I’m standing in the middle of Kattegat. I don’t know if i should cry with joy or break my rod in anger. Fact is that the trout got away.
In Kattegat lies Samsø. A fairly small island, this, combined with a really varied coastline, makes it great for biking and fishing. I brought my hammock, a Trangiakitchen, waders and fishinggear.
Two days of Rambo-fishing-session is about to begin. First I set camp down south, wind’s quite hard and besides from cows and screaming birds, no animals come in close that night. The morning after, awoken by the birds screaming, I see a couple of trout hunting in the shallow water. A shrimp-immitation is tied to the end of my line, but the trout won’t bite. They disappear after half an hour and I decide to give up. I pack my shit and bike up north to a big stonereef. No wind at all – perfect for doing long, precise casts being an amateur as me. Even though the sun is still up heating the water, I start to cast. My excuse is, that even though it may not be the perfect condition for seatrout at the moment, a little warming-up the old shoulder won’t do anything bad. Suddently a big splash appears near my fly. Seconds later I feel the line getting tighter and tighter. My rod is bending in a nice curve; TROUT!
I’m like a small child at christmas, picturing myself posing with the beast I’m about to BBQ. But it doesn’t turn out that way.
We fight for a couple of minutes, but due to my own fuckup, the hook loosens and the trout is off again.
Two red, skinless stripes on my fore- and middlefinger is the evidence of 2 days of focused fishing. The morning after I try to do a few casts, but my arm is like rubber and I realise that I’m done with Samsø for now – I’ll be back soon!
Thanks to the Omnium Cargo bike to get me out there.