We did not catch any fish.

In late March after finishing my ride home from Paris, I woke up semi-early one morning (late by fishing standards I suppose) and rode down to Amager to meet Victor. Victor was not a stranger, even though I’d never met him before. We’ve crossed paths numerous times. Have dozens of mutual friends/acquaintances. But we’ve never shook hands nor said hello until this March morning.

As usual, I arrive late. I’m very very good with first impressions, and punctuality. We say “hej” and hop in Victor’s little silver car and head down to the Crown Jewel of Sjælland: Køge. We make quick introductions, drive past a sign on the side of the Highway that reads “A.K.S.”, and chat about how agriculture is destroying the fish populations of Denmark.

We park in a wet gravel lot where Victor puts on waiters and a barely water resistant PNS x Descente Allterrain jacket and slop through little puddles on our way to participate in “Urban Fishing.” He walks directly into Køge Bugt and I stay on the shore, which I find to be quicksand in a few places, but miraculously survive to tell this tale.

Victor spends most of the time out of earshot. He tells me about etiquette of where he can fish when there are other fishermen in the water, and then he heads out into a glassy sea. Apparently, a glassy sea is bad, regardless of it’s beauty. The surface needs to move for the fish to be more active. Is that right? I forget. But…we did not catch any fish.

We hop in the car as a squall comes in and head a few kilometers southeast to Strøby Egede, a suburb of Køge. Victor marches past a sign which translates to “No Entry” and back into the sea. I walk along the coast as he casts his line from waist deep waters. A police Volvo screams by me at 150kmh, nearly hitting me, and some men hiding in the bushes 100 meters away are arrested before a K9 unit arrives in search of evidence.

Victor comes out of the water, and we try another lure. No luck. He comes out of the water, and we walk back on the road. Before we get into the car, he casts his line once more before giving up for the day.

Victor is a fisherman, but as you can see from the header of this story, it is not his job. Instead, he works with words. He has a book about cycling. Books about fishing. All written in Danish, and regardless of my ability to understand a good share of the language, I have not had the guts to defeat myself with his books yet. I have a hard enough time reading books in my own language, anyhow. He shows me his newest book: Isblåt Som Det Blå Blå Isbjerg.

We meet at his office in Christianshavns Beboerhuset. A very cool building which I’m sure I would have had no chance to enter if not for these photos. A room with high ceilings and good light. A big table with a few Louis Poulsen Værkstedpendel lamps hanging above. Victor shows me his books. He tells me about the process. About the amount of work it takes to bring a book like these to reality.

I ask about his hat. Solastalgia. It’s not a real word. Well, according to the internet it is a “neologism,” or a newly formed. Victor didn’t form it, Glenn Albrecht did. Victor shows me a passage from Albrecht’s writings which explains the meaning of the word: “…the homesickness you have when you are still at home and your environment is changing in ways you find distressing.”

Solastalgia. Børsen burned to the ground just a few days before I learned this word. An antique store on my street just closed after being open for decades. New developments in my hometown which eliminate a nice little wooded area. A newly built freeway from Tbilisi to Kutaisi which bypasses the prettiest part of the drive and destroys the towns below. Pesticides from nearby farming seeping into the Baltic Sea, and the fact that we did not catch any fish.

When I meet a new person, I find it hard to hold a tangent of conversation. I ask a question, hear half of the answer, and get excited with a thought sparked by the answer and ask another question. Conversations jump around and never answer all the questions asked. Victor and I talked a lot. We talked a little bit about a lot, and we talked a lot about little, but I learned a lot from the little bit we discussed.

BUT…we did not catch any fish.

Thanks, Victor.

(P.S. Victor caught a fish the next day. Maybe two)