As every year, this year too, I set out with a group of friends before the trout season open on the Danish coast to torture the local sea trout. This year, however, after the trip to the Mediterranean in February, I was determined that this Denmark would be the last. I experienced a lot of unforgettable moments here, met a lot of good friends, but that was enough. It's time to move on again.

For the first time, we also gained one youngster. Eight-year-old Stepan. So the goal was to arrange for the youngest of us to catch his first sea trout. In the past, I have experienced several times how even seasoned fighters left after a week without a fish, so hopefully the young blood will get their trophy from the first Danish expedition.

When I caught a fish around forty-five centimeters in the "starter" (the bay where we always start) on the first cast, I thought we had won. But the opposite was true. Finding fish was not easy at all, moreover, we arrived after a very strong storm and the entire coast was quite broken. Sometimes we managed to catch a fish, but it was no glory. After the second day, Jirka had a fish of just over fifty-five, but the others only caught fish between thirty-five and forty-five centimeters. And these are not THOSE fish we come here for. About halfway through the week, after a fierce fight with the waves, little Štěpa also caught a trout. Finally! We can relax and really enjoy it. Well... take it easy. I insisted that we have the fish at a place about thirty minutes' walk from the cottage along the coast. So a pretty decent warm-up. So convincing someone to go there with me was an almost superhuman task. And so, classically like every year, I separated from the boys and started walking alone. They bravely traveled around the wide area by car, and I remained faithful to the place, where no one just goes, and whose rugged bottom literally enchanted me.

It was Wednesday afternoon, more than half of the stay behind us, and I went to "my spot". I honestly shuffled the roughly two hundred meter long section until the evening, but without contact. It was clear to me that after this experience, I would not get any of the party here the next day, and certainly not at five in the morning, as I had imagined. So I set off alone again before four in the morning. Getting up was tough, but in the end I got up and after a quick breakfast in my waders set off on a half-hour journey. I came to the water still in the dark, tied the float and carefully climbed into the water. She was like a mirror. This won't be easy, but maybe the gloom will help me a little. Not even five minutes passed when three fish swam about three meters in front of me. No minnows, trout about sixty numbers, beautifully built. I immediately cast a few meters in front of them, but the fish showed no interest. I cast for a while longer in the direction I saw them go, but nothing. I move a few meters and see two more. Again, however, without the slightest notice of the trap. I write to boys. Only Štěpán responds, calls me and asks what and how. I describe the situation and encourage him to take the fly rod. That might work. In about three quarters of an hour, they emerge on the horizon with little Štěpa. Just as he is coming in I see another nice trout. Štěpa gets up next to me. And glory. He finally got the fish to at least show interest in the bait. A trout around fifty-five centimeters goes after his bait, but after a while it turns again and disappears among the seaweed. We cast for about another hour, but we can no longer see the fish, let alone get a shot. So we return to the chat. The boys are just having breakfast and getting ready to go. We lure them to the spot, but nothing, they don't go anywhere on foot. So he's leaving without us. I have a second breakfast and go back. Štěpa and Štěpa only walk in front of the cottage. I've been there for maybe three hours. But I won't mind the fish anymore. The guys report one nicer fish. Stephen and Stephen nothing. I'm going back again. I meet Štěpány at the cottage. We have lunch together and around three o'clock I set off again for a half-hour walk to "my spot". I am determined to stay in the dark. The sun is setting faster than I would like. It starts to rain and blow. I'm tired and I'm about to leave. I quickly pull the float over the sandy bottom to finally go for a cup of warm coffee. When I see in it how he fires two fish behind her. I estimate about sixty numbers for both. I decide to stop the bait and hope that it provokes them to engage. Nothing. I stop and so do the fish. It slowly turns and returns to the dark bottom. The rain is getting heavier and I can see less and less as the sun sets. I try everything possible and impossible, but nothing happens. Okey. In a different way. I fire up the speed of the float as much as the reel will allow. And the situation repeats itself. This time, however, three nice fish are watching my lure. No attack again. This is repeated over and over. I always pull the fish in front of me and that's the end of it. I don't have the morals for that anymore and I can't even see properly anymore. I don't have a headlamp, so I use the flashlight from my mobile to return to the chat. There I tell everything to others. I won't convince them anyway. Maybe they don't believe me, maybe they just don't want to do an early morning hike in waders. No wonder. I go to bed, I consider for a while which bait to choose the next day and I soon fall asleep to the sound of a lively party from the kitchen.

No one goes out with me in the morning. This time after three in the morning. Surprisingly, I get up quite briskly. Coffee, breakfast, set up the chosen lure (I choose a sandeel with a black back and black belly and hope it will be enough contrast to the morning sunrise). I want to come to the water after dark. A brisk twenty-five minutes and I'm here. It was already clear to me before the cottage that today everything would be different. It blows, and that's enough. But the waves are such that you can catch them. I carefully enter the water. However, I only stay near the edge and try to catch the coastal zone. On the second, maybe third cast, I get a cautious shot. It almost seems like I picked up seaweed. Even so, I'm cutting. What follows will be in front of my eyes for a long time. I'm chopping almost hard and I really think I've picked up a good clump of seaweed. But the sound of the brake convinces me otherwise. A powerful lunge that forces me to check the brake settings tells me I've finally hit the fish I've been coming here for years. For the first minute, the fish does more or less what it wants. I don't see her for a second. It's either really big, or it's undercut. Otherwise, I can't explain such a fight. The waves that wash me up to my head every now and then don't exactly help me, but step by step I get the fish closer and closer. I finally have her with me and I can see who I have the honor to be with. And I also find out why he fights so enormously. The fish has about sixty-five numbers and the hook also has a hook at the top of the head. One of the waves lifts the fish right in front of me and I get to see it in all its glory. Unfortunately, the hook on the head is cut so badly that I am not able to turn the fish's head towards me, nor to pull it to the landing net. It is clear to me that if I take it, I will probably lose her. Another big wave and...the fish is gone. I think about everything in my head for a few more minutes, a few very loud curses are thrown, but I have to keep throwing. Some other time. Ideal conditions can end at any moment. Less than five minutes later I get another shot. This time the hook is already sitting nicely in the corner and after a while I pick up a seagull, about fifty-five centimeters in size. Finally! I write to the boys, but they are sleeping like dead. I throw about another hour and go to breakfast. The boys are determined to go to the lighthouse. I do not understand. Why? After all, we have the fish here, just a few dozen minutes' walk from the cottage. "Well, yes, but we don't feel like walking," reports Dejv. Allright then. The guys leave, I rest for a while and head back to the crime scene. I understand that the magic of the morning light is gone, but those fish have to hang around all day. I'm catching the coastal parts again. Maybe an hour and a half goes by and I'm about to change the bait. One last throw and there will be red, I think. And so I flick the sandeel to the second sand (I fish at a place where there is a strip of seaweed, then sand, seaweed again and then another strip of sand about seventy to eighty meters from the shore). I'll do two turns and bang. A huge blow and a typical head shake. This won't be a fart. The fish jumps and I can see even from a distance that it is a trout about sixty centimeters long. I doubt a little whether I will successfully defeat him at such a distance, but at the same time I believe that I have already chosen today's bad luck. It's in the inbox! Beautifully built sailor attacking sixty. I sit on the shore and enjoy the unforgettable moment. I'm just writing to the boys out of obligation, because I don't believe they'll come. But they are surprising. This didn't leave even the lazy ones cold, and after a while I see figures slowly approaching along the shore. We throw until the evening. It is possible to catch a few sparrows up to forty-five numbers, but there are no better ones. It's done. We are leaving early tomorrow morning. "Will anyone come with me tomorrow? Four to six in the morning and back to the cottage.” David is busy, the others will rather rest. I don't believe in a repeat of Friday morning, but there is still hope. The sea is like a mirror again. Nothing happens for the first hour, but in the end I get one trout just under fifty. Unfortunately, David is no more. We return to the cottage. We pack up and slowly head home. So was this my last expedition to the Baltic? I already know definitely not. :-)