The plan was simple: an after-work fishing session with my brother, targeting stocked lake trout that had been released in December. However, upon arrival, we found that the lake was still half frozen. We gave it a try, walking the perimeter and casting into every accessible area, but without success. Heavy metal jigs and large spoons were our choice to reach deeper zones, yet we didn’t get a single bite. Only the telltale signs of beavers—gnawed and felled trees—provided some action, and we even spotted one of the culprits in action. As more and more anglers arrived at the lake, we decided to switch plans and head to the so-called “Biotope.”
The Biotope is a side arm of the Alte Dorfen river. The main river itself is home to trout, grayling, and chub, while the Biotope serves as a gathering spot for predatory fish during the colder months. Normally, fishing here is not allowed during the closed season, but since these predators feed on trout eggs, our angling club permits fishing in this specific section. Pike must not be released to help protect the salmonid populations, including brown trout and grayling.
Having only packed gear for trout fishing, I had no pike lures with me. My brother stepped in, lending me a Balzer Shad in motor oil color, while he opted for a red-and-black chatterbait with a dark brown trailer. We fished the relatively shallow, reed-lined waters systematically, covering the area fan-like with our casts. The natural underwater vegetation and low depth meant frequent ground contact, so at first, I wasn’t sure if I had felt a strike or just the weight of my jig bouncing off debris. A second cast to the same spot gave me another similar nudge, convincing me that it might indeed have been a fish. Only a few casts later, my suspicion was confirmed. I let my lure sink to the bottom, lifted it with two or three cranks, and just as it dropped again, I felt the unmistakable strike. My rod bent instantly under the weight of a strong fish, and after an intense fight, my brother netted a beautiful winter pike. At 82 cm and weighing 4.8 kg, it was a truly solid catch, its belly well-filled from winter feeding.
While I was still handling my fish, my brother continued fishing with my rod and the same successful lure. Just minutes later, he, too, was hooked into a fish. The rod bent again, and I had the chance to return the favor by netting his catch—a nearly identical winter pike at 76 cm and 4 kg.

After dealing with both fish, my brother switched to the same lure in albino color. The action cooled down for a while, which wasn’t surprising given that the two pike fights had likely caused some disturbance. Still, we didn’t give up and focused on deeper pockets of water. It wasn’t long before I had another fish on, but it managed to shake free with a few powerful head shakes. Shortly after, my brother lost two more fish in a similar fashion. The pattern was clear—the remaining predators had become more cautious.

Eventually, I hooked into another solid fish, and this time the fight was different. The fight lasted much longer, and as I guided the fish toward the bank, my brother stood ready with the net. The pike fought aggressively, thrashing wildly, and at the last moment, it managed to throw the hook just before we could land it. That one would have been the biggest fish of the session, but as it often goes in fishing, not every battle is won.
Looking back, using treble hooks might have improved our hook-up rate, but we weren’t too disappointed. We had already landed two fantastic pike, and maybe that lost fish will be caught another day—either by us or by a fellow angler. Though we had set out to target lake trout, our change of plans turned out to be a perfect way to kick off the year, proving once again that adapting to conditions often leads to the best fishing experiences.