The fjord
This spring day, Roskilde Fjord lies quietly in the cool dawn.
A good walk from shore, the boat is safe anchored. The distance is made wearing waders.
Fish traps put out for eels, need to be emptied to day. My one hand holds tight, to a fishing rod for garfish.
The other got a firm grip in my grandfather’s hood, until he lifts me of his shoulders and puts me down in the boat.
As a child, I knew nothing better than a boat trip on the fjord with grandpa.
He aroused my curiosity about surrounding nature, and the wondrous world beneath water’s surface.
Angler
In my late teens, I came across Kim Frederiksen, and fishing took off.
Lakes, marshes and creeks was explored around Zealand. First on bikes and later by car. Bream, Crucian Carp, Tench and Pikes were on the agenda. When I turned 20. Fishing for Sea Trout and Salmon occurred alongside rest of my fishing. Fly rods and spinning gear, were diligently used on the coastline of Zealand. A few trips to Swedish rivers were also made.
My friend and fishing ally Per Sanddorf, had the brilliant idea of us building a 17-feet boat of the brand crecent, in to a fishing machine. Then the art of sea-trolling, could become part of the palette. Being an angler had become a big part of my life.
Memories of those years are plenty, and some stands out especially. A trip to Sweden in Easter 1992. Became a journey to never forget!
Easter 1992
Fishing gear are placed in the easter sun, in front of the street door. Kim Frederiksen drives around the corner on his older, top-renovated Triumph motorcycle. You can see his wide smile from afar. We’re going to Falkenberg in Sweden, fishing for Salmon. 180km. 2 persons and 1 bike. Not because we had to, but because we could!
Flammable start: After a farewell to my girlfriend and 2-month-old son Daniel, I sit on back of the machine. First stop is Tuborg Harbour.
In Copenhagen’s slow traffic, I notice a strong smell of gasoline from one of the nearby cars. Don’t think it will be a good idea, to throw my cigarette right here.
At next red traffic-light the stench is violent, a quick glance under the gas tank confirms my suspicion. Clear liquid runs from a petrol hose and spreads over the hot engine!
While Kim start’s, I throw the glowing cigarette. Loudly I express my concerns, but as the ferry is within sight, he continues without any regrets. The leak is fixed during crossing to Sweden. At disembark in Landskrona, we are ready for the road.
Almost north: Despite of my big backpack, the last 140km should be no problem. Rods are strapped to the side of the vehicle, and to save space we are wearing waders.
The first kilometres of highway are done in good speed. While enjoying Øresund’s ocean view, we realize that the course is due south. After a smooth turn-around at next exit, the journey continued with a little more than good speed.
Warned: At Snapparp’s rest stop, near the Lagan river’s outlet, it’s time for a break. 60km is remaining, then we’ll be at the Atran river’s banks.
A man walks into the café, looks a little confused while looking around. Then walks straight to our table. With clear arm movements, he explains about heavy snow a bit further north. Only the big trucks are still out driving, and it would be madness if we didn’t stop our business.
10 minutes later, agreeing that the gentlemen had no sense of reality, the engine was kicked to live.
Blizzard: 30km from target, massive snow is falling! It’s hard to orientate forward, and the narrow tires, are trying to find grip in deep tracks from trucks. Speed is about 20km/h. Every time we’re losing balance I kick off with my feet. 12 degrees heat at start of the tour, had now dropped to around point 0.
Sheltering under a bridge, we’re both trying to get feeling back in hands and feet. Now agreeing, that we should have turned back a long time ago.
With no movement in the face, I stammer “It’s a good thing I’m a grown man, otherwise I’d have laid down and cried”. In pure powerlessness, a solid first punch is delivered to my frozen partner’s shoulder. He instant returns the act, and a heat giving tumble is inevitable.
Brushed for snow we’re back in the saddle laughing. Ready for the last 20km. Through Falkenberg city, the old faithful Triumph’s clutch cable snaps apart.
In the parking garage beneath a post office, some card-board were found to insulate the bottom of our 2-man tent. The final 1-2km I’m sitting on top of these card-board discs. With a lack of clutch, Kim fight’s the skating two-wheeler forward. Darkness has settled over snow-filled streets hours ago.
The rescue: Sheltered from a fishing hut at Atran, snow is moved for tent placement. During the trip, our clothes and packing got soaked. Even the overly thin sleeping bags have been giving some water.
Not sure if you could get warm at all, in these moisty bags, we see the huts light turns on.
A Swedish angler shows his face, and with a twinkle in the eye calmly asks, if he could offer a cup of coffee.
Before he fully moved from the doorway, we jumped for the warmth.
An hour later equipment is put to dry, and sleeping quarters had determined but friendly, been directed on the floor.
Remembered: Following morning plus degrees took over.
Sun melted the all covering snow in record time. Fishing was tame over Eastern. Only a small Sea-trout were outwitted.
In bright sunshine we drove home, and in memory the trip found its very own place.
First Carp
During a trip to Hakkemosen for coarse-fishing in 1992. Kim and I bumped into a couple of anglers, who were buried in an arsenal of carp-gear.
What the fu.. : Well into the night, our concentration on the glow-stick mounted floats is interrupted. At the carp-camp 100m away, a hysterical bite-alarm calls its owner. The loud noise stops, but shortly afterwards is replaced by splashes, from a heavy carp struggling in the surface.
“That sounds fucking crazy. That I’ll try!” It flies out of my mouth.
Preparation: Materials for tackles are purchased the week after.
Tackle-shop “Jan and Bo” in Roskilde had what we needed. First boilies are also pulled of the shelf.
The inspiration for this mythical fishing, is dragged from the book “Modern coarse-fishing/Moderne Medefiskeri” Written by Jens Bursell 1989.
On a lawn, rod setups, drobback-indicators with bells, and our newly tied hair-rigs is tested. A feeding consisting of canned corn and boilies, gets thrown in the lake a few days before start of trip.
The miracle: Already on first night, the promised take appeared. Kim’s 60g bolt-rig sets in motion. The brake is slightly too tight! His 10-fod spinning rod flies forward, and stops when the wheel smash against front bank-stick. Surprised by the brutality of this take, contact is made. 2 minutes later a 3kg common-carp is in the net.
Following weekend, can I in a rush of happiness land my own first little carp.
Infected: During winter the gear gets an upgrade with baitrunner-wheels, 2 1/4lb rods, rod-pot, monkey-climbers, landing-net, carp-care and a couple of Optonic bite-alarms. In addition, my first home made boilies, saw the light of day. My early symptoms of carp-fever had appeared.
A start: Waters such as Lammefjord Channels, Lake Osted, Hakkemosen and Lake Pedersborg, were the first few year’s victims, of more or less successful experiments.
Trips were conducted in all weather, with a minimum of comfort. A garden umbrella covered with a piece of plastic, was my shelter when lying on a sleeping mat.
In the beginning that’s what it could become.
Hove Trout lake
24 years old and divorced weekend-father for 2 children (Zandra 1 year and Daniel 3), I begin to run the business-operation “Hove Trout Lake” in a partnership with Per Sanddorf.
Short adventure: Throughout the coming winter, all free time is spent in Hove. Shelters made of timber were built, benches and rod-holds placed around lake-side. An old shed was set up, and had a fire-place installed.
On top, the large area got a heavy clean-up on land as in water.
Spring of 1996 the ice broke. Trouts from “Asnæs Fish Farming” was introduced, and the shop was up running. With a touch of faith, my children moved home to me. Steady work, 2 children, new girlfriend, as well as a start-up company were too much of good things.
Per bought me out of the project, so I could focus on what mattered most. Family!
Fever: Last half of the 90s, carps had taken all my angling focus. 2 1/2lb rods, Delkims, biwy, bed-chair etc. In a fully updated camp, I spent as many nights as possible at lake-side. Dream fish weighed 10+ but they were a rare guest in camp.
Per bought “Hove Trout Lake” with the associated farm, and along with my family I moved to Hove.
Abroad: Profiles such as Jens Bursell, Mads Grosell, Kenth Espensen, Thomas Vedel and Therrie Dubrail were some of the pioneers, on the Danish carp-scene.
All written material, published by these guys, was eagerly read. A winter evening 1998, I am entertained with one of many articles that piled up on the bookcase.
My wife Pernille looks over my shoulder, and casually ask if I shouldn’t go on such trip, instead of reading about it. A moment later I called Niels Nordentoft, whom I met a few years earlier, during my carp-fishing at the lakes of Sorø. He was immediately in on the idea, and the first carp-trip abroad was taken its shape.
Later same year, I moved with the family to our own place.
Martin Stormly 2019
