The Goldfish Incident

A few months ago, my cousin Brenda Wells of Goldonna happened to mention that there was a small pond deep in the woods of Kistachie National Forest that had goldfish. It apparently is a well-known local secret and people sometimes go to the secluded pond to feed the fish.

Carol and I like to get out and roam around, and we were going stir crazy because of the quarantine. So, we took off one day in search of the pond of gold.

I am fairly familiar with the area and smugly thought I knew exactly where the pond was located. Thirty minutes of driving up and down the gravel road proved fruitless, however, and I finally had to admit defeat and drive into Goldonna to seek help.

Parking at The Store, known far and wide for its bread and hamburgers, I sheepishly asked two people if they had ever heard of the local goldfish pond. Of course they had, and we were soon on our way with fresh directions.

This time we found the small pool of water just off the road, threw some bread pieces in, and watched as dozens of small goldfish surfaced to feed. After awhile even a couple of catfish joined the feast.

No one seems to know where the goldfish came from. One forester Brenda talked to said they were in the pond when he started working years ago but he had no idea who put them there.

While watching the goldfish nibble on the bread, an old memory that I’d just as soon forget came flooding back.

Because catfish love the hardy little fellows, I bought some goldfish nearly forty years ago to use for bait when I was setting out trotlines and set hooks on Dugdemona River.

I kept the goldfish in a fish basket in my parents’ pond and took out what I needed each day to rebait my hooks. The catfish were biting and I soon stocked my freezer with tasty fillets.

Months later, Mom and I were standing on the dock throwing fish feed into a floating ring when a small goldfish appeared. Wow, I thought, one of the small ones must have wiggled through the fish basket.

As time passed, more goldfish began to appear. The next year there were schools of small goldfish, then schools of huge goldfish.

They were cute at first but soon became a nuisance. Whenever Mom tried to feed her bream and catfish, goldfish weighing several pounds came up and sucked down all of the feed. It got so bad that at times we could look out over the pond and see large orange blobs moving just under the water as schools of goldfish swam about.

Something had to be done, so I started taking my archery gear with me whenever I went to visit. Mom would throw out the fish feed and I would shoot a goldfish. I managed to get a few on each trip but realized they could probably reproduce faster than I could take them out.

Then I had an epiphany. Why not use my deer rifle? The fish were always bunched up inside the floating ring, and I was sure the shock wave produced by the large .30-06 slug would take out a bunch at one time.

I ran the idea by Mom and she reluctantly agreed to give it a try. On my next visit we put the plan into action.

Mom threw the fish food into the ring, and the goldfish pounced on it like sharks in a feeding frenzy. Then I fired into the thrashing mass only a few feet away.

It was as if a bomb had exploded in a sardine factory. A huge geyser of water shot up well above our heads, and down with it came glittering scales and greasy flecks and chunks of goldfish that covered us and the dock. The huge oil slick that spread over the water looked like I had just sunk a Nazi U-boat.

Drenched in stinky offal, Mom gave me one of those “what have you done?” looks, and I had to admit, “Well, Momma, I didn’t think that through.” She just shook her head and walked back up to the house.

I was responsible for the goldfish problem and was determined to eradicate them. For months afterwards I brought my rifle with me whenever I visited and sat on a hillside to take pot shots at the large schools of goldfish whenever they surfaced.

It took a while, but I finally eradicated the golden plague. I don’t think I ever again used goldfish for catfish bait.

Dr. Terry L. Jones is professor emeritus of history at the University of Louisiana at Monroe who has received numerous awards for his books and outdoor articles.