The Troll Under the Bridge

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I spent my first 17 years in the North Carolina sandhills, where the soil is pure silica sand for many feet. One of the consequences of this is many springs of water as clear as gin and even more pure than most rainwater.

"My" woodland pond that you have read of here before was fed by one of those springs. Its outflow fed, along with outflow from another pond and springs of its own, a larger pond (lake, maybe?) that in those days was the public water reservoir for Southern Pines, NC. It was quite famous for the purity of the water. The chain of three small ponds and the reservoir were known in those days as the "Barber" Lakes, after the man who originally dammed the streams to create the ponds. The reservoir had been created when the city built a bigger dam across the outflow from the ponds.

By the time I was 9 or 10 I was very familiar with each of the ponds and the reservoir. I knew what fish were there and how to catch them from the shore.

One place I had not explored was the creek that ran out of the reservoir. It wasn't very big; I could have jumped across it in many places. It was crystal clear and had bright green grasses that waved in the current like wheat in a thunderstorm.

I set out one day to explore the creek. It flowed through a forest with dense undergrowth, so finding places to sit and study the flow and underwater features was a chore. I had a small fantasy that I might find a pool where I could fish with my fly rod. Could there be trout in this cold, clear water?? I did see a few unidentified small minnows darting for cover as I approached, but they were just scenery. Also scenery were a few small painted turtles, some crawdads and a few very small chain pickerel. I did come across a few harmless water snakes and one cottonmouth. I didn't threaten them and they didn't threaten me, but we both had to stay quite alert.

After about a mile I came to where the airport highway crossed the creek on a concrete bridge close to the city water works. The creek flowed through a passage about 4' high and 12' wide for maybe 50'. I couldn't see what was in there. . . just water flowing. The brush grew right up to the bridge, so I didn't have easy access. I climbed up on the bridge and looked down into the gentle current.

Nothing. So I looked around and found a small grasshopper and dropped it in the creek. It drifted out of sight. SPLASH!! It sounded as though I had dropped a full grown pig in the water. Oh my!!! The adrenalin was going strong.

I made it home in about 30 minutes and collected my fly rod and tackle. Then I caught about a half dozen crickets and added a few red wigglers. I really wanted to catch whatever lived under the bridge on an artificial fly, but I wanted to be prepared for anything. I wasn't quite sure how I would land that monster but I knew the creek was shallow and I was not above joining my prey in the water if need be.

Back on my trusty stripped down Schwinn I tore out to the Airport Highway and the mile or so to the bridge over the water works creek.

As I set up my fishing spot on the bridge one of the water works employees that I knew casually strolled down to the bridge and asked what I was up to. I explained that there was some sort of giant fish in there and I intended to catch it.

He got that sneaky expression that grown men get when they are about to tease children. "This is a bridge, son. Don't you know who lives under bridges?" I gave him a blank look. "It's a troll, boy. You mess with a troll you will be mighty sorry." I asked him if trolls eat grasshoppers. "They eat anything, including little boys."

"I am going to catch whatever is there, troll or fish." I defiantly declared. He said, "Let me get out of the way so I don't get eaten, too!" and he left.

I dropped a grasshopper into the creek as a test. KERSPLOOSH!! Whatever it was was still there and still hungry.

I tied a grasshopper imitation on my leader and dropped it into the creek. It drifted out of sight. There was a splash and my line went tight. It wasn't a very strong pull. I heaved back on my rod and a fish came flying out from under the bridge, over my head and onto the pavement behind me. I rushed to examine it. It was about 9" long, some sort of minnow I have never been able to identify. It had horns! Well, actually they were bony little cones that stuck out on either side of its head about 1/2". Even A.J. McClane couldn't name it, so I named it the troll minnow.

How could this little fish have made such big noises? I later waded into the stream and tossed a fist-size rock up under the bridge. Got the same loud noise that my catch had made. . . amplified by the acoustics of the long passage.


(JB Cornwell writes from "The Hideout" in Whitt, TX, and is also an expert moderator, instructor, and fountain-of-knowledge in the iboats.com Boating Forums, where he may occasionally share a yarn of his own.)