Daryl wasn't exactly a powerful swimmer, but he wasn't a bad one, either. And it helped that some magic had leaked out of him to help organize the fish in convenient groups based on size that he still remained unaware of. It was enough to make sure his jaws could close on a very wiggly trout somewhere in the 15-20 pound range before he had to surface and then swim back to shore. His fur was wet and plastered to him, but a few shakes and an eventual tongue bath would help with that. In the meantime... fish!

His. Fish.