The night sped by. The hours passed by. Onward I drove the only company the neon cat’s eyes. To the north I was bound in pursuit of pike, a new water had been discovered and its mysteries and treasures where there to be plundered.
The rain now came, at first big random splashes on
the windscreen which soon built into a driving wall of water, the wipers now at
full speed beating furiously at the incessant deluge, trucks lumbered passed on
there business sending up columns of spray. I cursed the weather and changed
the CD, Onward I drove, alone, but with thoughts of pike burning bright.
At last the motorway came to an end but my journey
hadn’t. On into the night the road snaked and even though I couldn’t see the
landscape I knew it was changing, deep into the countryside it went, rising and
falling, twisting and turning, the road goes ever on. Concentrate! Tiredness
cloyed at my temples and my eyes burned, the smell of caffeine was heavy as I
drank. Opening the windows to let in the fresh night air the smell of fresh
pine trees wafted into the car I drank deep intoxicated by the fragrance I
smiled as I turned up the stereo and accelerated into the bend.
The world of the piker is strange. In pursuit of a
creature from another realm. A creature that captures the imagination of all
who cross her path, but what is it about Esox
Lucias that leads us anglers across this land, driving through the night
through atrocious weather over countless miles? Will this trip be just another
wild goose chase or will the many snippets of information and rumours, just once
maybe will turn into something tangible, but what will the prize be? Will it justify the
many sacrifices that we as pikers often make? Is it this chase, this game that
we crave more than the fishing itself?
Id liken it to a puzzle whereby the rules
are always shifting always changing. For the lucky ones fishing is an innocent
past time a chance to escape, to relax. A fine line however exists and to cross
it means to delve into a place where the lines between sport and hobby become
blurred. To those which cross this line it becomes more a way of life, possibly
an obsession. After time the years flash by, friendships and lovers come and
go, the true ones will stay loyal even though the chase, the game goes on,
hunting the hunter.
At last after hours of driving the miles on the sign
posts become less and I know that I will be nearing my journeys end. I pulled
the car into a lay-by switched off the engine and got out, stretching my arms
out and making some strange growling sound I took the fresh cool night air deep
into my lungs and enjoyed the silence after hours of artificial noise. I made a
quick check of my kit, rucksack, rods and freezer box. The bare minimum,
discretion was the name of this game and I had half a mile to trudge before I
reached the lakes dark waters. I like walking on my own at night your senses
tune in and you pass by undetected by the world a rare kind of solitude in
these increasingly congested times.
I clamber over the dry stone wall feeling the damp
mosses and lichens under my fingers crossing the open field I notice stars
pepper the sky between scurrying clouds. Another wall is negotiated and I
descend into the depths of the wood. I join the path walking until I come to my
marker telling me where to go in the dark. Once again trees are all around me
there trunks and boughs darker shades against the night. The wind sighs and the
trees whisper and creak, twigs crack and branches whip my face as I force my
way on, not far now and I would be there. The trees grow sparse and clear as I
approach the water. I hear it before I see it waves rhythmically lapping the
shore, I cringe as a flock of crows leave there roost chattering raucously in
protest at my invasion giving away my position. Silence replaces the commotion
and I’m now here.
Still under the cloak of darkness I prepare to fish,
the rods where already sett up and all I needed to do was clip on the traces
and attach the leads. Once cast out I began to wait, there was no dramatic
sunrise instead the night gave way to a lessening gloom and the new day heralded
a rising wind, Scots pines bent and flexed on the opposite shore and the woods
around me began to moan. Waves increased, charging ashore a cavalry of white
horses, there was a chill in the air and I hankered down behind a knar led and
weathered beech tree.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWs77YzRRq4HuTXIatmZArJRxcEZr8mVOByK6E_za7O6IkTmJG1fEAvh6r-rc7lbsAN8uwePYQhcnNF0_6Fmd0ZqvggRuj5vqY06VCghxtnJtwv6kC_9j_hMt2KYEDDKuOTgP0EmzmmBc/s280/Snow+Drops.jpg)
A movement caught my eye a hare lolloped along the
waters edge oblivious to my presence as I sat still and quiet. The hare is an
enigmatic creature steeped in legend bound up with old mythology, witches and
the full moon. It was believed in times of old that they held supernatural
powers. This one however simply went about his business and disappeared into
the undergrowth.
The growing wind brought with it squally showers
that where beginning to turn wintry in the chill air. Hail stone hissed on the
water like a venomous snake.
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyOG7GEBinIPU_xVukUgNy0Yw6hfNEdoxNJwHk1gMUoXWyuxErK301LOq_xxqBV5ATpisfbDR29sohb92HAb8rSv2hR1rb6v8Oi_Z34I2hlTt68P3tOqu6IbWT8OEqJedE0anxbvJjzwU/s280/Hand+on+tight.jpg)
Un-clipping the trace I rolled the net up and
staggered up the bank, bloody hell she was big. I opened her jaws and it was
like I could have popped my head in. The bottom treble was quite far down each
time I tried to turn it I felt her body tense up trying to shake free of my
grip. In through the gills with the side cutters and the hooks where cropped
and simply fell free keeping her clean. She was a handful to weigh and
photograph all 28Ib 8oz of her.
I held her in the margins of the lake waiting
for her to kick free. Pure angling magic not my biggest pike but certainly my
best.
No more runs where forth coming but I cared little .
I repeated the old adage “you only need the one run” I was content a warm
feeling burnt within a feeling only anglers know. As the afternoon wore on the
wind eased the sky cleared and the sun dipped low burning in the west heralding
the coming frost. To the north there truly be dragons.
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