My Valentines: Fish I have known and loved

My love affair with fish began when that first little bluegill flashed her dark eyes at me on the banks of Granddad's pond, and I have been an avid fisherman ever since. It is perhaps my only fault as a man.

It has not been an easy relationship. Some fish have teased and abandoned me. Some have completed me, while others baffled and confused me. Some have downright broken my heart. But I would be remiss if I didn't pen this love letter to my favorite fish on Valentine's Day. There is a special place in my four-chambered heart for all of you.

My Children's First Fish

There has been quite a bit of water under the bridge since I caught my first fish. While I have no memory of it, I am sure that it was an impressive specimen in terms of length, weight and fighting ability, and while my mother was under the influence of painkillers and can't recall, I think I caught him in the ditch right behind the Hampton General Hospital hours after I was born. But a father's first fish can't compare to watching his children pull in their first catch.

My child was only three. His Uncle Harold helped him hold the cane pole and easily pull in the modest little bream. It happened without much of a fight. But what happened next is most amazing.

Have you ever seen a dog drag a dead animal into your yard and then lick it and roll around on top of it, wallowing in its nasty glory? That best describes this child's post-catch technique. After kissing and licking the fish, then stuffing it into every pocket, he rubbed it all over his face and in his hair. I couldn't wait until we got home.

"Look, Mommy," I said. "Your son caught his first fish! I think you ought to give him a big hug and kiss for that!"

The Changeling

Like women, some fish will always be a confusing mystery to me. When I was 12, my father landed a nice 32-pound catfish. The fish barely fit into a 32-quart cooler, and even then Pop had to remove the head to make it fit.

Years later, standing around listening to my Dad tell the story to a bunch of menfolk while sitting on the tailgate of his truck, I was surprised to learn that, not only had that fish grown into a 48-pounder, the size of that Coleman cooler had grown to become a 48-quarter. I knew fish could grow post-mortem, but coolers? Well, I guess some mysteries aren't meant to be solved.

The 40-Pound Flathead

Fishing, like romantic love, induces a powerful range of human emotions, from love and joy to hate and sadness. Last year, I had the opportunity to take both of my sons out with a famous local fisherman, Chip "Cat Daddy" Mixon.

I knew that seeing my skinny, 7-year-old son pull in a monster catfish would be a highlight of my Dad Career, and I wasn't disappointed. In a matter of minutes, the first-grader, with a little help from Dad, boated a nice 30-pounder that was as long as the kid was tall.

This feat topped everything the kid had ever done up until this point in his life - the first words, first steps, first soccer goals - it was all overshadowed by this wonderful moment. The kid was a fisherman, not a boy! He was a Catfish King who lived at the top of the world!

And then, two minutes later, his older brother landed a 46-pound flathead, a beast of a fish that could have swallowed his fish whole. The Catfish King started weeping in the bottom of the boat.

Fishing and love: It's a roller coaster of emotions.

The Bygone Bluegill

And then there is the one that got away, the one that broke my heart.

It was just a normal day at our favorite childhood fishing hole. Chris, my younger brother, was on one side of the dock and I on the other. It was miserably hot, and the mosquitoes were nipping at us. Suddenly, my brother got a heck of a good strike.

At this point, there is a dispute as to what actually occurred. I say that while trying to swat a mosquito I accidently swung my line over to my brother's side of the dock, just inches from his bobbing cork. He claims that I was engaged in a highly unethical form of fishing outlawed by the Geneva Convention.

At any rate, I quickly landed the largest, most magnificent bluegill either of us had ever seen. The behemoth filled both of my shaking hands. Overcome with excitement, I placed the fish on the dock, where it lay glittering like wet diamonds in the sun. It was beautiful. I knelt down to admire its beauty more closely.

That's when my fishing partner, in a fit of jealous rage, kicked it back into the water.

Happy Valentine's Day to all of you, my Pisces Princesses, wherever you are.

Michael M. DeWitt Jr. is the managing editor of The Hampton County Guardian, an award-winning journalist, humor columnist and outdoor writer who has been published in South Carolina Wildlife, Sporting Classics and other magazines around the South, and the author of two books.