When it comes to life – and death – everyone has their favorite story.
I’m no different.
The angling community, no, the entire community, lost a great one a few weeks ago.
Carl Herring was more than just something special. He was a history book of knowledge on the angling world in our region.
I’m convinced that he could have held his own anywhere there was water because of his ability to figure out a situation, pattern the species, and give them the right offering.
While he loved to out-fish you, he was just as joyous when teaching you a thing or two that would make you a better angler.
So here goes, my attempt to tell my favorite Herring story – a first-time trip with the Suffolk man who had the huge reputation.
I was a journalist with small skills that was getting better and better when I heard about this guy who was a fishing giant.
My dad and Bill Sugg – rapidly becoming a close friend of my father’s – had fished with Herring. My dad said he was unique, one of a kind, and amazing craftsman with a remarkable knack of controlling a cane pole.
So I set up a time to meet Herring, who, at the time, held the International Game Fish Association world all-tackle record for the biggest black crappie ever caught – a 4-pound, 6-ounce giant of a slab.
We met in Clarksville, along the shore of Kerr Reservoir, at a person’s house where he bought minnows and shared stories.
Soon after, we were at a boat ramp ready to launch Herring’s “vessel.”
I looked carefully over the short wooden skiff with much too big of a motor and asked: “we’re fishing in this?”
Herring looked at me like I was from another planet.
The boat was self-made, and its insides were slick and stained with the slime of fish – lots and lots of fish caught over years of angling. There was a trolling motor on the pointed bow, but Herring explained that he preferred to use a short paddle to work his way down the shoreline, keeping as quiet as he could.
On the front and back was a system of rod holders designed to form a “spider” of lures in all different directions.
Oh, one more thing, the slime had soaked its way into the wood to the extent that it stunk.
But off we went, to one of Herring’s favorite coves in the back of Grassy Creek. There, we proceeded to catch crappie after crappie – most weighing no less than a pound or pound-and-a-half.
Time for a clarification – I’m a caster, love to feel the thump when a fish hits. Trouble was, Herring’s set-up didn’t give me much room to work.
But work I did, landing a couple of 2-pounders and even a couple of threes. I even had one near the boat that he estimated might go four.
When I yelled for him to get the net, he responded that he was too busy watching all his baits.
Needless to say, the giant broke off and I refused to talk to him for almost a half hour.
But I went home with a cooler of fish, enough to share the wealth, and a pretty good story about one of the mid-Atlantic’s best.
Herring, who lived on Western Branch Reservoir with wife, Shirley, was 90 and had fought cancer for several years.
The man who once had a pet crocodile was typically either fishing or talking about it.
No species was off-limits, but many would argue that crappie was his favorite.
At the end of my first time fishing with Herring, the crazy in me just had to ask him if he ever washed the boat to get all of the slime out,
His response was classic Herring.
“Son, the slime is what’s holding the thing together.”
Tidewater anglers have lost one of their legends, but anybody who knew him still has their story.
To read more of my work, go to: leetolliveroutdoors.com
