They do say down in the holler, that if you ever stumble upon a fella named Tater by the creek bank, you best hold on to your britches. Now, Tater ain't no fisherman, nor is he kin to none. Tater's a grub, a wee inch-long critter with a head harder than a hickory nut. But don't let his size fool ya. Legend has it, wherever Tater shows his little grub face, a trophy trout is sure to be lurking nearby. Some folks say Tater's got a secret trout call, a wiggle of his fuzzy back that sends them lunkers into a frenzy. Others reckon the trout see Tater as a sign of good eatin', a smorgasbord of grubby goodness. Whatever the reason, if you see Tater, that's your sign – cast your line and hold on tight!
