When I first came to the pond, I was probably four or five years old. A ball of bread on a large hook dangling from a bit of string tied to a branch allowed me to catch what the locals called Horned Pout, bullheads to the rest of you. I don't recall catching these ugly brown fish but I've seen faded black and whites of catfish swinging from a tentatively held stick.

Years later I returned to the pond as the indentured servant to a great uncle's fantastical home improvement projects. The one solace was the adventures that could be had with an old fishing pole, worms and a row boat. Most evenings I could get away and do some fishing though it was more for solitude than sport. It was my first introduction to trout and largemouth.

My great uncle's neighbor, Bob, sometimes took pity on me and took me out on his motorboat. It was an unremarkable dinghy with a fifteen horsepower motor that managed to get us around the hundred acre pond quickly and efficiently. Bob showed me the way through the rock garden on the western bank so that we could access water shaded from the late afternoon sun. Largemouth congregated in those shoals. Back across time I can recall seeing rising fish. Of course at the time those were just bullseyes for lures to hit. You could do well with a Rapala or a Mepps.