I'm Bad; I'm So Darn Bad!

I like to believe that I am basically a good person. My wife, Katy, seems to think I am; my mother says I am. If I died during the night and was to stand for judgment I believe that I would get in the Good Place. Of course I fully don’t expect to get a padded, front row seat in the Good Place, or for that matter, any seat at all. I’m thinking that for all eternity I will have to stand in the back, or, if I’m lucky, I may get to sit on a bent, folding chair in the very back row on some crooked, drafty cloud. Well, that’s okay because I am the first to admit that sometimes, I am bad. Bad, bad, bad, it is true; sometimes I am just, plain, bad. I don’t want to be bad; I so want to be good, the Good Lord knows I want to be good and usually I am, but sometimes I am weak, the badness just gets the best of me. Forgive me please.

The badness follows me around; it always seems to know where to find me. I try to hide from the badness but I have come to realize that I have a personal badness homing device, or a neon sign, or a bar code on my forehead that always tells the badness where I am at any moment. The badness whispers to me when I’m going to sleep. It is there waiting for me when I wake up. Sometimes the badness even wakes me up in the middle of the night and when it does, it doesn’t whisper. It lurks in my car so very patiently. I get home from work and I swear the badness gets out of the car ahead of me and is holding the front door open for me and follows me right in. The badness is behind me, it is in front of me, it is beside me, it is on top of me, it is under me, it surrounds me. I just can’t get away from it! Dear Lord, help me, what am I to do?

Thankfully, I do get some small respite. There are times when the badness does actually have trouble finding me. I seem to be significantly immune to it when I am fishing, particularly when I fish for several days a good distance from home. Thank you Jesus for fishing, thank you, thank you, thank you; fishing keeps the badness away. Clearly, I need to do more fishing, a good deal more fishing.

Sadly, there are times when the badness has an easy time finding me; Friday evenings are especially dangerous. Winter evenings when it is dark and cold are high risk times. Rain makes things worse. A dreary Friday evening when my wife is out of town is the devil incarnate. What am I to say? After all, I still have needs!

You would think that since I recognize my weakness I would avoid temptation. Well, not only do I not avoid temptation, sometimes I invite it. Yes I do. I savor temptation’s sweet perfume. The memory of enthusiastically caving in to temptation in times past, raises my pulse and accelerates my breathing. Temptation’s sultry allure makes me smile. Oh yes, I am weak and I just don’t care. I am weak and I am so glad I am weak! Bring temptation on please, bring it on, bring it on; I love the badness!

It is the end of December. The sky is gray, the days are short. I drive to work in the dark and I drive home in the dark. It is cold out. I haven’t fished in almost two months. I fished a lot in the summer and fall. I almost forgot about the badness. It lulled me into thinking it was something I just imagined, not something that could hunt me down and consume me. The badness has been building in me for weeks. I had been able to keep it at bay, and then, I knew that Friday would be the day; I would give into sweet temptation yet again. And once I knew I was going to give in, I not only looked forward to it, I did everything I could to set the stage and make it as sweet as possible.

It is Friday. My wife is gone for the weekend. I am home from work, I have dressed down, and I have soft music playing. I am alone for now. It has been a long week and while I am tired I am wide awake with anticipation. I look out the window and see her distinctive vehicle drive up. She jumps out and hurries to the door almost running. I meet her there; we both smile and exchange a familiar hello. I’m looking forward to the first caress. I open the screen door and she hands me a bundle of joy which is the result of a night in the past when I was just, plain, bad. Yes, I gave in to lust. I must confess my wife just doesn’t know how bad I have been these past months. Sometimes I am ashamed of myself; I hope I can still get in the good place if I die tonight. Still, I do have my needs, so what am I to do…

I take my bundle of joy into the back of the house and set it next to me on the same love seat where lust first brought it into my world. I have poured a half glass of single malt. Everything is in place; anticipation will finally become reality again this Friday evening.

The box cutter glides slowly along the edges of the package and down the center. Lifting the flaps on the bundle of joy reveals the reel I ordered just last Friday. I’m bad, but right now I’m so glad I’m bad. This reel is state of the art, a technological masterpiece. When I see that brown UPS truck drive up in front of my house followed by the UPS lady jumping out and running up to my front door all the stress of the week past dissipates like wispy smoke from a fading fire. I love fishing tackle. Yes I do. I slowly crank the new reel. I adjust the drag. I admire the finish and the precision balance, again, a work of art and a technological masterpiece. I play with that reel for ten minutes. I set it down on the love seat right next to me…….still in sight.

I close my eyes; I am lost, dreaming of warm summer days stalking the world’s greatest sportfish in the shallows of the Columbia River. The water is cloudy today so I have to walk very slowly so as not to spook a tailing fish. I haven’t really walked that far but I have been stalking for almost 30 minutes; I have spooked two fish but have not been able to make a single cast to a tailing fish. With the breeze and the silt, fish are difficult to spot. Sweat drips down my face and gets in my eyes. I blink to clear the sweat. I squint and then open my eyes extra wide; I can’t tell if I just saw a Carp feeding. I freeze. The breeze abates for just a second and there he is; feeding, and oblivious to me and my intentions. He is so close I will only get one cast. It’s do or die. I cast and let the fly settle. I see a subtle turn and his gill plates flare. I set the hook and my new reel, my bundle of joy, is instantly put to the test. I am playing my catch on the new reel. The reel performs flawlessly. I am smiling.

I open my eyes. It is still December and I am home. My bundle of joy is sitting on the love seat next to me and I know that it’s time to once again let the badness get the best of me. I have catalogs from five different vendors sitting on the table. It is always enjoyable to order tackle I “need” but I have come to savor even more, looking through catalogs to see if I can find a piece of gear I don’t currently have, but, just can’t live without. Talk about lust; sadly, well no, actually gladly, I have a serious, deep seeded lust for new gear.







Cabelas sends out a monstrous hard cover catalog. This behemoth is nearly 1,400 pages. With time, patience, and really not much badness at all, I can wile away an hour looking through that catalog. It is hard to imagine more opportunities for badness packed into one source.

I am home alone and plan to spend the next two hours looking through catalogs. One full hour is reserved for the big catalog and an additional hour for several other small catalogs. I have a tablet and pencil near at hand to make a list. As I said, I still have my needs, and I hope to discover some of those needs in the time ahead. I settle in and turn the first pages. Sweet Jesus, thank you, temptation abounds and I am anxious to give in...rods with integrated poly curve technology and slim profile ferrules, large arbor reels with sealed conical drag systems, lines with compound tapers and super slick finishes, fluorocarbon leader, folding telescoping nets, flies, fly boxes, yes, yes YES! BRING on the badness!





I amble through the rod section; I spend almost twenty minutes reading descriptions of rods by several manufacturers. I even read the descriptions for the rods I already own; in fact I spend the most time reading those. Could I possibly need another rod? Well maybe, but not tonight.
Reels occupy my attention for ten minutes. Could I possibly need another reel when there is a new one sitting next to me? Probably not but I like to keep my options open so I look, I read, I visualize…mmmm…not tonight.

Lines, how about a new fly line...oh yeah, now we’re talking. Right there next to me on the love seat is an empty reel. What good is an empty reel? No darn good at all. And plus, buying a line for an empty reel hardly counts as frivolous; that lonely reel needs a line and who am I to say no. A new line; now we’re talking. Yes, tonight is the night; it’s going to happen tonight. I currently own fly lines from four different manufacturers. I savor reading through pages of descriptions of lines by these manufacturers as well as two others. On the paper I write three different possibilities for my next purchase—I reread the features and benefits of each fly line—I do it again. I’ll come back to the fly line; I’ll look at other items for awhile.

I look through clothing because getting dressed for a session is a science in itself… jackets, solar shirts, breathable rain gear, flats hats, sunglasses, vests, warm weather waders and cold weather waders, underwear and outerwear, polar fleece, polypropylene and Capilene, supplex and GORE-TEX, oh yeah, I am caving in to the gear lust.

Just the simple task of carefully and thoughtfully filling a lanyard is a source of satisfaction in itself… zingers, clippers and
nippers, hemostats, pliers, retractors and extractors, floatants and sink, Mucilin and Gink, thank God for small blessings wherever we find them, often right under our noses.

Transporting gear needs special attention... Chest packs, fanny packs, and backpacks, boat bags and duffel bags, wheeled bags and dry bags, must all be carefully chosen.

Fly tying is an endless source of satisfaction to me. Using the fruits of my labor is rewarding, but once again, fly tying aids and abets my gear lust. There are chemically sharpened hooks in an array of sizes and shapes, body materials, fur, feathers, beads, eyes, threads, synthetics, flash, vises, and tools, just for starters. With just a small amount of effort, maybe no effort at all, I can always need something for fly tying. No badness goes to waste when I’m looking at fly tying materials and tools; I can save the badness for something else.

I have two folding chairs that I can bring to a session—one with arms and one without. Yet, I still look at chairs, wondering in passing, if there is another kind of chair I don’t have but still might need. Possibly a chair with just a single arm might be something I need, well, if there is such a thing I guess I could consider it. One can always hope.

I’m on my fifth catalog now. I’ve looked at books and videos, boats and floats, anchors and ropes, GPS’s, GRS’s, and PFD’s, line winders and fish finders, split shot, soft shot, and big shot. I looked at Specimen Hunters. I wonder if there could possibly be a reason to need two of them. If there is a good reason to have two I have yet to discover it, but I will keep trying.

I have wiled away nearly two hours. Life is good. I have held off on making a decision about the fly line. I have been savoring the moment. I read the descriptions of all three lines again. And again. I make my choice. I boot up the laptop and place the order. I drift off briefly and see myself using the new line with the new reel.

About a week from now a lady will drive up in her distinctive vehicle, she will run to the door; we will exchange a smile and a familiar hello. She will hand me another bundle of joy that is a result of my most recent episode of gear lust. For now, my gear lust is sated. It will come again, maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, maybe in a few months, but it will come again. There is nothing else to say except that I’m bad; I’m so darn bad.

Jim is a freelance writer living in Bothell, Washington. On December 23, 2007 he and Katy celebrated their 30th wedding anniversary. Today he is truly more madly in love with her than the day he proposed. He loves gear but not a small fraction as much as he loves her. If you ever get to Washington look him up; he’ll be glad to fish with you and maybe even look through some catalogs with you.

Reprinted from my column "The Last Cast" in a 2008 edition of the NACA magazine.
All rights reserved.

Here is a reminder please:
All content, photographs, and images are the property of Jim Pankiewicz. Permission is required to copy, download, or use text, photographs, or image files. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express, written permission from Jim Pankiewicz is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full clear, credit is given to Jim Pankiewicz with specific and clear direction given to the original content. Contents on this site may not be mirrored, republished, or reproduced on another web page, website or offline. All rights reserved.

Ghost Carp

While fishing yesterday, I was wading slowly and spooked a tailing fish. I paused to grumble at myself and then continued to scan. Two fish moved out of the weeds and looked like they were shopping for a meal. The smaller of the two was about one body length behind. Neither one of them was tailing yet. As they moved closer and came into view I wondered if the trailing fish was a Salmon since he looked silver in the water. He was so different looking compared to any Carp I had ever seen. The lead fish put his nose down and the trailer followed suit. I still wondered if it might be a Salmon because it was so bright but Salmon don't put their snouts down in the mud. The front fish was easily half again as big as number two. Normally I would cast to the front fish and be darn glad that the front one was the larger one. But in this case I was wishing the big one would get out of the darn way because I wanted to catch the silver one. I just had to see what the heck this fish was.

I crouched and stayed very still. By some good fortune the larger fish turned back towards the river and just slowly ambled far enough away that I could cast to the silver one. I made two casts that I felt were good casts. The fish agreed that the second one was very good and he picked up the fly. When I set the hook he turned towards the surface and I could see that he was two colored. I got a look at his mouth and I knew he was a Carp.

He fought well. He ran out into the river and away from a nearby weed bed. This was very thoughtful of him.

I'm assuming this is a Ghost Carp.








His tail looks like it has been dipped in gold paint.

Shaved Leader

Certainly having Carp take me into the weeds is no new experience. Some days its just dang difficult to keep them out. It is particularly difficult when the fish slurps up the fly within just feet of the cattails. I set the hook and some of the fish turn straight for the weeds and that's usually it. It is particularly bad when the water goes way back into the weeds. They get back in there and that's it.

On this day there was some wind. Well, that's good and bad. Its bad because if it blows too hard it makes it difficult to spot the fish. On days like this one its good because it blows the gunk to one bank or another. Well not all of the gunk but enough of it that I can fish.

A hundred yards of gunk.


How can a guy fish in this stuff?


Some open water



I was fishing from my boat. Most of the fish I caught this day were very near the cattails. Some of them turned to open water when they realized what they just ate was a fake. Some of the rascals turned the other way--straight for the weeds. I had lost three nice fish in a row that new how to turn the weeds to their advantage. I had just put on a new leader and was stalking tailers. A fish of about 10 pounds had his nose down and was working hard on getting a good lunch. I put the fly just past him, stripped it onto his " lunch plate" and just as sweet as you please he turned slightly and picked it up.

He paralled the weeds for a bit and then turned in. I said a couple bad words outloud. There was no one else there to hear so I didn't traumatize any children or virgins. The fish wasn't that far back into the weeds. He stopped so I threw some slack in the line and then moved the boat towards him. I got very near him and was able to lift the line and leader over and around the cattails. We were back in business.

The weeds that shaved the leader.



I got the fish in and was lucky to do so. The time he spent in the weeds literally shaved the edges of the leader. Many times I have seen leader with abrasions and scuffs. I just had three fish break the leader. I had never seen it shaved like this before without breaking.

Shaved leader


I paused to eat a Clif Bar for lunch and drink a pint of water. This fish took the Carrot right after lunch. When he felt the hook set I was very appreciative that he headed straight for open water. I said some nice words outloud. Like I said, there was no one else on the water, so me thanking a fish outloud several times didn't traumatize any guys with big tummies and a keg of beer in their boat.

A "Big Idea Bird"

My beginning forays into Carp fishing were from a boat. More and more these last several years I have fished while wading. I'm down to just once or twice a year fishing from the boat. It has its advantages and disadvantages.

I had a new reel that I wanted to baptize so I loaded up my Carpwagon and headed out. The sky was blue and there was no wind. What else could I ask for? Well, clear water would be nice. The water was murky and it had a lot of algae, or weeds, or slimey gunk or whatever.



There were some spots on the lake that were clearer but still not perfect. About 45 minutes in I got a cast to an 8 pound Mirror. We see mostly Commons around here so I was thrilled that the first fish I played on the new reel was a Mirror.




I got six to hand with the Mirror and one Common being the only two under 10 pounds. The biggest fish of the day was just over 15 pounds. He turned hard on the fly and that was a thrill. The take really is the premier moment.

Late in the day I was being squawked at by two birds. I had found some clear water with a few Carp feeding. The birds were feeding also. This sequence is of one of them feeding. Maybe he was cleaning his beak, I don't know, but it sure looked like he was feeding. At one point this Carp moved near the bird and the bird switched to squawking at the Carp instead of me. The bird actually went up and pecked the Carp on the back. The Carp swam at the bird and the bird backed off but didn't fly away. I found myself wondering what would happen if that Carp had eaten that bird. Then I would be home trying to figure out how to tie a fly that imitated a whole bird. Thankfully they separated and went about their respective business. I did not get that darn fish to take.










A "Big Idea Bird" squaring off with a Carp.

Mean Rocks

There are days of fishing when I look forward to familiar water. In some cases that is water I have been to several times and in some cases it is water I have frequented for years. It really does get to a point where I feel like "I know every rock". There is a certain comfort in returning to the known. Water I have fished many times brings back memories; the memories are distinct and the memories blend together. They all add to the sense of anticipation. There are times when I crave the familiar.

Ahh but there are times when I make myself look for new water. I start the day and and tell myself that today I will not fish any water I have ever fished. I make that commitment to myself and tell myself that I will hold to it even if it means driving, stopping, walking, looking, and never making a single cast. Twice last summer I did exactly that. I spent the whole day trying to find access and good flats on some large bodies of water. I never made a cast; in fact on one of those days, the rod never left the truck.

I just did it again; I went looking for new water. The Columbia is wide and long; there is a lot of river to explore. I had been driving from my starting point for close to 90 minutes. I already tried a small pull off but could not find a way to the river. I tried another one and went down to look at the river. I didn't see any tails and the water looked difficult to wade. There was a rock point which I couldn't see around. I was curious what was on the other side so I went back to the truck and geared up.

What made this spot difficult was the number or rocks, the size of the rocks, and the shape of the rocks. There were rocks almost everywhere. They were big and many of them had straight edges rather than being rounded. Also, while standing on them, they would shift, making it quite challenging to keep my middle age butt from falling in. Most disconcerting of all is that many of these rocks were mean rocks.

It was a short walk to the rock point. As I got to it there was a fish tailing just on the other side. I stripped off line and made an excellent first cast. I smiled and felt pretty smug because I was sure I was going to connect on my first effort. No love. The fish just casually ambled off to deep water.

I walked, saw two more tailers, made my approach, and cast. Still no love. Around another small corner of sorts I saw a target in deeper water. It wasn't tailing but it was on the bottom and it wasn't moving; maybe it was feeding. I made easily 20 casts to my quarry. It was amazing to me I hadn't spooked it. I must confess I even changed flies and continued to cast. When the wind settled a bit and I realized I was casting to a rock all I could do was laugh at myself. In my defense, as it turns out, like I said, most of the rocks in this area are mean rocks. That mean rocked tricked me.

After the tricky rock I was able to hook up. The fish was in the high teens. It slurped up my Carrot just like it should and took off. He stayed hooked until he was at my feet. Now that's love.

While I brought several to hand that were in the teens the mean rocks claimed four. I had one in the 20's that I could see while he thrashed around very near me. He headed out into the river, made a right turn and the line went slack. I knew he hadn't come unbottoned; he swam through some jagged rocks and just like that the leader was sawed off.

As if it wasn't enough that the mean rocks claimed four very nice fish they claimed more. While standing on a rock pile and scanning for fish, I made a slight turn to the right to watch a fish move into sight. I didn't even lift my feet; I just shifted my weight slightly to look to the right. The rocks beneath me shifted and I went down. What's the worst thing here? A. There were two rips in my pants from the rocks. B. My leg was bleeding. C. My rod and reel banged the rocks on the way down. D. Three sections of the rod had gouges and scratches. E. The fish was spooked by all the comotion.

I hate falling. I yelled, "NO!" and stood up quickly. Picking up the rod I headed back to shore. I emptied out my pockets and my wading pack. At this point I hadn't actually noticed the gouges in the rod.

The correct answer to the multiple choice question above is "F". None of the above. I left my weigh sling on the shore and didn't realize it until the next day. That is bugging me more than the damaged rod or the swollen knee.

I don't count casting to the tricky rock as fishing so it is mostly accurate to say I only fished with the Carp Carrot. All the fish I caught were on the Carrot; that's accurate.

Here is a capture from before I fell. This particular fish fought very well and he allowed me to play him near and around a couple difficult rock piles. He did fin wrap himself and then while he was at me feet he rolled over and had the leader wrapped all the way around. I was able to get it off actually pretty easily. He took a ride in the weigh sling and then he posed for a quick picture.

I caught one more fish after the tumble. I looked down at the rod and reel to watch the fish peel off line and saw the gouges in the butt section. I was lucky it was one of the smaller fish of the day.





My leg hurt; it was time to call it quits and say goodbye to the "Mean Rock Swim".


Mean Rocks


Very Mean Rocks

Mr. P.'s Carp Carrot

In the last year and particularly after my article, "Thoughts on Winter Fly Tying" in the winter issue of the North American Carp Angler magazine, I received some emails asking me about my Carp Carrot. It was one of my "Five Proven Carp Catchers" in the article. I contributed it in a Carp Anglers Group Carp fly exchange and also contributed it some time ago it in a pinned thread of the CAG Fly Rod forum. I tie it with some variations but it is essentially the same fly. People asked how to dress it and how to fish it.

I have experimented with different body colors, materials, thread, and different ways of weighting the fly. I've tried several colors including red, black, and green for the body. I've also tried natural pheasant rump. The different body colors don't seem to work as well as the original orange.

As to weighting the fly, I tie it unweighted, with a bead, and with dumbbell eyes. I use black, brass, and copper beads and dumbbell eyes. I have used lead wire wrap but like that the least and have at this point in time abandoned the wire on this fly.

I fish the Carp Carrot basically anywhere that I fish for Carp. I adapt to water level, current, rocks, salad, etc. by choosing a different size hook or a fly with a different amount of weight.


Sometimes they will amble over and pick it up off the bottom and sometimes they will pick it up on the strip. Let's be honest now; sometimes they won't touch the dang thing at all but that's fishing.

A year ago I would have said it made my top 5 flies. Now, I would say it is my go to fly. I still fish other flies but the Carp seem to be more willing to move to this fly than to other patterns.

So here it is,

Mr. P.'s Carp Carrot:

Thread: black or orange
Tiemco: 3769 sizes 6-10
Tiemco 5262 sizes 6-8
Bead: brass beads, tungsten beads, and dumbbell eyes in black, brass, nickel, and copper colors etc.
Body: orange yarn wrapped tightly or orange dubbin
Hackle: yellow pheasant rump

Bead Head Carp Carrot

A Carrot patch for the fly exchange

You can reach me at MrP1011@gmail.com

Carp Carrot has a pending trademark application.

All content, photographs, and images are the property of Jim Pankiewicz. Permission is required to copy, download, or use text, photographs, or image files. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express, written permission from Jim Pankiewicz is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full clear, credit is given to Jim Pankiewicz with specific and clear direction given to the original content. Contents on this site may not be mirrored, republished, or reproduced on another web page, website or offline. All rights reserved.

Fat Bottomed Girls!

A Corpulent Lassie

As Freddie Mercury of Queen sang, "Fat Bottomed Girls, you make the rockin' world go round."

Well now, the sky was clear, the wind was light; I was darn anxious to get back on the water and catch some "Fat Bottomed Girls". Yeah Baby!

I got up an hour later and headed to a different part of the river. I waded for close to an hour before I saw a tailer, but when I did, for the next several hours I didn't go more than 15 minutes without seeing a good target. What a day! I hated to stop and eat my Clif Bars because two tailing fish came into view while I was eating. I was disciplined; I made myself pause and stay seated for 15 minutes. My arms were already getting tired; I knew I would last longer if I rested. At one point I got fish on three successive casts. Oh, how they love Mr. P.'s Carp Carrot.

One particular phattie was in very shallow water. He was feeding and facing to my left. He turned straight towards me as I was making my backcast. I delivered the fly anyway a couple feet in front of him. He paused and then moved forward. I got to see his big mouth open and ever so casually hoover up my Carrot. I set the hook and we were off to the races. He took me way, way into the backing. It was one of those fish where I knew that not only could I easily lose him if he scraped the leader against rocks but I could lose my fly line if he sawed off the backing on a jagged edge. I did finally get him in and his mouth looked big enough to pick up a baseball. Okay, maybe not a baseball but a golf ball anyway.

By the late afternoon I was used up. I could still see the occasional tailing fish but my shoulder hurt, me ankle hurt, my arms were tired and my legs were tired. Hours of wading on rocks in the hot sun takes it out of a guy. I wanted to catch more fish but I didn't want to play them. I was tired but it was such a satisfying tired. I had my fill. Today, those fat bottom Carp girls made my rockin' world go round!

I sat for awhile, reflected, looked up, and gave thanks for an incredible day. I gave thanks for all of my many blessings. I thanked my dad for taking me fishing when I was little.