The only time I have ever been fishing, I was about eight years old. Probably within five minutes of casting my line, a gigantic snapper roared up out of the water about five feet from where I was standing - reminding me of nothing so much as the
Rancor from Return of the Jedi.
I did the only thing I could think of (probably not the smartest thing), and smacked the damn thing upside the head with my fishing pole. It charged toward me, and my second swing (meant to dislodge it from the bank of the pond) connected with its jaws. It stopped and snapped the end of my pole off a couple of times.
My oldest brother managed to chase it off with a fallen log, but I spent the rest of our fishing expedition reading comics in the car. To this day I don't like fish or turtles.