Yes.
Scene fish and the scenes they can generate...
A Real-Life Scene
Location: The River Colne in north-west London, my "first river", the one I started on, together with the nearby Thames, at the age of four and a half.
Year: 2006
I was packing up after a three-hour afternoon-session on a stretch that had once only held manky dace, roach, chub and bream, plus a very few, by now ancient if the remanant old timers had bred and their progeny survived, barbel. I had had a fish, one of the latter, a fish of a few ounces over seven pounds, and, having returned it, was tying up my single rod and centrepin ready for a walk and a bus-ride home when two stylishly Desert Storm-camoed men appeared on the bank behind me then stopped.
"Paul Boote?" one of them said.
"Yes", I replied, recognizing a man I hadn't seen in twenty years since I had helped him go and fish mahseer in India at the request of an angler I'd met in the early 1980s who was the "mate" and boyhood neighbour of a very pal good of mine (still is), "Hello, XXXXXXX".
The two of us talked for a minute or two, with me sensing an edge to his voice and an "attitude" in his demeanour.
"Have you caught anything?" he finally said.
"No. Not a sausage." I replied, laughing. "Well, a three- or four-pound chub a little upriver..."
"But then you never did." he snapped back.
I was dumbstruck, but fielded a politely delivered "What?" back.
I watched a look of horror suddenly possess his companion's face, flashing the same at him and at the same time stepping in front of him, between him and me standing with foam-pad seat and ready-for-home rod and lashed-to-it landing net pole a few yards away beside the river.
I turned away, to complete my pre-departure routine. They drifted off, along the path upriver.
Such is Scene / Combat Fishing now, for some species such as Barbel (and Mahseer, and even Sea-Trout). Never taken part in it, never will, would rather give up fishing altogether and take up Tiddlywinks...