It's a losing battle. Ten minutes later, tired and drenched to the skin, with my tent smashed to pieces, I give up and race back to the shelter of my Ford Escort van. As I try to drop off, with my head against the cold metal, I long for the warmth of my bed at home, 47 miles away.
And nagging away at the pit of my stomach is the sickening knowledge that the foe I pursued so obsessively has eluded me again.

That was October 2000 - and over the years, there were many miserable nights like it.

How did I find myself in this wretched situation? Believe it or not, because of a fish. Not just any fish, but Two-Tone, Britain's biggest freshwater fish.