Ireland, land of pike and dreams

There’s a moment in every fishing trip when fatigue, cold, and rain stop being obstacles and become part of the dream.
That’s exactly what happened to me in Ireland, in the heart of April, during an adventure I’ll never forget.

I was there with a group of eight other creators — YouTubers and Instagrammers — all sharing one goal: to tell the story of pike fishing in a new, authentic, and passionate way.

We wanted to create a series of videos that would bring something different to YouTube Italy — more real, more lived-in. Not just catches, but stories. Not just rods and lures, but emotions and people.

From the very first day, Ireland welcomed us with its raw, primal beauty: endless lakes stretching to the horizon, deep green hills, skies in constant motion.
It’s a place where time seems to slow down — where every gust of wind reminds you that you’re a guest of nature, not its master.

The Perfect Day…for Pike

The third day of the trip was the day — the one meant for my channel.
But the weather had other plans.
Torrential rain, freezing wind, and unbelievably low temperatures for the season — conditions that would have made anyone else give up.

But those who chase pike know that sometimes the worst weather brings the best emotions.

Of course, we went out anyway, zipped up in our waterproof jackets, our hands numb before even leaving the dock.
Soon we were shivering like leaves, but driven by that quiet determination that something special might happen that day.
And indeed, from the first casts, the pike showed up: plenty of catches, lively fights — but all medium-sized fish. None of those that bend the rod to the handle or etch themselves into your memory.

The Dream Flat

Pier, my fishing partner, chose the course.
We decided to move to a large flat — a uniform bottom with a maximum depth of about three meters.
The water was dark, but despite the rain, not murky — like a strong cup of tea. The leaden sky reflected on the wind-rippled surface, and it truly felt like fishing under a shower.

And yet, deep down, I knew that was the right spot.

Cast after cast, my concentration grew. Every movement of the rod became automatic, almost hypnotic.
I slipped into a kind of trance — suspended between fatigue and hope.

On the hundredth cast — and that’s no exaggeration — it happened: a sharp strike, a firm hookset.
I felt the weight on the other end, though at first I didn’t sense its true power. Then it ran — violent headshakes, dives for the bottom, the line vibrating like a tightened string.
The fight was short but furious, all beneath the boat.
And when the fish finally slid into the net, the world stopped for a moment.

Meeting the BIG One

Before me, under the pouring rain, lay a magnificent Irish pike — massive, wild, perfect.
Its back was as broad as a shovel, its scales flecked with gold and green, its eyes ancient — belonging to a world that never changes.

In that instant, everything else disappeared: the cold, the cracked hands, the endless hours of casting.
I realized I was living what many only dream of — catching a pike in Ireland, in the most genuine way possible.

That fish wasn’t a trophy — it was a symbol.
A lasting memory of a harsh but honest day.
A fishing experience made of passion, friendship, and pure satisfaction.
Because on that trip, we didn’t just fish — we shared laughter, mistakes, advice, silence, and moments of pure contemplation.

The Magic of Ireland

Ireland welcomed us with its unpredictable weather and its wild pike — but also with a kind of magic that’s hard to explain.
It’s a country that speaks to the soul of anyone who loves water and nature.
Every lake has a name that sounds like poetry, every village tells legends of fishermen, fairies, and wind spirits.

And when you return in the evening, soaked but happy, and sit before a crackling fire with a pint of dark beer in your hands, you understand — you couldn’t have been anywhere else.

In the heart of that storm, I found exactly what I was looking for: the magic of fishing lived to the fullest — the kind that can’t be measured in centimeters or likes, but in emotions.
And as the wind kept sweeping over the lake, I made myself a promise: to come back.
Because once Ireland gets into your heart, it never leaves.