You a fisherman? Thought so. Got that look about ya.

There’s a crick near here I wanna tell ya ’bout. Look on the map and it’ll say Big Pine Creek, but the locals call it Trout Haven. Trout Haven is a better name ’cause no one ever caught a pine in that crick, but, boy oh boy, have they caught trout! They’re so thick in there you could scoop ’em out with a spoon! Good eatin’ ones, too.

Don’t sound like much of a challenge, does it? Well, it ain’t for the most part. It’s like going to the fish market. Just drop a line and make your selection.

But there is one bugger in there that’ll test ya. Some call ‘im Iron Jack. Others call him Two Ton Tommy. Ain’t no one ever called him dinner, though. Not yet.

I ain’t braggin’, but I had ‘im on the line once myself. The first thing I know, I feel this tug–felt like ten lumberjacks pullin’ on the other end of the line. Now most fishermen lose their head and let go of the rod. I held on, though, and Tommy pulled my arm right out of the socket. Oh, don’t worry, it popped back in after a few days. Right down to this day, though, I can feel rain comin’ in that arm. I can feel the Jehovah’s Witnesses comin’ to my door, too.

I switched the pole over to my lef’ arm right away and ol’ Tommy pulled even harder. I held on, but he pulled me right off the bank into the crick. For about two mile, Tommy pulled me so hard I skidded right across the top of the water like I was on waterskis.

At some point, I hit my head on branch that was hangin’ over the water and got knocked clean out. I still held onto that pole, though. When I woke up, I looked around and realized I was in some kind of lodge with spiky walls. Tommy had built himself a little hut, right there in the water, made up entirely of fishing poles he’d yanked out of fishermens’ hands.

Well, I swam outta there as fast as I could and never went back to Trout Haven.

Good luck to you, though, sir. If you catch Tommy, let me know. I got three cord a’ firewood at my place and we could build us a bonfire and grill ‘im up nice.


Genre: tall tale
Random Nouns: selection, spoon


This is the second story in my¬†Random Roadside series. In this series, I pick a random image from John Margolies’ Roadside America photography collection at the Library of Congress and use it as the setting for a story. I allow a computer program to randomly select the genre I will write in and two nouns, which I must work into the story.

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