Am I Losing My Way ?

OK, hands up, I admit it, for the foreseeable future I am what them that may scoff would call a 'fish chaser'. I've been lured in, for me it has become a personal quest against a single fish. As I sat alone on the lake this week, those questions appeared in my mind.."What if She didn't survive the winter".."What if She's been stolen".."What the #### am I doing here, searching for a single fish, when it's difficult enough to extract any of the residents of this lake"..Are these the musings of an obssessive ?
 Of course, as a rule I take great joy at all of my captures from the smallest Gudgeon, I wonder at them all and feel priveledged with every capture, but something this week has troubled me....I'll set the scene..
 The night was warm, I was back on the lake, back on my own, I've continued to bait up the area of my last capture with my mainstay boilies and succeeded in placing three hookbaits within an area about the size of a football pitch with an average depth of twelve feet.
 I lay in the bivvy watching the shadows of Rabbits and Mice against my bivvy as Spurs were unceremoniously battered in the ether of my tiny (quiet) radio.
 Like countless times before I stared out to the lake wondering where at that precise moment She might be.
 The ripples on the water of the ever gathering frogs played with the light of the nearby football pitch floodlights as loud groaning goods trains trundled by in the distance. All too familiar scenes and sounds, in many ways I long to be rid of them, for my quest to end, sooner, rather than later. She keeps me going back. I drifted into slumber.
 At approximately 3am, a bleep, right hand rod, then another, the bobbin twitched and a slow ponderous take occurred. Strolling out to the rod, shoes on this time, the run had become steady and I struck. This one pulled back a bit and kept deep, it felt a good fish, you know the type ?, a plodder.
 The fish took line, a lot, and my heart started to beat faster. This is the time I think about knots, hook holds and line strength, I retrieved a little line, but it took it all back and then some. The fight went on, maybe fifteen minutes in reality, it seemed like more.
 At this time I allowed myself the luxury of considering that I might be attached to a rather large Carp, which could actually be The Common.
 The fish started to tire and slowly, carefully, I lulled it towards me until it was close enough to think about getting the net.
 I switched on the headtorch to see what delight lay before me.....My heart dropped, the only emotion I honestly felt was...disappointment. There in the clear margins lay Silurus Glanis, the Wels Catfish. It simply hadn't crossed my mind that this fish would not be a large Carp, it's take and fight, along with the time of year pointed towards Carp.

I have, in the past dedicated much time in pursuit of these strange and interesting creatures and have caught them to well over 100lb ( and not in the Ebro either .) I loved that time and built up a lot of respect for the fish that Kevin Maddocks described as "The Neglected Giant".
 I am slightly disturbed at my apparent distain for the capture, so I ask you out there..Piscatorially speaking, Am I losing my way ?