ZEBULON — It's early August, and to many people that means one thing crosses their minds during their free time — that monster fish that got away last year at about this time.

Later in the fishing season the larger fish take to larger bait, from my experience, and that's why I'm assuming, and hoping, I get some submissions from local folks of a big bass they caught and couldn't wait to send in for the rest of the world to witness.

It grinds my gears sometimes when a 7-year-old catches a monster largemouth while out with his grandpa when I have to see it while duct-taped to my desk at work. That's when I'm thinking about fishing the most, but although it's like being smacked in the face with a fraternity paddle it's also the same kind of thing that keeps us all going back to the pond despite the occasional skunking.

Last year I had a streak of slaying a nearby golf course pond to the point my fishin' buddies didn't want to have much to do with me, or fishing, any more.

They'd almost rather play midnight putt-putt than toss a trick worm across the pond, but not me. After catching four or five 3-plus-pounders on average and the occasional 5-pounder over the course of about six outings, I was only thinking Moby Dick. My greed turned sour, however after I flipped a crankbait across a cove and actually hooked the whale, only to have the creature bend two of three treble hooks past 90 degrees.

OK, there may have been some retrieving nerves aiding such damage, but I had the fish banked, and in the moonlight it appeared to be my new personal record. Still, it flopped off, made it to the waters edge and swam away.

I nearly dove in after that one. In fact I had two boots submerged in the tide and almost took a ride down the slippery bank while screaming sounds that had the rest of the crew thinking unidentified snake bite.

It was a pathetic sight — embarrassing to talk about, but a must-tell story. The thing had a Triumph rod looking like it was about to snap. It must have been in the 7-8-pound range. ...Must have been.

I've always heard about the fish that got away and laughed about it like I do when the old men at the golf course keep throwing dough at their equipment rather than practicing hitting the ball. After living through that feeling, I now know just how sad it can be. Indeed, I was on the brink of crying.

All this being said, it's that time of year when such stories need be manifested in the form of photography. The sports writer here needs to see the communities' keepers whether they kept them or not. I don't know if I'll ever get enough fishing submissions to start a contest, but I would be all for it if I did. Nonetheless, good luck through the fishing rut, anglers, and I hope to see proof of your hard work and dedication soon.