They say that every angler has a story to tell. Sitting here in front of this blank page I started to believe that wasn't true. I mean sure I can remember the first time I fished. How it felt to step into the creek that ran by my parents home in Pennsylvania. The excitement as I made my first cast toward a small pile of debris that had collected under an overhanging bush. The thrill of those crazy five minutes when a large bluegill took my worm and ran for cover, as I meanwhile stood dumbstruck. My parents had shown me how to cast of course...but no one ever told me what exactly to do once there was actually something on the other end of the line. When all the splashing and reeling finally settled and I held this fish in my hands I think I almost cried.

I was nine years old and I had never seen anything bleed before, except myself. I know how much it hurt me, I could only imagine just what this poor animal felt. Then, almost as if it understood my thoughts, it raised the spines on it's dorsal fin and pricked my hand.

“Son of a b...” I started to shout as I dropped the fish back into the water. That is when the real pain started, as I looked down and saw the size 6 barbed menace, which had managed to get out of the fish's mouth during this little event, and found its way back up and into my thumb. That was it, I was hooked.

A few years later would see me fishing most days of the week. I chased em all; Trout, Bass, Sunnies, Pickerel, Pike, Perch, Suckers, Catfish...until I met Carp.

I went down to the park near my home. The place was usually crowded since there were pavilions for picnics, a public pool, volley ball courts, tennis courts, hiking trails and two small ponds. I was here to fish the ponds, fishing tended to be slow and I was not big on the crowds of people, but in my defense, I was a young boy and many of the girls from my school came to the pool to swim. I think bikinis more then bass may be why I kept coming back.

The two ponds were as different as night and day. The one by the pool was a natural spring fed, kettle shaped pond. It had a max depth of about 20 feet and held a good number of fish including state stocked trout. There were plenty of fishing areas under fallen trees, weed beds, and around the many large boulders present. The other pond, which was farther away and had no real view of the pool, was man made. It stayed about five feet in depth through-out, one end had water pumped from the spring fed pond, the other end drained water back down. If I recall it was a project of the local elementary school to create a wetlands atmosphere. No real structure under water to hold fish, only a few shore line weed beds and some fallen brush.

I had never fished the man made pond before. I remember standing along the edge on this day staring at a large shadow about 15 yards away. It was a little over 2 feet long. I thought that it must have been a large stick or log that had somehow managed to get out there, until it started to slowly meander across the pond.

A turtle. I should have figured. We have some very large snapping turtles in the area and they love shallow muddy water. I turned to leave and stumbled , dropping my tackle box. I was about to curse when I heard this huge splash. I turned to look and saw a large mud cloud where the “turtle” had been just moments before. I looked around quickly and noticed the shadow cruising at a high rate of speed toward the far bank before going out of site. No turtle had ever moved that fast. Now I was intrigued.

I collected my box and decided that I would take a shot at fishing the far shore line. I dug through my tackle till I found one of my favorites, a small rooster tail with a gold spinner in front with most of the paint flaked off. The other end had a large puff of brown hair, I remember the box which advertised it as elk hair. In the center of this was a small tuft of dyed red hair that concealed a treble hook. If I could only have one lure, this would have been the one at the time. I had nick-named it the Trout Terror, for where it swam no trout was safe.

After a short walk I found a clearing near where I lost site of the strange fish. I put my box down and began casting along the shore lines. The first cast saw movement in the water. Big splashes that made my heart jump. They retreated from my lure instead of chomping down on it as I had hoped however. Is it possible that TT had let me down? I tried two other lures, my Blue Devil which swam across the top of the water with a blue metal paddle that looked like an injured frog, and another old faithful bright orange bent minnow. No action, no splashes, nothing.

Twenty minutes and nothing. I felt a change was in order, if fake baits were not working perhaps real baits would. I closed my lure drawer and opened another which held small hooks and split shots. I reached into the big space in the bottom and grabbed a small jar filled with dirt. I spent the night before walking around the back yard with two stakes in order to fill the jar. I learned if you place one stake in the ground and rub the other on top that the vibrations fool worms into thinking it is raining. My mom hated the holes, I loved the bait.

After getting a particularly squirmy worm onto the hook I cast out, sat down and waited. Keeping one finger on the line to feel for vibrations, it didn't take long till I felt something grab the other end. I pulled the tip of the rod up setting the hook and moments later had a nice fat pumpkin seed on the banks. This is not what I was hoping for. I unhooked him, looked him in the eye and said:

“Listen you, you are way to small to be the fish I saw. Go back there and tell your big friends that we are offering free food over on this end, okay?”

I am not sure he understood me because the next hour brought nothing but more sunnies, pumpkin seeds and bluegills. Occasionally a large fish would jump here and there but each time I cast to them they would kick up dirt and flee the area. After about 3 hours I gave up. I am man enough to admit that I have been beaten by a fish and there is no sense in dragging out my humiliation. I packed up my box and started to walk around the shore to head home. On my way I spotted an older man setting up a fishing pole. He had a small can of corn with him a giant net and a lawn chair. I watched as he threw a handful of corn out into the water then cast and sat his pole down on a Y shaped stick. I felt bad for the guy, If no fish in there wanted my worm I couldn't imagine them going anywhere near this. I started toward him and managed to get out,”I don't think your going to get..”

I was interrupted by a loud ZZZZZZZZZZZ and watched in awe as the tip of his rod bent hard toward the water. He jumped out of his chair, bringing the rod up and began to fight this, this thing that was stirring up mud everywhere and pulling line out of the reel at an alarming rate. He managed to get control and began to bring the fish toward him. The next few minutes I stood staring at the water. Then I saw it, for the first time really saw the fish. It was golden and by far the single biggest fish I had ever laid eyes on. I was dumbstruck. All of my time fishing so far had seemed utterly pointless in this moment, that I had spent days, months, years here, fishing this area and had never even known these Goliaths existed.

“Hey boy.”

“Huh..yeah” I came back to my senses as I realized he was talking to me.

“Think ya kin grab dat net and gimme a hand?”

“Sure!” I answered..anything to get closer to this fish. I walked over and grabbed the net. It was basically a rake handle with a crudely fashioned wire frame at the end to which thin rope had been tied to form the net. I took it to the waters edge and started to push it toward the swirls. The old man deftly pulled the fish across the surface and I raised the net. The golden monster realized the trap and tried to run but it was too late, I had him.

I'd like to say this was where I landed the behemoth and congrats were had all around. I would like to, but it would be a lie. What actually happened was that I underestimated the strength it had as it ran into the net and pulled forward. I wasn't ready. I tried to catch the handle as it fell but I missed. As the net hit the water the fish ran again, only this time the old man's weight was tangled in the netting. I stepped into the muddy water trying to grab the fish or the net or anything.

The giant took the opportunity to snap the line and swim free. He slapped his tail which sent a wave of water over me. I wiped my face, grabbed the net and climbed back out of the water.

“God, I'm sorry man..” I said as I hung my head in shame. This couldn't begin to explain how awful I felt at messing up this bad.

“S'aight. I was gonna let 'im go ennyway” He replied, “ Biggun wasn' he?”

“He sure was,” I hesitated, “Big what?”

“Carp..we gots some huge uns round 'ere. Welp, thanks fer tryin kid”

“No Prob.” I turned and gathered my things. As I walked the few blocks back home I couldn't get the fish out of my mind. Carp. What an odd sort of name. Odd or not, I had to catch one.

Again I was hooked, only this time I bled less. Looking back I find it funny just how long and odd of a journey it has been. Twenty years have passed and I have fished those ponds many times, though I never saw that old man again. I wish I could have met him one more time, let him know just how much that single experience had changed my life. Let him know how far I came since then...and that if I had that chance now, I wouldn't drop the net.