Nearly everyone who has spent much time in close company with a rod and reel has a favorite story about the big one that got away.
Some of them are even true.
These memories, whose expansion is limited only by time passing and the bounds of the imagination, often hold center stage in the mind’s eye.
No matter how big a fish we actually might have captured – even with photographic evidence – it’s that unseen monster of the deep that keeps our fascination.
With apologies to Joni Mitchell, you don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone.
Take, for example, whatever it was that swallowed my lure on an Arizona lake a couple of months ago and proceeded to run a substantial amount of 8-pound test through a tight drag. The fish spun circles around the boat for the better part of 15 minutes, a macrame trail that several times looped under the boat, bending a stout rod near the breaking point.
“Probably a big catfish. We get them here from time to time,” opined Paul Wallace, a regular at the lake.
Then, just when it seemed the anxious angler finally might get a glimpse of this creature, the hook pulled out. What followed was the usual litany of lost-fish rationalizations: I had caught lunker catfish before. I was going to release it, anyway. Breaks of the game.
After another half-hour of fishing, thoughts drifting with the cackling of coots in the tules, I had just about forgotten the misfortune. That’s when Wallace decided to mess with my head.
“You know,” he drawled, “that might have been a trophy bass you had there. They catch some giants here. The lake record is 16 pounds.”
To someone who has chased largemouth bass from Okeechobee to Mexico without breaking double figures, the words struck like a dagger to the heart. The haunting aspect of never knowing still gnaws at me.
The flip side of the equation, of course, is a creative fisherman can make The Big One That Got Away almost anything he wants. Want to score one up on your friends? Let your fantasies run wild. Make it whatever you want it to be. Imagine a great fish.
Even as I wrestled with the gut-wrenching reality that I never would know what really was on the other end of the line, it suddenly came to me that this lost-fish thing works both ways. After all, there is a perfect corollary to catch-and-release. It’s called lose-and-lie.
Come to think of it, no one ever lost a small fish. There’s no reason to start now.
It’s the law
A bill that gives states the right to impose license quotas on nonresidents was signed into law last week by President Bush. The measure, championed by U.S. Rep. Mark Udall of Eldorado Springs, carries profound implications for Colorado and other Western states that give preference to residents both in the quantity and cost of limited licenses, such as those for big game.
An earlier decision by the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals had overturned an Arizona regulation granting residents a 90-10 license advantage. A similar challenge in the 10th Circuit Court could have upset Colorado’s 60-40 ratio. This new bill takes precedent over the courts.
All Colorado licensing procedures are under review by a Big Game License Allocation Working Group currently conducting a series of meetings amid proposals by some groups to increase the percentage of the most coveted tags reserved for residents.
Listen to Charlie Meyers at 9 a.m. each Saturday on “The Fan Outdoors,” radio KKFN 950 AM. He can be reached at 303-820-1609 or cmeyers@denverpost.com.
