There exists fishermen (unfortunately, it’s the sad truth) so passionate about catching BIG fish, that they wouldn’t hesitate one minute to bankrupt their families for their vice (as though size is of any importance…). We know those who pay prohibitive prices for fishing trips to see even a shadow of a Tarpon, even if it means selling their wives. We have already consoled a dozen of these unfortunates, for instance the beautiful and lascivious Viviane.. (but that’s another story).

The great number of emaciated children on dark, rainy streets, begging for the coins so that their papa, addicted to fishing, can pay for the exorbitant trip to Mongolia, is growing.

Those poor devils have lost all trace of humanity and can barely speak; lifting their tear filled eyes toward you to utter: “Taimen…taimen…”, Salmon, salmon” or “Bonefish, bonefish…”, that’s all they can manage to articulate.

How sad and what a shame! Unfortunately, for the moment, science has nothing to offer: the suffering is atrocious, the end unavoidable, the funeral ceremonies pathetic.

If only they knew, these ragged humans, that we in the Ardeche possess an important number of fish that can easily rival the trophy fish in those exorbitant, exotic places.

Below is a photo of our practically official, Ardeche hero; I present the already celebrated Pascal Toral delicately releasing one of these legendary monsters. If I should tell you that the fight of man against this monstrous beast lasted for several hours you would take me for a drunk from Marseilles. With reason. But, as the extinguished Brigitte Bardot would say: “When one loves, nothing else counts”.

The battle was Homeric. The kayak and canoes, who have the shameless habit of banging us in the rear without a word of excuse, this time they came to a dead stop. The camera flashes crackled (I would note that in the middle of the day this is extremely rare).

The legend is born. It goes without saying that the exclusive model of the miraculous nymph, designed by our laboratory technicians, is stashed away in our safes. Next spring we shall sell them for the proverbial arm and a leg; in spite of the crisis, who is it who will hit the jackpot… us!