The weathered sign said NO FISHING in large letters.

But Jason took no notice of the Broads Authority regulation as he hauled his fishing gear towards his usual spot on the riverbank. It wasn’t his favourite place – that was just a few miles upstream – but it was the nearest to where he lived.

Today, he had bunked off from High School and was glad to be out in the autumn sun, not stuck in old Drabble’s English lesson. The river was quiet out of season, so there were no boats moored at the staithe. Jason threw his net onto the grass, unfolded his fishing seat and started to set up his gear. Maybe today would be the day for that big pike. He’d caught smaller ones before, little jack pikes, lively things, but never any bigger than 10lbs. Uncle John, who’d bought him his first rod as a 9th birthday present, had told him there were pike as big as 20lbs in that part of the river, but Jason didn’t quite know whether to believe him or not. He’d seen pictures in the EDP of big pike caught at Horning and Wroxham, but not here on what he thought of as ‘his’ bit of the river.

Bait on. Line out to the quiet spot under the shadow of the big willow. Jason settled down with his phone for company and a couple of sandwiches and a Mars Bar he’d brought with him. Away from the educational tedium and the playground fights of the High School he felt a different person. Here by the river, no one picked on him. No one made him feel a fool. Here he was an expert. Here he knew what to do.

A couple of cruisers chugged past. Jason ignored them. He watched the coots squabbling. It reminded him of the playground fights – always someone wanting to bully someone else. He threw the last of his sandwiches at them, and the water foamed as the birds dived and squabbled for his offerings. But no pike of any size showed an interest in his bait. He tried different baits, cast in different positions, but still no success.

As the day passed, the sun sank lower and a red hue suffused the late afternoon sky. A marsh harrier hovered in the distance. It was then that his rod tip bobbed and his line started reeling away. Yes! Jason shot to his feet and grabbed the rod. Something big was swimming out towards the overhanging alders on the far bank. It took all of his strength to begin reeling it in. It was going to be a long job. It was definitely ‘the big one’ – the one Uncle John had told him about. Every now and then, despite the growing darkness, he could see the green skin of its huge back as it broke the surface of the water. The fish showed no sign of tiring, but for Jason, the fight was draining him more than any of his playground scraps.

Somehow he held on. After half an hour, the pike, green and glistening, was on the ground next to his bag. There was not much light now, but he awkwardly pointed his camera phone at the writhing captive fish. It was all he could do to keep it still, wrap it in a cloth, weigh it and then gently release it back into the river. 23lbs!

He’d done it.