Three days of hard work are behind me. And it was worth it.

It was early Saturday evening and I set out to chase catfish. Respectively, I wanted to mentally prepare for Sunday and Monday, when I planned a really hardfishing with the aim of meeting one of the local beast.

I should have stayed home. Apart from two babies around 70 cm, I didn't meet anything and as a bonus just before midnight I fell into a hole about 3 meters deep (hell where did it get there), hit my knee, elbow, head and partially damaged the rod. Looking back, I can actually be glad that I ended up the way I did, because there was a big rock right next to where I landed and hit my head on the ground. Well, nothing, I knocked myself out, somehow crawled upstairs and went to sleep.

On Sunday morning, almost my whole body started to hurt, but I still "had" to go fishing. Dozens of kilometers driven (and about 10 trampled on top of that) and the result? Not even a strike. I write with a few friends and they all talk the same. The fish are feeding, but we are unable to get a strike. I arrive home just after midnight, listen to something about whether I'm completely crazy, fishing all day in the rain, set the alarm for 2:30 and lie down for a while. The sound of the alarm clock mercilessly ends the few moments of sleep, I quickly take yogurt and coffee. I'm at the water a little before 4 AM. Not even 15 minutes pass and I finally get a shot in the rod. Catfish 105-110, but I'm still happy. Finally something. Time is running out and even though I do the possible and the impossible, I can't get another shot. I'm reading a message from a wife asking if I'm still alive and I want to go home. More than 6 hours have passed since the morning catfish and I still have no contact with the fish. "Now or never" I say to myself and switch to a heavier caliber. I take a stronger rod from the car and put on my favorite King from 3stan. I'll throw a few rolls with this set and go home, I think. 10, maybe 15 casts and I get a monster strike to the rod under my feet. A fish over 200cm hit my lure on the surface. 200g rod that I had made for Italien catfish trip, 0.50mm braided line, 88 Ichikawa hooks, nothing can go wrong...

But the catfish immediately takes the line into the current and I feel like I want to stop a moving truck. I am fully aware of the equipment I have and therefore I try to stop the fleeing fish as soon as possible. In vain. I have to see him. I can see where he's going and it's clear to me that if I don't turn him now, I never will. I take what I can and... I turn off the fish. I check the hooks, everything seems fine. I sit on the bank for a while, braving the fight with the local king and I know that it could have been my person.
Never mind, let's move on. I'm moving about 2 kilometers lower, where I suspect there is a very similar place, so I'm hoping for a miracle.

A couple of throws and boom. The scenario repeats itself with the only difference that here I have full control over the fish from the start. After a few minutes of fighting, he is on the shore and I measure him at a beautiful 182 cm. Little consolation, but I'm so happy. Having two such fish on the rod in one day is fantastic.

In the evening, I add one more meter fish and finish completely tired.

Thanks Saint Peter ????