PIKE: how we caught the staring terror of the haunted pond

IF you're talking predatory freshwater fish, there's one that springs immediately to the fore - that King of the Killers, that Great White Shark of the local pond: the pike.
Built like an elegant Cruise missile with its fins set far back from its large, rapacious mouth, the pike is a real-life monster of the deep - especially for any careless minnow that makes the mistake of ambling into its larder.
Frogs, ducklings, water voles - in fact anything small enough to crush between those snapping jaws and swallow - need to take care when Mr Pike is on the prowl. There are tales - probably not all apocryphal - of tiny dogs drowned by huge pike and pets as large as Alsations left injured. Even humans have suffered the odd nip or two.
Beautifully camouflaged to nestle unseen among the reeds, the pike operates by stealth for most of his hunt then strikes with fearsome speed.
It's little wonder that some anglers become so besotted with this magnificent fish that over time no other quarry will do and landing bigger and better pike turns into an obsession, a more elemental fight between Man and nature.
Unfortunately for Mr Pike, a gourmet of living flesh, his own flesh can also be quite tasty. At the risk of making this sound like a cookery column, there are many different and varied recipes for pike - one I possess even dates back to 18th century Hungary: 'Pike Cooked in Horseradish Cream' (Csuka Teifeles Tormaval) serves eight and involves lashings of sour cream, butter, and flour, as well as piles of grated horseradish.
So the biter has been bit into on countless occasions. Not that this affects the mystique of this murderous fish.
I haven't been an active angler myself for years but the hairs on the back of my neck still prickle at the memory of how we - well, my brother actually - caught Starey Eyes, a large pike who earned his nickname from his frighteningly hypnotic gaze. However, not many had seen him - least of all me.
Starey Eyes lived in a stinking, green slime-slicked pond flanked on one side by trees, on the other by an almost vertical embankment occasionally abused as a tipping area. Hemmed in by rusting prams and old plastic toilet seats, no wonder Starey Eyes had starey eyes. He was angry. Very angry. Who wouldn't be, surrounded by toilet seats all day ?
The ghastliness of this environment was further enhanced by rumours that the pond was haunted by the ghost of a young woman who had drowned herself there. So it was with some trepidation that myself and my older brother settled down one day with a single fishing rod, line, and spinner between us to try to tempt Starey Eyes from the depths.
It wasn't a long wait - perhaps because by then there was so little natural prey left in the pond. Within half an hour, we noted with odd squeaky voices that an ominous shadow was tracking our red and gold Veltic spinner as its traversed the narrowest, deepest section of the elongated pond.
Suddenly, a flash of silver in the water showed Starey Eyes had struck then instantly recoiled as the barbs dug into his mouth. The rod was almost wrenched from my 12 year-old brother's grasp yet somehow, with maniacal zeal, he managed to reel in Starey Eyes.
Having brought no landing net, 15 pounds or so of furious, writhing pike finally dropped at our feet - just as the spinner jerked free of its mouth.
"Catch it !," my brother shouted.
I took one look at those savage teeth.
"You catch it !," I replied.
We compromised. Neither of us caught it and before my brother could find a branch to subdue him, Starey Eyes had flapped his mighty tail and powered himself back into the water.
We stood there quivering, watching the agitated surface of the pond slowly return to normal. Then we went home. We still congratulated ourselves. We really had caught Starey Eyes - at least for a few, unforgettable moments.

DAVID KAVANAGH