Katrin Puns

Father and son from Oklahoma finally get the chance to visit British isles. So they have a beer in London, bag of crisps in Birmingham, they enjoy a slice of the famous Chevington cheese in Newcastle, and as they slowly traveled Northward, they both get the urge to go fishing in the famous Scottish Lochs.

And so it came to pass, that in Glasgow, they bought a one-day fishing permit (and it was quite costly), rented the fishing equipment from a reputable shop and made their way along the A81 to Loch Katrine.

There, they found a pier which rented rowboats and went quite a distance into the dark-blue expanse, to get away from what they presumed were the traditional fishing grounds of the natives.

Enjoying the sparse sunshine and the clear air, they fished for about an hour, catching not much, when suddenly, the boy's line got a bite. Within 10 seconds it was plain, that he wasn't strong enough for it, so the father took over and for some 10 minutes, sweating and groaning, battled the fish and eventually got it in sight and then even onboard their boat.

It was a massive trout. Scarred, fins ripped in places, massive mouth opening and closing in anger. Both its eyes were gouged out ages ago, it appeared. It was hoppin' about on the decks of their little boat.

Father removed the hook from the trout's mouth and he said to the son: "Ah well, take a picture of this chungus and then we'll have to let 'im go." "But why dad?" "Well sonny, if I recall the terms of our permit, we're not allowed to catch fsh."