Bye for now!

I’ve been running and running away from all of these god forsaken Swedish winters. Alot of us swedes enjoy the winter and all different activities that it offer, sadly these activities doesn’t include fishing in open water. And this is what I hate about Sweden, the winter.

There is no escaping the winter this time. I’ve just got to try and get through the misery.

Hopefully I will be able to get out on the ice to hunt for some pike, that’s something at least. I also wish that I’ll be able to craft a few lures just so I have something to come up with here on the blog. Right now I’m just sitting around at a hostel down in Barcelona where I will spend October, for this I feel so stupid regarding the fact that October is my favourite month when it comes to pikehunting.

I’m really slushy inside my brains at the moment so all I’m gonna say for now is; I’ll be back soon =)

Enjoy a couple of pictures from this season.

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Mirrors, not even the stealthiest fish can rise unnoticed here.

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The first attendants of an annual char-orgy.

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More mirrors.

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This summers largest and absolutely finest trout. Just have a good look at those red dots. I freaked the fuck out á la ”yosemitebear – double rainbow” when this one fell for the net. Honestly, I might seem pretty calm and sensible to some people, but the harsh truth is that I’m pretty much an insane maniac.

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Another Swedish beauty from the same river. This fellow jack wasn’t really that well-dressed but he wasn’t far behind at all. I’m sure he got to fertilize a good amount of roe this autumn! Can’t help to mention the 7 pound or 3kg+ jack that I sighted in the same section of the river. That large jack had a face just as big as mine. I can’t believe I didn’t put enough effort to catch that monster. I’m sure he’d make even the sneakiest kiwi wet his or her pants.

That’s all for today. Might put up a short film here soon.

Autumn’s Enchantment

We’re right up in the middle of the in my opinion neatest season of the year – autumn.

One’s just got to appreciate the way the scenery dress and what breathing the cool fresh air feels like. Breathing the autumn air feels like drinking the same nice water you’ve been drinking all summer but with a good scoop of ice in it.

In short – It’s the same air, same leaves and the same fish; everything’s just looks and feels a bit better.

Our beloved chars that inhabit many of our northern Swedish lakes won’t let the autumn beauty above the surface get far ahead. Oh no, fact is that the chars jump into something that’s way above the league of the terrestrial life.

It’s not to put the autumn down for all of those who don’t fish but the finest of autumn’s beauty is actually found subsurface.

I’ve always been obsessed with the thought of catching a spawn-suit charizard but finding one is not that easy with a million of alternatives on the map. I’ve tried a valley named Korsavaggi which took me about 4 hours of walking up into the mounts to reach. I’ve had three days off duty to spend hunting for rubies, three days with neither wind nor clouds at all.

With conditions like that a good time is sure to be had, with or without fish.

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My belief in having a good time even without fish was about to get put to the test.

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When the aftermath of a mayfly hatch like this don’t cause chars to rise, it’s time to start worrying about not being in the right spot.

And so I didn’t have much of a choice but to try having a good time under the sun without the company of some ruby-like fish.

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I tried to capture some of the terrestrial beauty in the valley.

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I met a curious grouse who tried to tell me something in its cackly language.

Oh well, I can’t tell more than what the pictures tell. It was just a lovely weekend even though the fish were absent.

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A few Weeks then passed without any success whatsoever in catching a male char in spawning colours. My last three-day off duty didn’t deliver the same kind of weather so I stuck to hiding inside, hiding from the shame of letting September pass without seeing a blood red char. However, during the last two days, the entity controlling the weather has been real kind to me. The wind was set to work on night time only and have had to rest during daytime, paving the way for thousands of insects craving water and dozens of chars craving insects.

There’s a small lake nearby the borders to Norway. It’s just by the road but I haven’t ever seen anyone fishing there even though the lake is inhabited by quite a few decent char. My friend caught a red one there a few weeks ago. He ate it with his dad and they said it tasted like sot and poo.

One can actually feel the smell of rotting bacteria rising above while wading in the water, hence the taste of the fish.

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Alot of swedes are obsessed with the idea of killing every single fish they catch for the sake of a good feed, especially winter fishermen. This is a problem in the northern, cold areas where chars struggle to grow large due to the lack of nutrients during the long and cold winters. Succeeding in becoming large enough for spawning might take several years, a fact to which some people show pure ignorance.

But the chars in this lake are lucky; they taste like shit and so way fewer winter fishermen targets them.

Luckily their foul taste doesn’t afflict their ability to turn into gorgeous little dragons during autumn – Not at all.

I caught a few charmanders and a real nice charmeleon so now I can finally feel that I can let this month through without being anxious at the end of every single day.

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This handsome hunk is surely going to fertilize a shitload of roe. Uhm. Talking about the fish ofcourse.

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Seeing these fish rise slowly to a small caddis imitation twitched along the surface is not something I can simply describe through letters, enough said.

Anyhow, I am still to catch a real Charizard. Just wait!

Enjoy the autumn bitches.

Piecazceout

 

Cod of Beauty

Can’t help but writing in Swedish today, soz.

För några veckor sedan så utförde jag och Nils en klassisk fiskeritual som går ut på att pumpa upp en gammal goding till gummibåt, sjösätta den, fylla den med götte samt att installera på den en motor för att sedan åka ut på monstergäddjakt. Allt för spänningen eller snarare kaoset som skulle uppstå om en onödigt stor gädda skulle kliva på kroken.I brist på bra gäddvatten fick vi istället rikta siktet åt ett annat håll och försöka utöva denna ritual med andra kaosskapande satyg i kikaret.

Vår destination fick bli nordnorges fjordar där stora sluga flundror delar revir med stora slöa torskar. De hänger tydligen omkring där i jakt på antingen härjig makrill eller den klassiskt hjärndöda IQ-sejen.

Väl ute på fjorden satt jag med flugspö i hand och lät en liten makrillimitation slinka fram under ytan i hopp om att en lite större sej skulle hitta till kroken och så för att bjuda på lite skapligt spöböj. Detta resulterade istället i en galen makrill, som trots sin storlek ändå gav mig en slags nimmelse till fiskeorgasm.

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En omogen men ack så effektiv avrättning med luftpistol senare och så fick makrillen fungera som agn för kvällen.

Nu återstod det bara att en stor, saftig och hungrande best skulle vara ute på patrull med makrill som önskemål för kvällens meny. I väntan, som tyvärr kan bli evig, så tar man sig en falcon bayerskt och sippar – Och det för att ritualen över huvudtaget skall kunna fullbordas.

DSC_0078DSC_0089- Gamla bettan snurrar än, säger Nils och klappar stolt ”skiten”s ersättare och rival. Nog för att skiten säkerligen hade levererat, problemet var bara att han befann sig 130 mil bort.

Sedan likt en blixt från blåa skyar sa det pang i bygget och något riktigt stort och groteskt hade gett sig på det stackars makrillskadavret. En trevlig prick som jag tänker kalla för Lars kom upp till ytan utan att visa något större missnöje över att ha blivit fångad. Att ta upp och lägga Lars i båten kom inte på fråga så då fick istället den rivige elmotorn visa vad den gick för genom att bogsera in två glada gossar och en trött gammal torsk till hamn.

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Det måste tilläggas att Lars var en riktig dunderhunk.

Torsken, som per definition kan ha varit den första jag någonsin skådat, vägde 18,5 kilo. Vårat försök till att återutsätta fisken misslyckades då den av någon tråkig anledning (dykarsjuka, ålder?) inte pallade att ta sig iväg. Detta beklagar vi oss för och hoppas att vi av fiskgudarna någonsin kommer kunna bli förlåtna.

Smått besvikna satt vi oss ner och klurade på vad vi skulle göra med stackars Lars, vi hade ju inte chans att frysa in/kyla honom ordentligt då vi skulle stanna över natten. En tanke slog Nils att fisken kanske kunde säljas för dryga femhundra till tusen spänn. Vi befann oss i ett av världens absolut rikaste länder och tänkte att dessa norrmän kanske körde runt med en bankomat i skuffen redo att kasta pengar över första bästa torsk. Vi provade idén och viftade lite med Lars vid vägkanten men bara en bil stannade, mest för att ta en titt då köpa fisken inte kom på fråga.

Inte heller när fisken erbjöds gratis så var norrmännen intresserade. Då slog det oss att de rika norrmännen antagligen hellre åker förbi snabbköp och tömmer lite av sina något överflödiga plånböcker på filéad odlingslax. Kvar fanns då bara ett alternativ, vi fick helt enkelt lov att chansa och lägga fisken under ett gäng stenar för att den förhoppningsvis skulle hålla sig kall till kommande dag och dess eftermiddag.

Därefter fortsatte fjordäventyret i gummibåten tills det att solen som tagit en snabb vända ner under bergskanten åter tog sig upp för att lysa upp fjordens alla under.

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Chill i den tidiga morgonsolen.

DSC_0010Makrill med (nästan) passande nagellack.

Sedan, efter att ett dussin falconburkar berövats sitt innehåll så avslutades fisketuren med grillad korv och en god natts sömn.

Det var det..

Pizz!

 

25 ys ol

In the year of 2000 during the month of June, one of Swedens largest chars was caught in a lake that goes by quite a few different names on quite a few different maps. Don’t ask why because I don’t have a clue but let’s just call it Lake Pessi. This char however weighted 4,55 kilos which is pretty much 10 pounds.

A few hours of walking up into the mountainous area laid my target; Lake pessi, hopefully still inhabited by a char or two like that. After reaching a certain altitude, trees can barely be seen anywhere, mosquitoes are as usual as everywhere, the scenery is unnaturally natural and the vastness of it all might give one the feeling of being incredibly small. Not even a titan or Godzilla would look big there.

A few hours after stepping out of the car in the humid air I reached a point from where I finally could see the lake. A great feeling even though there obviously are quite a few steps left before the fun actually starts.

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Lake pessi.

Large caddis was flying around the huge, seemingly dead shoreline. Not a single rise, just a throng of nagging mosquito. After busting around the entire lake and its willowed shoreline without seeing any impressing rises within reach I decided I’ll give up and forget about chars.

I felt like a huge fool. Why did I come all the way up here just because I read on the internet that someone, 14 years ago, caught a nice char here?

I sat down in my bitterness while watching the chars play way out of reach on the mirror-like lake.

I realized that the sun wasn’t going to go down at all and that time was yet to pass midnight, so I busted out the map just too see if I could find something of interest. There was a smaller, narrower lake 30-40 minutes away; i wouldn’t even be able to spell the name of the lake with a regular keyboard so let’s just forget about that.

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My new target in daylight.

This lake was even shallower; all that rippled the surface were a bunch of birds. Considering the cold winters, the water would probably be frozen all the way down to the very bottom of it, hence its lack of char. I set up my tent and poured some water into my pot in order to cook some noodles. Not that I was hungry, I’d just eat for the sake of easing up my remorseful chest.

While eating, I finally saw a few ripples that came from something submerged – hopefully not a diving bird. That which could have been rises didn’t look very impressive but it’d be stupid not to give it a shot.

I finished off the noodles, hurried down to the shore and hurled line and fly out in the area in which I’ve seen the rise and waited… And waited….

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Nothing happened for quite a while.

Finally something struck the surface nearby, struck again even closer, and finally a plow-ripple created by what was swimming under the surface collided with the fly. And so I caught my first Arctic char ever. Not exactly a Charizard but it fought well and made me pretty damn happy.

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The night continued, and the absence of rises was not related to absence of fish. It was just that the big caddis didn’t end up on the surface very often, but when they did they were sure to get swallowed by the beautiful and healthy 1-2 pound char that was lurking the shoreline. I caught and released a bunch of them and had a least to say fun and exciting night accompanied by the sun.

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This is the sun rising, approximately an hour after setting.

The coming day offered nothing but fairly strong winds and didn’t allow me to enjoy dryfly fishing from the shore so instead I went for a walk up the mounts to enjoy the freedom that its vastness offered.

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The behind-side of the” Lapp Portal”.

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The next night started off pretty well but a light gust spoiled the mirror-ish surface so I went to bed, happy enough about the first night in order to fall asleep.

And that’s all part from the not-to-exciting walk back to the car…

Shooo

 

Trawt

Right here right now as the sun shines, in Abisko, I’m sitting in front of my computer trying to pay effort to write an blog entry but all that comes out on the screen is Swedish words. Well, sorry my non-swedish friends.

På senare tiden så har jag och Nils spenderat en hel del tid vid en flod som kallas för, typ något i stil med nakenbäcken. Nakenbäcken är dock ett väldigt felaktigt namn på den här floden, för det första är det inte en bäck utan en flod och för det andra så är den inte naken, landkanten den är väl klädd i björk och videsnår. Det tidigare frågetecknet på kartan har visat sig vara något mer i stil med en guldgruva. Vattnet är oerhört harr-och-öring rikt. Att fisken trivs här är inget under, på kvällskanten när vinden mojnat så fylls skyarna av saftiga spinnande dagsländor som sakta men säkert sjunker ner mot ytan för att frivilligt lämna denna värld.

Nu när svärmarna är som störst och safigast så har även våra smått suriga öringar hittat in till landkanterna där de står och lägger nosen i torrt, satt säga. Öringen vakar mer elegant än harren, är mer lättskrämd, mer svårflörtad och en allmänt hetare fisk. Så lyder iallafall min åsikt. När man fiskar på sightad fisk som vakar i ström eller som patrullerar längs landkanten så förs tankarna tillbaka till Nya Zealand, i synnerhet när man råkar se en fisk som ser ut att väga en bit över 3 kg. Den sistnämnda besten har ännu inte blivit lurad, men det har ett par av dennes yngre brödrar eller systrar.

DSC_0047DSC_0078DSC_0111   Det verkar onekeligen som att öringarna i Sverige kompenserar de i jämförelse med kiwiöringarna aningen mindre storlekarna med aningen vackrare textur. Jag och Nils hade en ypperligt ”sportig” fiskedag vid den gamla goda guldbäcken. De saftiga öringarna vakade stabilt på inne vid landkanten, precisionskasten skulle sitta till hundra procent för att fångstens lycka skulle uppenbara sig. DSC_0013DCIM100GOPRO Refrängen utgjorde saftiga brungråa dagsländor. Strax efter att jag fångat min så spanade Nils in en redig gris som slingrade sig runt i ett område och mumsade på dö-pömsiga sländor.   DSC_0039 Efter att ha analyserat fiskens middagsrutiner så bestämde sig Nils för att plocka öringen nästa gång den kom inom hans väldiga räckvidd. Men fisken kom aldrig åter så Nils fick åter positionera sig på stigen med mig för att vandra vidare på jakt efter frossande öringar. Tiden hann inte springa långt bort förens nästa fisk, som mycket möjligt kan ha varit samma, uppenbarade sig genom febrilt vakande framför en halvdränkt sten.

Efter att försiktigt ha arbetat kasten längre och längre upp framför vaken så träffade han slutligen rätt punkt och ett stillsamt vak lät flugan försvinna ner under ytan med ett gläfs. Den tidigare intet ont anande fisken fick ett regelrätt dampryck och Nils som kunde se sin sönderslitna lina flyga upp ur vattnen lät något som kan ha varit ett könsord slinka ut i luften.

Livet går emmelertid vidare och så gick även stigen, av oss följt, vidare uppströms.

Vattenlivet vidare uppströms var inte lika attraktivt som det längre ner och ordspråket som lyder ”inget vågat inget vunnet” lät oss smaka på sin andra hälft, trots att vi tog risken och lämnade det som vi nu vet är det bästa vattnet bakom oss.

Naturen bjöd på fina vyer innan den spärrade in oss i ett videsnår som var bebott av minst lika många myggor som det finns sandkorn i sahara.

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Sandflugorna på Nya Zealand var färre och besitter inte förmågan att penetrera en keps följt av rejäl kalufs.

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Det var allt för idag.

Prrzx

 

 

Lurk 4 LF

Not too many days offer pristine clear blue skies, relief from the pressure of hard work and the possibility to go out for a good lurk in the woods with a real good friend. Especially not in the very northern reaches of Sweden where the summer is short, weather’s unstable and waters is cold.

It’s past midsummer and the very first batch of mayflies has just begun emerging from the depths to engage in their aerial games of love.

They love it, them trout love it, but us fishermen love it the most. Not to mention ol’ Greydar who more than surely can be bothered to break the surface when the aftermath of these lovegames lays the tables for the biggest of feasts that mother nature offers annually.

Deep in the woods laid our target. Google maps and a shyly rumour of a 4 kg brown trout was all that we had to rely on. Nils was worried  about thick bushes and I was a little too avid. The whole thing just didn’t feel right but it didn’t feel too wrong either.

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I’m on about the best, in my opinion, feeling in the world – Engaging a totally unknown river with a flyrod on a day like this. That very first glimpse of the water shatters every image of what the mind in co-operation with expectations has created.

The river is no longer fantasy, it’s not nothing but a fictive image any more, it’s reality. The picture above shows parts of what we saw upon our arrival. The river was wider and slower than I’d expected, my first instinct was to start exploring upstream due to what the wind made the dryfly opportunity look like. We sat down to set up our rods while a swarm of mosquito tried to exploit our nutritious human bodies. Usually mosquitoes are a pain in the ass, but when it comes to fishing it’s just such a good indication that one might be in the right spot.

And it didn’t take more than just a few minutes before we saw the first good fish rising in the small waves. I had a huge struggle to set up my fly rod due to a tangled line, so Nils had to make the move.

With his brand new #4 rod he swung out a streaking caddis which after a couple of attempts got accepted as food for one of the rising fish.

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The fish didn’t seem to be very happy about the fact that she got caught.

DSC_0010And so she escaped.

After landing another Grayling straight after the first one our previous expectations doubled up. As no more rising fish were present, we focused on a point where the river bent a hundred meters ahead. Regarding the winds direction, that would lead us straight into the lee – Thank god for trees!

While walking slowly upstream in the shallow edge of the river, a fish swam up to me and positioned itself just next to my left leg. I didn’t really believe it at first, but it was the finest of trout chilling right next to me, covered in billions of dark brown spots.

He stayed with me just long enough for Nils to see him, then he realized that he might be in a hazardous area and left.

We looked at each other as if we’d just found a 100 dollar bill on the ground. We figured it would be a good idea to stay out of the water in order to not scare the fish. We reached an area were the river opened up and became large, even more slow flowing and really shallow.

It didn’t take long until the next, even bigger trout showed up. But unlike NZ trout, this trout was swimming way to fast for us to react and get the fly out in front of it. So we walked out in the shallow water and swung big crane flies to the edges and waited.

After a while something big nailed my fly, not too disappointing but it wasn’t the trout.

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And so the long day turned into evening and the evening into night while loads of fun were had.

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As a young boy I spent a lot of time inside my Game Boy playing Pokémon, the epigraph ”Gotta Catch ‘em all” might have been the reason for my obsession with catching fish. And that’s also why the picture above made me think about this…

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Quite similar!

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But Nils doesn’t ”simply” catch fish with a net, oh no.

Later on, we returned to Abisko while listening to ”It was a good day” with Ice Cube!

I returned to the river a couple of days later without Nils… A story that will follow.

That’s all for now, PZ!

 

 

 

 

Greydar the Greyling

The title is pretty unrelated, but not entirely. This post is about the greyling but it ain’t about any greyling in particular. I just thought that Greydar would be what I’d be naming my child if my yet-to-be-found wife would (for some stupid reason) give birth to a greyling.

Am I insane?

A little bit, I’ve got some random ideas coming up in my head like out of nowhere today. I’m sure that they are related to the lack of sleep that my last 3 days of fishing have caused.

Usually, if one fishes a more sane area like New Zealand or south/mid Sweden, one would find themselves standing in total darkness after a good days fishing. Well, since the sun is going down that is.

But imagine what would happen to a fish-o-maniac if the sun was never to go down. He, or she, would get stuck at the river without any chance whatsoever to get out.

And if the river contains millions of greyling that ravage the fly on almost every single cast, some sleepless nights are sure to be experienced.

This happened to me, hence my lack in sanity.

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This is where I’ve spent my last three nights and where me, Niklas and Nils caught well over 150 greydars. It does sound a little bit more awesome than it is – I think three of all the fish measured 40-50 cm.

Most fish just came flying up and out of the water with my 4wt flyline as I pulled off a strike to set the hook.

On the last of these days something strange was going on under the surface. For some reason that might be that we caught, released and therefore scared all of the small fish away, we finally reached a point where way less small fish got hooked and quite a few better greyling seemed to fall for the charm of a tungsten nymph rolling in the depths. Nils is quite a fan of the nymph…

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With this badboy Nils claimed the title ”Harrkung” which could be translated into ”King Grey” in English. A staggering sight after seeing extremely mad amounts of small fish. I congratulate Nils for that title even though I don’t think the title will be too hard to confiscate, at least that’s what I believe.

Later, Niklas’s Graydar radar spotted a fish feeding in the utterly shallow water, the ”sail” went up and down in the spot that was almost unreachable while a cold gust was pulsating from the east. Although the wind was pulsating upstream, it wasn’t really that helpful, at least not for me.

Niklas made the cast on the second attempt, the streaking caddis submerged and found its way down the gap of a really fine greyling. Sadly, the fish managed to escape after a brief relationship with the sharp hook. I’m sure that would have been the end of Nils’s reign.

Moments later, while digging for grey coal and silver, I happened to stumble upon a piece of gold. The reckless fish came flying out of the water, this fish, unlike most others, didn’t get tossed out of the water by the strike, instead it flew up in pure rage.

The raging fish was not that big but it surely had quite a few horsepowers to unleash.

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My first brown since my arrival, hopefully not the last.

The place was also inhabited by furious pike that sliced some of the poor struggling greyling that we hooked. This never resulted in a landed pike but what to remember is that one needs to be pretty careful landing those greyling without a net – I’m sure they slice hands just as good as fish.

Long story short, the place was a really fun spot to fish. We slept in a caravan just on the river, we drank, we ate and we fished! For what more could we ask? Not to get hungover maybe?

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Pure magic! I’m not sure if god exist but if he does he must have been tripping while creating these.

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That’s one ugly king ;) .

Pizz!