Never nick a swim, pool or run, whatever you're after.
I did have the joy in 2007 of nicking a visiting, heavy pre-baiting, sponsored "Name" fisher's fish, however.
He was piling boilies into a short piece of river, you could call it a very fast gravel shallow falling into a deep 5- to 8-foot hole, in early May and continued right through to the 16th "off". I knew the spot well of old, knew that when catapulting baits up into the shallow, MOST would drift down into the hole as expected, a hole that always held a few barbel and any number of hungry chub, fish that in the unfished-for, pre-season, spawning period would rush upstream even in daylight to nail the plopping boilies or rattling pellets and show themselves. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy - or so our Name thought....
But SOME baits would over-shoot the hole, run down its fast midstream shallow outer edge and continue down for some twenty yards to a gravel depression in heavy ranunculus, where barbel also lay unknown and unnoticed and would on occasion feed like billy-o on stuff coming down from 35 yards above.
Our name caught any number of good-ish nuisance chub and a few small barbel that first night of the new season, his reel was going when I arrived on the water in the 4.00am dawn and dropped my bait into the hole a good thirty-odd yards below him.
I wasn't there long - 13 pound 9 ounce barbel played in silence with the ratchet of my Speedia off for total stealth.
He saw me lift the rested fish out of the water in my landing net in the full light of day twenty minutes or so later and watched me take its vital statistics, put it into a sling and on to the Jennings scales.
Thump. Best fish, to my knowledge, in that pretty poor piece of river.
He tried to put a brave and cheery face on it, he really did, but "gutted" or "queasy psittacine", I believe, were more apt words for his "the bottom has just fallen out of my world" overall mental and physical state.
I left a few minutes afterwards. He didn't catch my name.