Many years ago I used to meet my friend Micah early in the morning so we could go fishing. We would drive up to the Susquehanna river, just above where the Chesapeake Bay begins. Wading out into the river we would bait our hooks with small perch and heave them downstream. If we were lucky, and our bait was lively we would haul in an occasional striped bass. If the bait got old and tired, large catfish would become interested.
One such morning I sent my tired bait downstream for one more try. After a bit of a wait I felt a good tug. I yanked back on my line and knew right away I had something huge. I wasn't at all sure what I had, but suspected it was a big, old catfish. I could tell by the slow steady fight. After a good bit of careful pulling and reeling I finally got him close. It was the biggest, ugliest catfish I had ever seen. His head was battle scarred and he looked mean.
I didn't have a wagon to haul him away.