1978. Fished for the better part of 2 months every morning before school and every evening after school. Was fishing a tiny creek the size of a bathtub, when my rod started shaking. It took off down some fast water and I chased it for several yards. After 5 minutes, it beached itself, and there was the yarn in its pec fin. I couldn't bring myself to let it go. Bonked it and brought it home. Felt like crap after killing it, realizi I wasn't good enough to catch one the right way.

Next morning went to a different river (to get away from the scene of the crime). Just before leaving, my line stopped in the middle of a rapids. I set the hook, and a mint bright 6 pounder jumped 4 feet out of the water. Peeled off forty yards of line and headed for Lake Superior. I ended up beaching the fish about two hundred yards from where I started. Hooked in the roof of the mouth fair and square. My mom picked me up at the bridge a little later, and I cleaned the fish at home. Brought it to high school that morning in a cooler. Can't say I was proud of the first one, but was dam proud of the 2nd one, and everyone after that. It was my first and last illegaly kept fish. I got to fish that little creek for the first time in almost 20 years, just this past weekend. I felt like a little kid again standing on that rock ledge where I caught my first fair hooked fish. Can't explain the feeling I had, but if I ever lose it, They can dig the hole, and cover me with dirt. Peace.