“You see all sorts of things by the waterside. In all the years I’ve been fishing, I’ve rarely seen waterfowl actually taken by pike, even though it’s supposed to be a common occurrence. In fact, so often have I fished and so rarely have I seen such pike hunting activity that I began to discount it altogether. Then, just a few days ago, I had to revise my opinions.

It’s mid-afternoon. I’m fly fishing a Norfolk lake. There are a couple of coots busy in front of me, ten yards out, feeding over a shallow plateau. Suddenly it happens.
Out in deeper water, a bow wave builds up heading towards the coots. As the bow wave reaches the shallows, it grows in extent and it accelerates. The nearest coot is hit. There’s an enormous swirl. A pike’s head comes clear of the water, grabbing the bird. There’s an appalling squawk. There’s a thrash of water. Then nothing. Silence. Just black feathers eddying in the aftershock.

The coot’s abandoned partner clucked and looked for its mate for the rest of the long Spring afternoon. That’s nature: the beauty and the beast. Wondrous and pitiless at the very same instant.”