I'm not sure where the rumor that anglers tend to verbally inflate the sizes of the fish they catch or lose started, but I know from first-hand experience that it's untrue. Well, most of the time at least. Deer hunters know that a buck's antlers always look much larger than they actually are before the deer is harvested. And should the hunter miss, those antlers will become even larger since the buck will be at least a few minutes older. So hunters should also be included in those unfounded rumors.
With summer vacations getting into full swing, there will be a substantial amount of fishing being done between now and autumn. There will fish caught and fish lost, both events spawning the types of stories that bounce around at coffee shops, taverns and sportsmen's clubs. I know because I usually hear my share. Although some listeners might scoff or snicker at the distance between the storyteller's hands when he/she demonstrates the fish's length, I only nod in agreement ... because I've gotten the same reaction, especially when telling about the "big one that got away." Heck, bring me your Bible and I'll swear to tell the whole truth and nothing but.
Take, for example, the largest northern pike I've ever seen attached to my fragile line.
It happened one July day in 1969. The late Don Clarke and I were spending a few days camping and canoe fishing on the West Branch of the Oswegatchie River near Harrisville in St. Lawrence County. We were about eight miles down river on a long placid stretch where we'd camped that day. That evening I caught a 12-pound pike from a setback off a big bend in the river. The next morning we decided to fish that same stretch before breaking camp and moving on down river.
As we drifted near the bend and setback, I casted a Guderod Sniper plug – the same one that had accounted for the pike the evening before – to the mouth of the setback. I'd retrieved it about six feet when it stopped. I set the hook. Snagged, although I never got snagged casting there the evening before. I kept pulling and, despite the 8-pound test line, managed to gradually pull the canoe toward the snagged lure. Then my "snag" seem to start coming toward me. Then it gained speed, went by the canoe, and headed toward the center of the river.
I yelled at Don that I had something "big" on, so he turned from his casting and watched as I put as much strain on the line as I dared. Whatever I'd hooked, it now turned back and headed toward the setback mouth, only to turn when it got there and retrace its route back. Back and forth it went, and although we couldn't see it, each time it turned it created a large boil on the surface a few seconds afterwards. A truly big fish. Don later said that this went on for almost half an hour, but gradually I began to gain line as the fish tired. Even then, the fish stayed too deep for us to see it.
Just as I began to have hopes of actually landing (more correctly, beaching) the fish, or at least glimpsing what it was, it changed tactics by heading upstream instead of turning back. As my drag grudgingly gave up line, I looked in the direction the fish was headed. There, about 20 yards upstream and almost in the middle of the river, was a blunt limb sticking just above the surface. I hollered at Don to start paddling us upstream before the fish reached the snag. He tried to, but the fish got there first, and I felt the line grate against submerged wood. Then there was just solid resistance and no movement.
It was about ten in the morning, so visibility looking into the water was good. As we got over the snag we could see it was what was left of a large tree, half buried in the sandy bottom about eight feet down. Several bare limbs stuck in various directions. I could see where the main tree trunk divided into three separate smaller trunks, and my line appeared to be wrapped around a large limb sticking straight up from one of them. I reeled my rod down into the water, hoping to maybe unwind the line and eventually find where my plug was snagged. As the rod tip neared the main trunk, the large center trunk that branched off it suddenly rolled up and magically transformed itself into a huge pike. As Don and I watched in awe, the big fish just righted herself and, with a flex of her huge tail, swam away, snapping my line as she did. Don had spent most of his life in the north country and much of that time was spent fishing for pike. He'd taken several over 40 inches and one of 44 that weighed 19 pounds. He estimated this pike to be at least 48. He said he'd once seen one spawning while he was spearing early spring eels at night. He tried to spear it (it was legal back then) but it tore free and was found dead a couple days later. That pike was 51 inches, and Don said my fish was about as big. Yes, I've caught some big fish and lost my share as well, but the memory and image of that huge pike as she slowly rolled up on her side before swimming away to freedom will stay with me forever. So when another angler starts telling about the "big one that got away," guess what image comes to my mind. And even if I suspect the storyteller added a bit to their fish's size, I grateful to them for reminding me of my best "fish story."

Beware of VHS Spreading to Other Waters
When the Dept. of Environmental Conservation announced in May that it had found Viral Hemorrhagic Septicemia (VHS) present in some Skaneateles Lake smallmouth bass and rock bass, the implications of this discovery will eventually probably be felt increasingly more by those of us who fish and boat. Prior to this, the only inland New York water where the fatal-to-fish virus had been found was Conesus Lake. The prior findings were confined to the Great Lakes system – lakes Erie and Ontario and the Niagara and St. Lawrence rivers. Like the zebra mussels, which managed to spread throughout so many of our waters, this even more dangerous threat could easily do the same.