| The
Pond
Roger P. Plaskett
Growing up on South
Road as the youngest of three boys, I virtually grew
up nearly as an only child as my two brothers were much
older than I. Gerald was six years older while Richard
(Dick) is 12 years my senior. So my partner in those
early years was my best friend as well. Her name was
Pepper and she was given to me in 1951 as a Christmas
present from Dick. She was a dog that gave unconditional
love for 17 years, passing away in my wife’s arms
in 1968.
In the non-winter months we enjoyed fishing almost on
a daily basis. Riding my Columbia bicycle, with Pepper
trotting along side, we were a familiar site on Bull
Road heading for the pond that we all called “Halleran’s
Pond”. Once there the choices were numerous as
to where to fish. On the Western shore was an area we
called “Perch Point”. In the spring this
was a killer spot for perch fishing. A little farther
north along that same shore was a island that had a
couple of shaky logs bridging itself to the “main-land”.
On many occasions this bridge provided unscheduled washings
of my dungarees. If you were lucky enough to get out
there in the springtime, the rewards were an endless
supply of pickerel. Along the Southern shore was located
a meadow. Three houses are in the area now but, in the
1950’s and early 1960's it was still accessible.
When the apple blossoms were in bloom all the large
mouth bass in the pond seemed to congregate along that
shore for the annual spawning season. Beds were visible
everywhere as you walked along the banks. There was
one bass that would torment me for years. I called him
“Oscar” but, in reality, “he”
was probably a “she”. Season after season
this monster was patrolling the spawning beds and looked
like a submarine as he circled endlessly around the
beds.On many occasions
I tried to snare him with a treble hook only to have
him break free time after time. A few years later, Ed
East, who was the care-taker at the Halleran place across
the street, told me that after ice-out one year, he
found a dead bass on the edge of the water that measured
29 inches without its tail and only a partial front
end. I never saw “Old-Oscar” again. I assume
that he made it to the end and died with a smile knowing
he had won all the yearly battles in our war.
Farther in an easterly direction along that same shoreline
is another point as the pond curves to the right towards
the dam. This point was crazy with Calico bass or “crappies”
as most people refer to them. I used to put a small
shiner on a hook with no swivel, bobber or any other
contraption and simply toss it out there as far as I
could. The shiner would swim to the top and just kinda
splash around for a minute or two when “WHAM!
The water would explode and another Calico was on its
way to my stringer.
On the eastern shore was the dam area, which was the
deepest part of the pond. Here
you could catch bluegills and sunfish till the cows
came home. (Yes, there were plenty of cows in the area.
Henry Camp kept a huge bull staked by the roadside on
locust road and you could hear him bellowing his lust
filled serenade to the cows at the Camp farm and at
the Schibi place down the road.) After the spawning
season was over the Large Mouth bass that survived “Old
Oscars” intimidation, or whatever he was doing
to them, could be found in this area. There was a submerged
rock just to the left and only visible when the sun
was high in the sky. If you looked hard enough you could
see the silhouettes of bass against the tan color of
the rock. I used to catch a frog and hook him in the
leg and toss him out to the rock. If you were lucky
enough to get one to swim along the top of the water,
the rewards were 5 minutes of the most exciting fishing
you could ask for. One day when I was about 15, I nailed
two whoppers. We took them up the Thiemenns store where
the Citco Station now is and weighed them. One weighed
four pounds and the other five and a quarter.
The two bass totalling
nearly ten ponuds
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