OK…since I’m not really here and I’m out fishing in the beautiful state of Montana…I thought I’d give you a real fish story. Hope you enjoy it. I’m hoping to have a couple new ones when I return on the 15th.
The Biggest Fish I ever caught
By John Walker
The sun lazily rose over the rolling hills and hay fields of southern Idaho, that day in 1956, just like any other late summer day.
Grandpa, all his sons and their sons, big enough to sweat and buck the bales, were already hard at work in the north hayfield when I came into the kitchen rubbing the sleep from my eyes.
Grandma and Aunt June were busying themselves with the breakfast cleanup, finding joy in their conversation about the growth of the family and the camaraderie that had developed between the grand kids of the family.
Grams, always happy and attentive to everyone around her, noticed my appearance and said, “Hey pumpkin, you’re up late today.”
I said nothing, still trying to wake up.
“A little grouchy today are we?” She bent down and kissed my cheek. “If you open the oven their, you’ll find a plate of baking’ powder biscuits and gravy that’ll put a little meat on those skinny little bones of yours.”
I loved grandma’s breakfasts and was soon gulping down the biscuits and sausage gravy like I was starved.
“ Hey tike, Aunt June said. “You’d better slow down a little or those biscuits are going to turn to glue and stick you to that chair all day.” “Here’s a glass of milk to wash them down.”
I grabbed the milk, and washed down the last of the biscuits and gravy.
“Slow down fireman,” said Grams, “what’s the rush?”
“Fishing,” I finally said, wiping the milk from my chin. I loved that whole milk grandma kept in those big gallon jugs in the back porch fridge. They would sometimes have three inches of cream at the top that she would scrape off and make some great dessert with. Sometimes we would get to make ice cream with it. I always liked taking my turn at turning the handle on the ice bucket, before I had to let one of my older cousins take over when it became too hard for a skinny little 6 year old to turn.
“Fishing?” questioned Aunt June. “Where are you fishing today?”
“I saw a huge fish, big as I am in the irrigation ditch yesterday.” “I want to catch him and surprise Grandpa.”
“You better be careful he doesn’t catch you,” Aunt June said, winking at Grandma.
Grams handed me a sack she’d already had ready for me from the fridge and said, “here’s your lunch, now you be careful my little fisherman, and don’t get a hook in your ear.” “You’ll find a coffee can with worms and a fishing pole on the back porch your dad left for you,” and “have fun” I heard her say as the screen door slammed behind me on the way out. “Bring home that big fish for dinner now.”
I couldn’t wait to get to the ditch. I grabbed the pole, jumped off the porch, and was out of the yard when I remembered the worms. I ran back and grabbed the coffee can, stuffed the lunch bag down on top of the dirt, and was on my way.
It was always an adventure when I was at Grandpa’s house. We lived in a small house in northern Idaho on about a half of an acre. When we went to Grandpa’s, I thought they must have owned the whole rest of the world. It really wasn’t that big, about 40 acres, but when you’re a small child things always seem bigger.
There were cows, horses, pigs, chickens, dogs and fences, barns, haystacks, and tractors, all kinds of things to do and explore. I loved being there!
I could see, the “men”, as Grandpa called them, loading the bales on the truck, as I ran across the field to the irrigation ditch. I couldn’t wait till I was big enough to help with the “hayin”, but today I had my own plans.
I was going to catch me a whale!
The irrigation ditch was probably about 2 feet deep and 3 feet wide, but in one spot, where it made a turn along the corner of the property, it formed about an 8 ft wide by ten ft long pond. Some trees hung over it on one side and an old log lay through it. Under that log I had seen a giant of a fish the day before.
I crept up on the pond and peered through the shadows cast by the trees to where I’d seen the fish. After a while, sure enough, there he was. He lay there watching me with his big-scaled body hardly moving in the shadows. I remember the hair stood up on the back of my neck and I thought to myself how scary he looked.
Keeping my eye on the fish, I rummaged around in the coffee can for a worm, baited my hook and lowered it in the water.
Nothing. The fish didn’t move or bat an eye. He just stayed there under the log in the shade.
I retrieved my line and worked my way over to where the log was. I couldn’t see the fish anymore, but I knew he was there.
I lowered the worm in the water where I figured it would be right in front of the fish’s nose. I waited nervously. Nothing. I crept back over where I could see him. At first I couldn’t spot him and then finally I made out his form. He had turned around in the other direction so my worm was dangling behind his tail.
I figured I’d better move the bait in front of him on the other side of the log. The problem was, the branches and dead limbs were hanging in the way. I lowered the worm down through them and hoped I wouldn’t get tangled up in them. I found a branch with a “Y” in it and stuck it down in the soil on the banks edge. I placed my pole in it, like I’d seen my Dad do when we fished together at home, and I lay down in the grass, on my stomach, so I could see over the edge into the water.
After what seemed to be an eternity, probably about 10 minutes, I couldn’t stand it. I had to look again. I crept down the ditch to my vantage point. Wouldn’t you know it; the fish had turned around again so the worm was once again facing away from the bait.
Maybe he doesn’t like worms, I thought. I’d noticed a lot of grass hoppers jumping around when I’d ran across the field to the ditch, so I decided to catch one and see if that might interest the fish.
After a lot of running around and chasing hoppers, I had a big one land right on my overalls. It was probably about 2 inches long and would make great bait for a big fish.
All this running around had made me hungry so while I baited my hook I decided to see what Grams had made me for lunch. In all the commotion, I had apparently knocked over the coffee can with the worms and my lunch. As I pulled out the lunch sack I noticed it was damp and torn on the outside. I reached in the sack and pulled out my sandwich. It was covered with worms. It startled me a little and I dropped the big hopper but quickly snatched it up again. I decided to forego the lunch and get back to the business at hand.
As I lifted my line up through the branches, it got hung up on the limbs, or so I thought, so I gave a big jerk, hoping to get it free. When I jerked the pole, there was an explosion in the ditch, the reel started spinning, and the pole went flying out of my hands onto the log and lodged itself between two branches hanging down from the tree on the other side.
My heart was in my throat and the big fish was splashing around at the shallow end of the pool. He was huge and looked really mad!
I jumped on the log and tried to retrieve the pole, but the line was wrapped around some branches and the weight of the beast on the other end was keeping it so tight I couldn’t get it untangled.
I was lying on the log trying to reach the line in the water, the fish was causing all kinds of commotion, my adrenalin was through the roof, and I lost my balance and slipped off the log into the water.
I panicked! I thought I might drown or be eaten by the beast fish. I sucked in some water and it hurt. I reached for a limb and pulled myself up, choking and coughing and scared!
When I cleared the water from my lungs and caught my breath, I was standing up and realized I was in water just above my knees.
The Fish was still churning about and I could see his back above the surface, his scales shining in the sun.
I grabbed the fishing line in both hands and the fight was on!
The Fish was huge and the line was strong, probably 20 lb salmon line. It hurt my hands and drew blood at the edge of my forefinger. I let go and climbed up on the bank.
It wasn’t until I was out of the water that I realized the Fish was hooked in the tail.
Being as young as I was, a fouled hook was not important or anything I even thought about.
I had HIM, or should I say, the tree and my pole had him.
I was already all wet and so I decided, then and there, I was going to get that big bruiser out of the pond.
I charged back in at the shallow end and grabbed the Fish by the tail. He escaped my grip and charged up the side of the pond. He was back under the tree and the line went slack.
Heart pounding, I stumbled down the pond, grabbed the pole and reeled it up as best I could. It was around the branches still and now around my legs with the fish tugging at the other end. He shot back out from under the log. I dropped the pole and tackled him as he went by. We rolled around in the water, getting the line tangled around both of us and the pole and more limbs, till we both were wound up and exhausted from fighting each other.
Somehow, I got to the bank with him and pulled him out of the water onto the muddy cow crossing. We both laid there like a couple of beached whales, for a minute or two, trying to catch our breath. What a sight it must have been. Good thing nobody saw us there. They might have died laughing.
He started to flop towards the water and I grabbed him again and pulled him farther out until we were at the end of where the tangled line would allow us to go.
As I caught my breath, and he lost his, I just lay their weak from the adrenalin rush and physical exhaustion.
What a fish! My first BIG fish! I have to show everybody!
After extracting myself from the fishing line and stashing the pole, I grabbed the fish through the gills and drug him across the field towards the hay gang. It was heavy and by the time I reached them I was out of breath, but beaming from ear to ear.
All my cousins gathered around me and Grandpa halted the truck. He climbed down out of the cab and came over to see what all the commotion was about. He looked me up and down and looked at the fish. We must have been quite a sight, all covered in mud that had started to dry out from the midday sun.
“It’s a damned old good for nuthin’ carp,” he said. “You’ll have to bury it now so the dogs don’t get into it.” “Can’t eat it, it’s all bones and scales.” “All right men, let’s get back to work.”
They all turned as my heart sank to my feet. I thought Grandpa would be proud of me. My visions of the whole family feasting on my catch, of one fish, went up in the smoke from the exhaust of the truck, as Grandpa pulled away down another row of hay bales.
I stood there in the midday sun feeling hurt and hot and mad. Mad at Grandpa, mad at myself for not knowing it was a worthless old carp, and mad at the fact that I’d killed him for nothing.
I buried him by the pond that afternoon and marked his grave with a makeshift cross-made of old dried branches I tied together with fishing line.
Nothing was said about it at dinner. It was a great dinner. We made ice cream that evening and had some of Grandma’s upside down pudding cake, enough to make anyone forget about their troubles.
I soon forgot about my episode with that old carp. Never even thought of it until my Nephew, and fishing partner, asked me the other day, “How big was the biggest fish you ever caught?”
In my 61 years, I’ve caught a lot of fish. Salmon, sturgeon, lake trout, browns, etc., but I don’t think I ever felt quite like I did about the Monster carp in the old irrigation ditch on Grandpa’s place. As I told my nephew, Micah, it could have been smaller than I thought at the time. I was only six. But it looms large in my mind and to this day I
Always give serious thought to whether to take a fish or let it go.
Maybe catching the Beast fish taught me a very valuable lesson that hot summer day.
I find joy in letting them go these days.
One thing I do know. I’ll always take time out to fish, and I’m proud to have a Nephew who will go along when I can arrange it.
(for my fishing buddy, Micah)
Well hey…throw out a line!
John
John Walker is a retired broadcaster and music producer. With forty years of experience in the radio and music industry, he built and operated White Rabbit Productions...
