����������� It began as just another fishing trip.� I was up hours before the dawn and within minutes zooming down the back roads for some challenging fishing.� After an hour, I pulled into a old cafe for some hot coffee.� The gas pumps in front of the place were covered with rust and surrounded by weeds.� I guessed they hadn't been operable for forty years.

����������� The place was nearly empty.� A few locals read the paper, and some farmers bitched about the "fedral govmint" while waiting for the post office to open so they could collect their crop subsidy payments.� A waitress with neon pink fingernails approached me.� "What'll ya have?" she asked.

����������� "Just coffee."

����������� "How do you like it?"

����������� "Hot," I said.� She returned in a minute with some piping hot coffee in a white ceramic mug.� As I sipped my java, I scanned my crumpled map and said, "Hmmmm, I wonder which one of these lakes has got the big fish."

����������� I guess I spoke too loud because this old-timer sauntered over to me and said, "If you're looking for a good place to fish, Coon Lake's the spot.� Why a man could pull fish out of there as big as a football all day long!"

����������� "Don't listen to Earl," warned another old codger, "the best spot 'round here is Dawson's Bend.� There's bass in there to beat the band.� I mean big ole bass!"

����������� "Gee fellas," I said, "I'm not looking for some mamby-pamby place where just anybody can drop a line and catch monster fish.� I'm looking for a challenge."

����������� "You mean you don't get a charge out of showing all your friends the string of whoppers you catch when you go fishing?"

����������� "No," I said, "I don't let my ego get involved.� I don't care if I catch fish or not -- as long as it's challenging."

����������� "Well," said Earl as he scratched his chin, "if it's a challenge you want, why not try Anguish Creek?"

����������� "I didn't see any Anguish Creek on the map," I said.

����������� "That's 'cuz ain't nobody fished it in years," said the second old-timer.� "Why it's just hell to fish.� It's filled with every form of snag know to mankind.� I once heard tell of a fella who hooked a weed and pulled so hard he sunk his whole boat and drowned!"

����������� "Yeah, and they got fish in there so worldly they'll nibble your hook clean to the metal and leave you faster than a Kansas City hooker.� There's one old channel cat in there so big and fat and ornery they call him the Incredible Hulk."

����������� "Gee," I said, "Anguish Creek sounds like my kind of place."� After getting directions from Earl, I eventually found the road to Anguish Creek, otherwise known as County Road 117-H, but it became impassable about a half-mile from the water.� At this point the "road" was nothing more than two barely noticeable tracks in the mud, but the real problem was a tree trunk -- about four feet in diameter -- which had evidently been struck by lightning and now blocked my path.

����������� A tree trunk would not deter me.� I got my gear together and hoisted my aluminum rowboat down off of the jeep.� Sure, it weighed eighty pounds, but that didn't seem like too much to carry on my back in return for a fun-filled day of challenging fishing.

����������� I trudged through mud, weeds, and mosquitos for a good hour before I finally saw Anguish Creek.� I whistled to take my mind off the pain.� Mostly I whistled my wife's favorite song -- Keep Your Hands To Yourself �by the Georgia Satellites, but that's neither here nor there.

����������� Before I decided what to use as bait, I opened a can of beer.� It was only 7:00 a.m., but if you're going to do macho things like fish Anguish Creek, you really should drink beer.� Beside's, today's beers are less filling and taste great.

����������� When I finished my beer, it was time to bait my hook and get down to business.� I tried worms, salmon eggs, cheese balls, chicken livers, and all sorts of things.� I jigged and trolled and popped and spun until I was blue in the face, but I didn't get so much as a nibble.� I was so tired I treated myself to another beer.

����������� By noon I was getting discouraged and the weather was getting worse.� Ominous storm clouds gathered.� The wind blew at nearly gale force, tossing my little boat to and fro like a piece of welfare legislation. One of my beer cans fell into the lake.� Being an environmentalist, I didn't want to leave it there -- someone else might make it to Anguish Creek in the next decade and I didn't want my beer can to spoil it for them.� I figured I could put a treble-hook on my line, snag the can, and reel it in like a true sportsman.

����������� I casted perfectly, but just as I snagged the can the biggest fish I've ever seen erupted out of the water, devoured the beer can, and dove for the bottom like a Trident submarine.� I knew right away I had the monster fish known as the Incredible Hulk.

����������� That fish pulled me and my little boat for hours.� It was all I could do to hang on.� Every bone in my body screamed in agony.� But I sure wanted to catch the Incredible Hulk.� Not because I wanted to brag about catching a two hundred pound catfish -- I didn't care about that.� I just enjoyed the challenge of it.

����������� By night the storm had reached hurricane proportions.� Twenty foot swells tossed my little craft up and down.� It was all I could do to hang on.� Only my instincts kept me alive.� Just when I thought the Incredible Hulk was out of steam, he'd surge ahead with a sudden burst of energy and me and my tiny boat would be off to the races again.� All I could do was smile, open another can of beer, and tell myself, "Mark, it doesn't get any better than this."

����������� But there comes a time when ever a monster catfish can't keep up the fight.� Fishing is really a duel of wits, and there was no doubt in my mind -- or that of my wife -- that I was smarter than most fish!

����������� Sure enough, I eventually landed the Incredible Hulk.� You probably won't believe this, but what happened was I threw another beer can into the water.� When the Hulkster jumped for it, I smacked him upside the head with one of my oars.� I had to drink six more beers to do it, but I repeated this procedure a half-dozen times and that seemed to take most of the fight out of the so-called Incredible Hulk.

����������� I recall my trip to Anguish Creek with fond memories.� For a while, I had the Incredible Hulk mounted above my fireplace -- not because I wanted to show off -- but just so others would know how much fun you can have from some challenging fishing.� I was going to submit a photograph of the Incredible Hulk with this story, but some thieves broke in last night and stole him.

� 2001 Mark S. Cohen

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