The Day Everything Changed at Miller’s Pond
I was seven years old, standing on a rickety wooden dock at Miller’s Pond in central Ohio, armed with a Zebco 202 combo my grandfather had bought at Kmart for twelve dollars. The rod was too long for my small frame, and I could barely work the push-button reel. None of that mattered. What mattered was the red-and-white bobber dancing three feet off the dock, and the certainty that something was about to happen.
My grandfather had threaded a piece of nightcrawler onto a gold Aberdeen hook, size 8, and showed me how to flip it past the lily pads. “Watch the bobber,” he said. “When it goes under, count to two, then pull.” Simple instructions that I’ve never forgotten.
Six Inches of Pure Magic
The bobber went under. I counted way too fast—probably half a second—and yanked with everything my skinny arms could muster. The bluegill came flying out of the water, spinning through the air, and landed on the dock boards with a wet slap. It was maybe six inches long, bright orange on the belly with bars of iridescent blue on its gill plates. I remember thinking it was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.
My grandfather laughed and showed me how to hold it, thumb on the lower jaw, careful of the spiny dorsal fin. “That’s a nice bull gill,” he said, and those words made me feel like I’d conquered the world. We released it back into the murky water, and I immediately wanted to catch another one.
What a Bluegill Teaches You
Looking back now, after thirty years of chasing everything from smallmouth in the Ozarks to permit on the flats of Belize, I realize that little bluegill taught me everything fundamental about fishing. It taught me patience—waiting for that bobber to move. It taught me timing—that count-to-two rule my grandfather mentioned. And it taught me the addictive rush of connection, that electric moment when a fish takes your offering and the line comes alive.
Bluegills don’t jump like bass or run like redfish. They don’t require expensive tackle or exotic locations. But they fight with an honesty that bigger, flashier fish sometimes lack. A bluegill on light tackle—say, a 4-weight fly rod or an ultralight spinning setup—will turn sideways and pump against the rod with surprising strength. They’re the perfect training ground for young anglers because they bite readily and fight hard enough to be exciting.
The Gear That Started It All
That Zebco 202 eventually broke—probably from being dropped on the garage floor too many times—but I’ve kept the rod. It hangs in my office now, above a shelf of fly-tying materials and old fishing magazines. The cork grip is cracked and the guides are rusty, but it still works. Sometimes I’ll take it out for bluegill season, just to remember where this all started.
These days I own rods that cost more than my first car. I’ve got a tackle room organized by species and technique, a bass boat with more electronics than a small airplane, and a fly collection that borders on compulsive. But none of it would exist without that six-inch bluegill at Miller’s Pond.
Why First Fish Matter
Every angler has a first fish story. It might be a sunfish, a stocked trout, or a saltwater pinfish caught from a pier. The species doesn’t matter. What matters is the moment—that instant when a child realizes that there’s a whole world beneath the surface, and that with patience and a little skill, they can reach into that world and make a connection.
If you have kids in your life, I encourage you to find them that moment. It doesn’t require a charter boat or an expensive trip. A local pond, a simple rod, and a piece of nightcrawler will do just fine. You might be starting a lifetime obsession. I know my grandfather did.
