept into the door way. The house was freezing as if the door had been open all day and this worried Peter even more. Further in he went and called quietly as he went, “George… George are you in here?”  Silence was the only reply.

Peter had never been in to the house any further than the kitchen so once he parted the curtain that separated the kitchen from the sitting room he was in an alien place. The dank sitting room was like a museum. It was clean but everything looked to be years old. On the mantel piece he spotted a picture of George sitting in a deck chair with his shirt open and wearing sandals. In a black and white one he was in uniform and young, and in another he stood arm in arm with a beautiful young woman. Even with pictures of him everywhere George was nowhere to be seen. Peter delved on further in the unknown and went the door way into the hall and up the stairs.

The stairs creaked as stood on each one in turn and by the top Peter was convinced should George be at home he would off by now heard him, but still he went on anyway. At the top of the stairs he stood on the little landing with three doors all open in front of him. The bathroom was cold and empty and the second room was half filled with old junk so all that remained was the last open door. Not daring to look he walked towards the open door holding his breath. There, lying on the bed covered by a sheet was the shape of a human. No movement or sounds were obvious at all. Almost in tears Peter moved closer reaching out with his hand to make contact. His hand rested slowly onto the figure feeling for any life. Unable to detect anything he shook gently and quietly called out, “George,” but the silence still clung to the air. He had to try again so a second firmer shake moved the body back and forth but drew no answer.

As a last resort Peter reached to pull back the sheets and finally saw his friends face still and his eyes shut. He reached out and touched George’s cheek as he spoke, “Oh, George…”

There was warmth! He could feel warmth when he touched the wrinkled old cheek, “George!” he called loudly and his old friend’s eyes opened and with a dry voice crackled, “Hello, Peter”

“Hello, George” he relied joyfully with a smile

“I was having the strangest dream about lions”

“Lions!!!”

“Yes, they were running on a beach”

“Never mind lions. What about this giant fish?”

“Oh yes I’d forgotten about that. Put the kettle on and I’ll tell you all about it.”

Thank you to both Jacky and Jeff. 

Without all of your help, advice and patient editing 

I don't think I would have had the confidence to post this story.

One Last Run. Part 3

George was about to lift the rod and strike the now tightening line when he eyes traced the line back to the rod.  As his eyes focused on the rod, he noticed the line was not emanating from the tip ring as it should, but was instead dangling from somewhere back of the second eye. Knowing full well that should he strike now the chances were the line would snap or even worse severe the cane rod tip he calmly and deftly he flicked the rod gently up in the air and pulled the tip back through the water. The line now led directly out of the last ring and not to soon ether as the belly in his line was gone and the tension was not far away.

He sent the cane swishing through the air into an unearthly bend. That initial moment when the angler wonders what he has on and the fish does not realise it is hooked seemed to last an age. It wasn't until he struck the rod into the air once, then twice more to make sure the hooks were driven home, that the pike moved and when it did, it did so with nothing but pure ignorant power. The Mitchell reel sounded the movement before anything thing else got chance. The reel sang a verse begging him to ease the strain so he loosened the stiff clutch off straight away, relieving the pressure.  There was no panic from the pike at all as it resisted the pressure being applied from above; almost imperceptibly the force from below increased, turning the arching cane into a near hoop.

The words his father had passed down all those years ago rang through his mind, ‘It’s all about balance son. Light enough to trick the fish but heavy enough to land it. If it’s a monster, let it do its thing, hold on and pray your line don’t snap.’ So he let the fish do its thing and it took generously of the spool and headed straight for the sanctuary of the reeds. With no choice George had to manually break the spool and then try and turn the fish, but the pikes only compromise was to turn a little and move in line with the edge of the pool, forcing him to physically turn in the boat. Twice more the fish turned back on itself and kept plodding up and down the reeds until finally it found what it sought and buried itself behind a lone clump of reed standing three feet from the rest. He could see his line cutting into the water on the left side, the fish on the right making the water pulsate; he had no choice but to go over and try and free it. All the while trying to maintain pressure on the line he pulled the oar from the mud behind the boat, untangled the rope as best he could and pushed off in the direction of the snagged fish. It took a little time to catch up with the sagging line but luckily when he did he could still feel the occasional thump of contact. The reeds neared quickly and within moments he was positioned right over the fish. Instinctively he let the drag off so as the spool could spin freely should the worse happen and then he grabbed the closest oar before leaning over the side line in hand.

What George saw when he parted those reeds made his heart thump harder than the German’s flack did all those years ago. Three feet down in the gin clear water laid the most immense pike imaginable. He could only see from the gills back as its head was buried deep under the roots of the reeds, but what he could see looked to be almost five feet long and had a body as thick as a black Norfolk pig.  It was huge and tangled very badly deep down in the water. His only choice was to try and free it with the oar. The first time that oar touched it bucked violently rocking the boat from underneath and tangling itself further. This was never going to work, the more he tried the more he knew he would sooner or later part the line. Then it struck him! The reeds around which the fish was tangled actually sprouted the surface right there in front of him, he just had to pull them up. One by one he began pulling at the soft stems. At first they broke off but after grabbing four at once he clocked that they seemed to break less when pulled in a clump. He’d only managed to pull three small clumps, when on the forth the whole lot moved. He felt the root ball move off the mud and as it did he turned to see his line become tight again and his spool start to spin. Dropping the vegetation he dived for the rod grabbing hold of the now vibrating handle, as he did though an awful mess of line spilled from the spool. Keeping calm he wound carefully on the handle trying to clear the nest. How he got away with it was a miracle but the line untangled at his fingers as he reeled it through them. Now again the fish was free moving in open water and he stood a chance, if only a small one.

The fight so far, though eventful, had remained relatively calm as the giant pike continued plodding around the pool. The only issue now was that the boat on which George floated was not in any way anchored. Thus the powerful fish now towed it in any direction it chose to go. At first it was just round and round but soon enough the fish realised that it might stand a better chance out of the pool. Just like that it stopped circling and moved in the direction of the entrance to the hidden pool, dragging the boat with it. Why George suddenly panicked was anyone’s guess but he thought he should stop it leaving the pool and braked hard on the reels spool, gripping it with his hand. This only served to push the fish on and that’s when he came to the worst problem so far. Abruptly the spool of his old Mitchell reel locked up. Looking down his heart sank when he saw that age old classic problem associated with these reels; the line had at some point found its way behind the spool and was now jammed firmly, preventing any more line from winding on or off the spool. The only reason the massive beast had not snapped him up was all the give from the free moving boat. Now he was in trouble; attached to a massive pike, being towed around and with barely control of the fish at all. The pike passed though the reeds barely moving them an inch, the boat though, crashed through them like an elephant through the jungle. That was it, they were both out of the pool and travelling back along the little channel into nowhere.

It was midday by the time the fish stopped meandering up and down the channel. The sun was not far off as high as it would get today and George was getting hungry. The pike had stopped momentarily, probably sulking as pike are prone to, so he took the opportunity to first reach for his foil wrapped cheese sandwich that was hidden under the seat. Half watching where the line entered the water and half looking at the foil package he clumsily tore away the wrapping. It was never a meal he was going to savour as he chewed franticly at the crusty bread and pungent cheese. Luckily though the pike continued brooding long enough for him to manage to pour a tepid cup of tea and quickly swallow it. Not long after that they were off again down the channel like a speed boat towing a water skier. On and on the fish went with ceaseless stamina and as it did he could see the sun growing lower and lower in the sky.

Just before dusk the fish stopped again mid-way through a bend back in the main channel. George had watched the line for five or more minutes before deciding to take a chance whilst the fish was resting and he began to gently unscrew the wing nut so as to remove the spool and attempt to untangle the line. Turn by turn the spool loosened and then with the wing nut removed he slipped the spool off as if he were diffusing a bomb. Underneath it was a mess of grease and line. Unable to see entirely what he was doing he plucked at an errant loop which did untangle a large portion of the line from the nest, but only served to leave an even larger loop sticking out of the tangle and it was just then that the pike moved deep under the water. It only twitched but the hint of action was enough to force George to begin screwing the spool back onto the reel. With it back in place he stupidly gave into instinct and turned the reels handle and to his surprise found that the reel would actually recover line. But his rash action re awoke the beast and they were off again. The now free running spool again let line off to a certain extent, certainly until it reached the tangle again when it stopped once more. Why he tried it he would never know, but he reeled hard to recover the line. The fish would take it back and the line would stop every time it hit the tangle. At an estimate he figured he had some were near thirty feet of line between him and the pike.

It was a stalemate for the time being and as the mighty fish lead him along a merry dance he pondered his situation. He had been attached to the fish since before ten in the morning and now it was getting dark which at this time of year meant it was maybe five thirtyish. He did hope that the fish might of dragged him back to the Broad where all the other boats were fishing and the others piker’s could help him, but the fish as yet had not decided to lead them there. Next he thought of the fish. He had been fighting it for around six hours and he had seen its massive size, how long could this giant go on for? At one point he had wondered if cutting his line might have been his best option but the fish stood a good chance of starving to death with his hooks sealing its gullet, so he would never do that.  The only thing he could think to do was holding on and try to win, but on thinking this he realised this could well be a winner take all fight were one if not both of them could end up dead.

The cold of the night soon crept over the water. The fishes towing had slowed to a stop and he suspected it now rested, regaining its energy lying on top of the weeds. Still hanging onto the rod his hands now cramped up and his body began to shiver. Knowing the cold had become a player in this battle he jammed the rod between his legs whilst he fumbled for the boat cover to wrap himself in. Now with his all his layers of clothing, coat and a leatherette boat cover wrapped around him George knew he stood a chance of not freezing to death on the water that night. With the wind holding tension on the line he concluded to try and rest a little by curling up in the prow of the boat wrapped up still clutching his bent over cane rod.

It was the jolt of movement that roused him from his half sleep. The pike was done with resting and now so must he be. Disorientated he looked around for something familiar and the only thing he found was the bent over rod. It wasn't a dream or a nightmare at all, this was really happening. 

Slowly the fish moved off towing the boat again. George was still rubbing the sleep form his eyes and could barely make out his surroundings in the semi dark at first but then the shadows and silhouettes became familiar. They were back in the Broad and things were soon to become very eventful. Stiff and drained both physically and mentally he knew that he was making no head way in the battle between him and the fish. He had to do something to turn the tide in his favour, if that was at all possible. His options were limited to little more than pulling on the rod harder. So far the 20lb line had held firm under the pressure from both sides but its biggest test was about to come. As they were now in some serious open water he made the decision that would make or break this battle. Slowly he made his way across the boat so as he was seated in the back. Then passing hand over hand up the rod he worked his way back along to the rods tip ring at the other end of the boat. With the main line now in his hand he pulled hard moving the boat forward against the pressure of the fish. In doing so he created enough slack in the line for him to grab hold of and wrap it a few times around the nearest rowlock. With the line now tethered he quickly went back down the rod to the reel and began trying to untangle the line from within. With his hands cold and fumbling it seemed like he would never get the knots out but with a little wiggling here and there he actually loosened the knot from around the reels central pin and up through the rings.  Before reattaching the spool he did check to see if the small tangle might possibly come undone but there was no chance of that. As it seemed small enough to pass back and forth through the rings he opted to leave it alone and not chance cutting out and retying his line. That was it, the moment the wing nut tightened onto the spool once again the battle was back on. Straight away he freed the line from around the rowlock and wound the little nest back onto the spool and instantly called forth what energy he had left and leaned hard on the fish once again curving the old cane right over.

The fish answered his call by also upping its game in a vulgar display of power. Like a rocket it came from the depths with all but its tail coming clear of the water. Some five or more feet of pike bucked back and forth with its epic mouth open so wide you could have stuffed a football in it. Like a whale it crashed back down into the water sending ripples across the broad shattering the dawn. George though was not going to be intimidated by the mighty fish and knowing that his line still held he pulled hard on the rod to send another message pressure down the line. This time the fish surged across the shallow broad just below the surface forcing the water’s surface up as it went forming a massive bow wave. It nearly pulled him over before the motionless boat dragged slowly off the mark. Around the Broad they went with him leaning as much pressure as he could on the fish and with the pike becoming more panicked as he did. Before this he’d wondered if the pike even knew it was hooked but if it didn’t then, it did and now at the start of this new day.  Eighteen hours after he had hooked it the pikes attitude had changed. No longer was it the queen of its domain, no longer did it have no fear of predators; now it was in trouble, maybe even scared and he knew it. The realization that he was getting somewhere spurred him on to push ever harder. Dawn had now broken and the end was in sight. The violence that occurred over the next hour was frantic and barley describable. The fish jumped, thrashed and banged its head under the water. Hardly a square foot of the huge sheet of water did not have bubbles or foam on it and as for him, he was sweating, but finally the mighty old girl showed signs of tiring. Now after all this time and the battle to end all battles, she swam just under the surface and he was able to pull her back.

Then she began to circle side on just under the surface and he knew he had won. There was never any doubt in his mind that a fish of this size was never fitting in his feeble net. His only option was going to be to try and chin her. In  quiet moments during the fight he had considered if this was even possible and he had even formed a crazy plan to pull a noose around the pike using his mooring rope so as he could keep her tethered in the water whilst he removed the hooks and now this seemed the only option.

Only a few more times did she go round and round before at the furthest point of her path she surfaced. Her gigantic mass just lay there hardly moving apart from an occasional half hearted buck or twitch. This was it, George had won!

Like pulling an inanimate object across the surface he retrieved his prize, the biggest pike he had ever seen. As good as gold she floated towards him and in no time he was running his hand across her mottled green flank. The sheer size of her was scarcely imaginable, even by an experienced angler such as George. She had to be close to seventy or eighty pounds in weight, a proper giant. She barely moved as he slipped at the noosed rope around her and tied the rope off a little back of her still moving gills. Instinctively he reached down into the water to get his hand under the chin and lift her head. That’s when he saw it! He watched as the huge head as it rose up out of the water and then he saw her eye. Never before had a fish’s eye looked so human to him. The look of pure fear in that one big eye told him instantly that yes he had won his prize, but at what cost?

Now he fumbled with the hooks to remove them quickly and as he did the massive girl seemed to grow limper. The hooks gone, he tried to right her in the water whilst gently rocking her back and forth in an attempt to get the water moving over her gills. Time and time again when it seemed like she could support herself he let go only for her to sink slowly down sideways on towards the bottom. How many times he hauled her back with the rope he couldn't know but the truth of the situation was now lying right there dying in the water. He couldn't stop looking at her eye as he built up the courage to do what he knew was right. He had brought her to this state and he would not let her suffer gasping for air on the bottom of the broad. With tears welling in his eyes George took hold of the pipe he used to stake his boat to harder banks and then pulled the fish up in the water. The words didn't seem to want to come out at first, then he half crying he said aloud, “I am sorry my friend for what I have done.”

And with that he brought the pipe down hard as he could onto her skull. With that single merciful strike she was gone. George watched the life drain from her eyes as tears began to stream from his own.

Emotion overwhelmed him after he committed the merciful act that he hated so much. All he could do was slump down onto the wooden seat holding his head in his hands and cry. He hadn't cried like this since that awful day seventeen years ago when his beloved wife left him for the last time. The feeling was unbearable. He had fished since he was knee high and over the years he had probably killed thousands of fish, first as food and then as trophies, but that was in the past and now and he revered all fish as sacred. Now here he was after the capture of his life mourning the largest pike known to man. Time began to slip away from him as he curled up in the bottom of the boat in a tired daze and drifted off…

The Lake #22 The queen is gone! Long live the kings.

Hanging fearlessly mid-water in the shadow of the old log she bristled in a state of constant readiness for the attack. For years now she had been the number one, the apex predator of the confluence pool and the arrival of the log in the very centre had only cemented her position further. Some time during winter just passed it had been lifted from its resting place high up the brook by the swollen waters and drifted slowly down to the pool. After a few days churning aimlessly round in the eddy, the water level fell as the rains abated and the log had grounded on the silty bar just off the main flow. Though its resting place was pure chance, the log was perfectly positioned for the pike and her brethren to use as an ambush point, from which they attacked the flashing silver shoals of prey that darted back and forth constantly.

Much like the log, she and hundreds of other microscopic pike had found their way down the brook into the pool. As per normal they had been gorging the tiny daphnia close to the surface to feed their constant hunger. In doing so they had inadvertently strayed too close to an invisible force which had sucked them against their will down into the brook. Many died in the initial  fall, others were taken from above by stabbing birds that appeared from nowhere, but those who survived made their way into the pool where other predators waited.

The years passed and as they did perch, kingfishers and cannibalism all took their toll on the little pike. But she soon had begun to exceed her brothers and sisters in size and now she too had become quite partial to eating her kin. Now after many turns of the seasons only three of the originals remained, her and her two smaller brothers. The smallest of their trio had moved off over the shallow water for easy pickings in the small pool by the wall. She though was too big to dare  try the journey. Only three nights past she attempted to get over shallows only to get stuck in a panic in the dark. But that was all forgotten now as some other disturbance had focused her and her scared brothers attentions on the pool in front.

Not long after dawn, out of the blue a bounty of tiny red grubs had fallen on the water. The silver roach and golden rudd were quick to harvest this bounty and in no time at all they were in a frenzy. With the nights growing cold their hunger had increased and such a wondrous source of food could not be ignored if they wanted to survive the winter, so they fed with unabated gusto. It was that activity that raised the attentions of the pike, but it was the vibrations of panic that made them strike. It was a thrashing perch that brought the little male out into the open, but it was the second one he sensed that he struck moments later. For a small fish it resisted more than normal when bitten but a few savage thrashes and it was his. It was her turn now! The small male had circled round to swallow his meal under the log and so any panicked fish were hers and hers alone. It took a while for it to happen again and when it did the panic was too far off for her to strike. Then moments later a sulking perch skulked back into the deep water all spines flared indigent at its ordeal. Before she could chase the perch a silver mass of terror flashed above. Without thinking she struck, grasping the fish side-on before turning back to the bottom. She too felt the resistance stopping her from swimming away but a surge of power brought a sudden end to it.

As she went around the log swallowing her meal she passed the two carp and their tench companion mooning in the roots of the undercut bank. Neither paid the other much heed as size had removed fear from all parties. The panic continued on and off but it wasn't until the last meals had stopped wriggling in their stomachs that the pair re-set into attack positions  Again the small gung-ho male attacked first, missing his target as he swirled high in the water. Then something fluttered down through the water not far in front of her. It didn't flash and it wasn't panicked, but its wriggling attracted her and its size decided it. It had been a long time since she had eaten worms, but it was food and she wasn't about to pass up a free meal of this size. Unlike the speedy thrashing fish, the worm would not make a hasty escape so calmly she drifted forward stopping only inches away. Focusing on the gently writhing worm she manoeuvred herself into position before calmly opening her mouth enough to suck in the worm. As she turned off slowly back towards the log she felt a stabbing jolt in the side of her mouth and sudden resistance prevented her from moving. Unaware of any real danger she didn't panic and just hung motionless. Slowly she began moving backwards, then as the surface neared she bolted off towards safety  Again and again she made a bid for the log but time and time again something prevented her escaping  Now her panic rose as she did in the water and her surges to escape became more frantic, until finally her energy gave out and the force pulled her towards the shallows grew.

The one last ditch attempt to escape at the sight of the strange foreign object she was drawn towards came to nothing. She felt something rise around her before the normal comforting water dispersed under her and she found herself pulled into a cold alien world. Moments later she felt herself laid down onto something soft. It was then that the predator appeared in her eye line. Survival took over and she thrashed violently but this just drew the assailant onto her where it grabbed her by her chin. With her mouth forced open she felt the pain in the side of her mouth twist then fade, then again she was laid on her side as the predator loomed over her for a while. Suddenly the alien thing engulfed her again and she felt herself moving. Light and dark was all she saw for a while then it just became light, bright light that was blinding  Then water rose around her and she could again breathe. Confused but happy that she was back in her world, she rested a moment before drifting slowly away. But this wasn't the pool, it wasn't even her world this was bigger, a million times bigger. Caution took over and she moved slowly to the safety of some weed to figure out this strange new place.

"I've got you this time!!!"

The jack pike had been plaguing me all morning ever since I had first deposited those first hand fulls of maggots to inspire the fish to feed. I had lost a few fish already to the pike and they had chased many more. I'd had to tie on new hooks when other had been severed from my line my the razor sharp teeth of the jacks. But finally one had actually taken my worm and it seemed like I had a clean and honest hook hold on one so maybe my light line would hold just enough for me to land it.

The snag was the problem. It had appeared after the winter floods and had annoyingly got stuck just about in the centre of the pool, essentially cutting the pool in half. I knew the tiny tench I sought to transfer back up to the lake liked to hang out along the under cut bank like there big relation that I had seen hanging around with the carp. But with the snag now in between me and them, I could not risk casting beyond it as I knew fish would get tangled under it. So I had resigned myself to fishing the main part of the pool in front of the snag in the hope that I could draw the tench up to me instead.

Saying that, the snag wasn't the only problem. The water level was low and it had concentrated all the fish into a very confined area, pike included, and they were having a field day in the shallow water. Although we have had rain here and there, it would seem that not enough water had fallen this summer to keep the lake topped up enough to keep the spillway flowing and this was reflected in the brooks. The brook to my right was reduced to only two foot wide strip that hugged the bank.

And the brook that entered the pool opposite me through the wood with its dry pebbles had seemingly become subterranean.

Even with the low water level the fish were in the mood to feed as the nights had grown a little colder with the on set of autumn, and even with the few fish and hooks lost to the pike I had already landed a slew of nice perch up to a pound and half.

But now I was hooked into something much bigger after my rod tip had pulled slowly round with intent. My light feeder rod bent double as it seemed that my hook had found safe purchase after one of the pike had taken my worm. The three pound line was holding as my lightly set clutch allowed enough leeway for the little pike to run but not snap me up. Now it was a case of just going softly until it was tired enough to land. I could see it hanging in the clear water before it surged off towards the snag yet again but this time it gave up half way there and it looked like the fight was soon to be over. On seeing the net in the water it did that classic one last surge to escape the net that pike always seem to do, but that came to no avail.

In the net and as I rested it onto the mat the fish was calm as you like. But when I bent over it all hell broke loose like I was about to eat it. So I quickly chinned the thrashing little pike opening its mouth to see where my lucky strike had set the hook. Just as I thought the barbless hook had caught home just in the scissor,s and upon trying to dislodge it with my forceps I found there was no way that one was coming out in the fight. A quick wiggle and it was out and the fish was unhooked.

I had to get a picture of this immaculate little pike and as I did I dawned on my that maybe this one might be getting a little to big for the confluence pool. I had in the past put any smaller ones back into the pool but this one was way bigger than those. The bailiff had told me before that any bigger fish could go back up to the lake from where they originated and this one would make a fine addition to the pike populations of the giant pool above.

It's only a short journey up the ancient man made bank up to the lake so I put her back into my net and scarpered back up the bank to the concrete outlet. After resting her in the water she soon righted herself and hung in my net. I knew it would be a bit of a new world for her in the massive lake, but as she slowly swam down into the weed to rest before going off to explore the place of her birth, I hoped she would have the opportunity to breed and start the whole cycle again.

Sitting on the point that dominates the pool I poured another cup of tea and watched the water settle. Already I could see one of the other small pike attacking the roach in the clouded water I'd stirred up. As I sipped the hot brew from my old tin mug I wondered whether now she was gone maybe one of the other two smaller pike I had seen this morning might rise up to become the king of the pool, now that the queen was gone.