THE saying goes something like this: A bad day of fishing is still better than a good day at the office.

Fortunately for me, I was able to put this saying to the test – and spend Monday and Tuesday on a fishing trip in Kuala Rompin in Pahang, Malaysia.

The waters off Rompin are one of the world’s top destinations for sailfish sport fishing.

The Royal Pahang Billfish International Challenge, held since 2004, was organised last month. Last year, 144 participants from more than 10 countries descended upon the sleepy town on Malaysia's South-east coast.

Sport fishing is an interesting activity, perhaps even unique when you think about it. The angler spends hours battling with the fish, locked in a war of attrition akin to playing Rafael Nadal on the Parisian clay – sweat and patience your only companions.

Victory is also never guaranteed. So many different things can and do go wrong. The hook may bend and straighten due to the tremendous force exerted from both sides and the fish is freed.

Or the fishing line, taut with tension as man and fish engage in a tug-of-war, might snap and the fish escapes.

Or the line might be cut in rocks underwater as the fish struggles successfully for its life.

But even in triumph there is no prize, no trophy to clasp your hands around and hold aloft. The catch is released back into the waters for another angler to pit his wits against.

It seems a rather counter-intuitive pursuit, one where there appears to be no objective proof of success.

But it was only after taking on a seven-foot long, 65kg sailfish together with my brother and eventually overcoming it that I realised that I was wrong.

There is a prize at the end. It is just not something tangible that you can cradle in your arms or pose with as the lightbulbs flash around you.

In the end, it was not about the size of the fish or how long it took you to reel it in. The fish, cast in the supporting role to the angler, is soon forgotten.

But what it symbolises, the herculean effort of man over animal, is enough for the angler. Validation comes not in the form of a sailfish mounted in your study room but simply the memory of a warm afternoon on a boat in the South China Sea.

Perhaps it's like that in other sports too.

Almost every sport rewards its victors with a symbolic keepsake – a championship ring in America, a green jacket in golf, a gold cup in football or a wooden urn in cricket.

Yet such souvenirs can easily be misplaced or forgotten.

India's first individual Olympic gold medallist shooter Abhinav Bindra, says that after having the medal hung around his neck comes the realisation that it is just a metal disk.

"It's the entire journey that motivates you; what you put into winning it, that's really what you remember," he elaborates.

An athlete does not need a ring or a jacket to remember the months of sacrifice, the hours of training and preparation, the monk-like dedication that is demanded.

When then-Chelsea manager Jose Mourinho won his second English Premier League title in 2006, he celebrated by throwing his medal into the crowd at Stamford Bridge.

He later explained that the first medal was enough for him. "I want only one. I cannot keep everything I have," he said.

On Monday, a group of three elderly men arrived in Rompin for some sport fishing. According to one, they were planning to stay for 10 days (each day spending almost 12 hours out at sea) to catch sailfish before releasing them back into the waters.

It is the thrill of the competition they are after, as your heart races and your mind struggles to keep calm.

At the end of the 10 days, they would most likely return home with their icebox bare of any catch. But they would certainly not be leaving empty-handed.