I then cast again and immediately start stripping in the fly. This time, there’s no doubt! Another vague tug propagates through the fly line, and as I lift the fly rod, I’m met with the weight of a big fish that starts thrashing around on the surface. The fly, however, quickly loses its hold, the connection is lost, and I’m left there in the waves, lightly-trembling and with a nagging uncertainty. Was it one of the many post-spawners so frequently encountered during early spring? Or was it one of Bornholm’s sought-after chromers - one of those prime creatures with shimmering loose scales, a muscular body build and bright silvery flanks? The fish was way too far out, and everything happened too quickly for me to ascertain for sure. Damn! HALF AN HOUR LATER, after having lost another three fish, all my doubts have slowly evaporated. There are obviously a lot of post-spawners in the area, and I’m therefore mentally inclined to look for a new fishing spot. But then, suddenly, I feel another tug on the
line. This time, it’s more abrupt and resolute, and once I’ve established full contact, and I put a good bend into the fly rod’s limber carbon fibers, a silvery, torpedo-shaped creature thrusts itself meter-high from the water. As it collides with the waves in a splashy belly flop, it immediately rushes off and soon after, the hoarse screams of my fly reel start to intermingle cacophonically with the howling winds. There is both power and punch in my agile adversary, but I slowly but surely gain the upper hand – and a few minutes later I land and unhook the beautiful fish. It is robustly built, steel-gray along the whole length of its back, and with powerful, semi-transparent fins protruding from its trembling silvery flanks, which display big, ink stain-like spots under a glistening veneer. The fish is probably around 1,5 kilos, and while it isn’t exactly the trophy fish that lured me all the way to Bornholm in the first place, it’s well worth the trip.
