My First Fish

With my annual fishing trip to the Pecos Wilderness rapidly approaching I think it is time to remember my first fish.

Each year my family went on a camping trip, usually in the Pecos Widerness area. I do recall one particularly dreadful trip to Red River where we froze so much that all ended up in my folks double sleeping bag to try and stay warm. We also stayed a time or two in the Cowles guest ranch in one of the cabins. We did that before we bought the tent.

The tent was a large light green canvas tent that had enough room for my parents' double sleeping bag along the back wall and Gary's and my sleeping bags along either side with enough room in the middle for someone to stand, change clothes, or whatever. I would bet that my folks still have the tent, although it is so big and heavy that no one would ever use it anymore.

I know what you're saying, "What about the fish?" I'm getting to it.

Just before you cross the bridge to the Tererro general store and Post Office there is a road to your left to the Holy Ghost Canyon Campground. I remember having to ford a stream to get to the campground and we pitched our tent in a campsite beside the stream where a bit of a log dam created a large pool. Immediately across the stream was a stump perfect for sitting on and that is where I fished.

To get to the stump I had to very carefully walk across the 20 ft log being careful not to lose my balance and fall in. I remember inching across the log and being quite satisfied with myself when I finally made it. Gary went off with my Dad up and down the stream trying to catch some fish. We didn't catch anything.

During this time the campground started filling up with people. Where there hadn't been anyone anywhere close to us there were now campers 10-15 feet away. One of the campers had a small dog, I think a terrier.

Anyway, I'd inch my way across the log each day and fish in the same big pool. I wasn't catching anything but my Dad and Gary weren't catching anything either. I'd been sitting for quite a while with my line in the water. It was baited with a worm and I had a big red and white bobber on it to let me know if a fish was biting. As I was sitting there I watched a fish come out from under the bank by a scrub brush and dirt area hanging over the stream and swim toward my worm. As I watched he grabbed the worm, down went the bobber, and I jerked up on my pole hooking him. I pulled him in and started hollering. "I caught a fish! I caught a fish!" I ran across the log with my pole and fish and showed it to my Mom.

It was a big fish, a brown 10-12 inches. Since we hadn't caught any other fish and it was still very much alive she put it in a large pan of water so it could swim around and stay alive. It was a beige plastic pan that she washed the dishes in about 14" x 18" and 6" deep. She didn't want to clean and cook just one fish.

Now, a couple of observations: How did I get across the log so fast? Why could I now run across a log I was scared to carefully walk over? I don't know.

Since we hadn't caught any other fish I was content to watch my fish swim around. That was Saturday and we went to Glorieta on Sunday for church. When we came back my fish was gone! After a very short search we found it covered in dirt and dog bites. The stupid terrier had taken it out of the pan. I never have liked those dogs.

I thought I was about 10 when this happened but in talking to my folks the other day they said it was 1957 so I would have been 6. Since we went to the mountains every year, who knows. Anyway, some time between 6 and 10.