(published previously on PurePiscator)
When I was young I laughed at the old daft fishermen who had the whole year sorted with fishing-trips they just HAD to repeat every year. Hah! There can be no progress without testing new methods and new places, I thought. They will stop making discoveries, get locked in old thinking, and stop learning. Poor bastards.
Now I am older, wiser (possibly), and the year is full of fishing trips that just HAVE to be made during the year (the bloody history has a way of repeating itself, doesn't it?!). One of these trips is tench-fishing during the first weekend in June at an estate lake. It cannot be avoided. Besides, RUSTIK (the crucian study group) has its annual meeting at the castle too (we stay in the right wing thereof). On this meeting we drink a bit too much wine, and decide that none of the applicants can be accepted to join the club (we actually don't really have any members besides those on the board, as any new member must be accepted by all members of the board – and methinks there is no such man (or woman) alive that could be accepted by those cynical bastards).
The lake has a habit of treating me very fairly. Usually I catch about as much tench as my three friends do together – and always the largest, very fair I find.
After a full 36 hours of fishing, or possibly even 48, you get into a comfortable state of mind. Time moves slowly and you feel slightly intoxicated (even without the occasional beer, I am sure). Add to this the fact that we fish from small boats, soak our baits in fish oil (that makes the boat slippery!) and the end-result can be near-death experiences. Still good fun though. Sometimes you can even have visions.
On this particular evening I rowed the boat to my baited spots in a hole in the pads. It was almost dark (never is actually dark in Sweden at this time of year), and a bit foggy. A greyish misty flying form came towards me. Close to the water. No sound? What is it? A ghost?! Very low. Very close. On collision-course! PLONK! Crash! Without further ado a goose landed on my bucket of ground-bait! The ghostlike goose (ghoost?!) caused my poor strained heart to stop (if only for a second or two). He stared intently at me. Looking... Well. Surprised. Surprised and not a little confused. He swung his head. Trying to figure out what type of ghost I was, no doubt. I just had to document this. I reached for the camera, and happened to turn over the thermos-flask with a resounding crash! Apparently he didn't like what he saw, and took off as clumsily (even more so, as he was now also stressed!) as he landed. My heartbeat settled after a while, and I started thinking about fishing again.
Sadly no signs of tench were evident on the spot. As I had rowed all the way to the other end of the lake I decided to stay the (short) night in the boat. I curled up on the bottom of the boat, and shivered myself to sleep. I awoke with a start. My first thought was – what the hell?! Mouldy landing net? But soon realized that it was ice! Freezing. In June! Horrible country. My next thought was – what IS that weird sound?! I peered out into the mist. And saw the Loch ness monster! As clear as clear can be. A large furry head, and a 15 foot tail! It splashed and made strange sounds. I rubbed my eyes, and looked again. Still there
– plain to see! I rifled through my tackle-bag to find the camera – I HAD to document this. My thermos flask fell over with a loud bang. The monster responded with a loud BANG! of its own. Then it dove under the surface, ditching its long tail! What the?! After a while a beaver surfaced a looong way off. And the tail turned out to be a lilly root - complete with the pads - that the poor creature had towed along.
O well. Once my pulse and blood-pressure had returned to normal (normal for a man in the mid 80s most like), I started to scan the baited spot for tenchy signs. The sun had risen – and scared off all monsters and ghosts, like it usually does. It hadn't scared the tench though... The surface was frothing! And a large tench rolled on the surface. Hands shaking I baited my hook with a whole shrimp (complete with the shell – perfect in lakes where rudd are a pest, like they are here). I let it fall down into the largest patch of bubbles.
Within seconds the float rose, and fell over. I shouted "asparagus!" (it's a tradition, or an old charter, or something. Asparagus "shoot" out of the ground like a lift of the float) and struck. I was into a size medium fish. Played it hard (can't let them reach the pads or the battle is lost – "If you know the enemy and know yourself, your victory will not stand in doubt"/Sun Tzu). And enfolded it in the net. I lifted the medium tench, and was shocked by the weight of the net. Had it got stuck on the boat somewhere? No. Weird. I lifted the fish out of the water and realized that it was really, really, fat. It turned out to be a personal best (despite its mediocre length!).
The week-end turned out to be very fair indeed. I caught the two largest fish, and also as many as the friends together. In "Catching the impossible" there is a passage which I like – quoted (very freely) "tench are called doctor fish, because you need a Ph-D to catch them". The fact that I can never accurately remember quotes reminds me of another quote (that I believe I get right!)
"A stupid man's report of what a clever man says is never accurate because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something he can understand."
Bertrand Russell.
By Dr. Ragnarsson Stabo
