From the fishing wire this morning:

By Jim Spencer

The idea was born, as many weird notions are, around a campfire in a fishing camp. The fact that alcohol was present may have been a contributing factor.

We were college students on spring break, bass fishing on Toledo Bend, camping on a pine ridge that tailed off into the lake just yards from our tents. Call it 1969, that's close. The cool students - frat rats and sorority coeds - went to Panama City, Islamorada or other "with-it" destinations where sand, sun and surf collide. But we were too poor - and, I suppose, too uncool besides. We were, after all, forestry and wildlife students from LSU.

So we went fishing.

It was warm, and the bass were shallow. We were working on them pretty good. Also in the shallows were hordes of German carp, flouncing and flopping and thrashing in the ecstasy of mating. It was inevitable that sometime during our week-long trip, campfire conversation would turn to carp.

Ray Scott's Bass Anglers Sportsman Society was in its early stages, and somebody in our group got the bright idea we ought to start a Carp Anglers Sportsman Society, patterned loosely after the organization and rulebook of B.A.S.S. I got drafted to keep up with the rules as we thought them up. Somebody found a pencil and a notebook, and we started brainstorming.

The first obvious obstacle was the acronym. We wanted to call ourselves the Carp Anglers Sportsman Society, C.A.S.S. for short, because, like I said, we were copy-catting B.A.S.S. and figured there'd be some value to having our names sound somewhat alike. Trouble was, an ugly, obese folk singer of the times was also named Cass. So we tried to come up with something else, and were absolutely flummoxed when it came to thinking up a name that made any sense whose initials would give us the desired C.A.R.P. logo. The closest we came was Carp Rodders And Polers, but back then you couldn't get away with an acronym like that.

We finally gave up, stuck with the original name of Carp Anglers Sportsman Society, and used C.A.R.P. as the acronym anyway. Technically, it didn't fit, but someone pointed out that this was a carp fishing club we were talking about, and nobody in our target membership audience would probably bother to think about it much. We decided it was probably good enough. C.A.R.P. it would be.

Next we needed a motto. Ray Scott's snooty new bass club didn't have one that we knew of, and that would give us something to lord it over him with. But all the mottoes we seemed to come up with were even less suitable for publication than C.R.A.P. Finally somebody who'd had a year of high-school Latin suggested "Carpe carpio", which meant, he thought, "Seize the carp."

I, on the other hand, a victim of two years of high school Latin, informed the Philistines surrounding me that the tense was wrong, that it should instead be "Carpe carpium". But I got overruled, on the same reasoning by which we'd decided on the Carp Anglers Sportsman Society/C.A.R.P. conundrum - that an ungrammatical motto was probably better for carp fishermen, anyway. Thinking about it in that light, I had to agree.

From then on the decision-making got easier. Or maybe we just got drunker. We drew up a list of potential sponsors. Carp bait-makers like Post Toasties, Sun-Maid Raisins, Skippy Peanut Butter, Wonder Bread and Bisquick all made the short list, as did equipment companies like Warn Winches (special custom carp reels), Brunswick (pool cue carp rods), and Wireco Cable Company (carp fishing line). Clothing manufacturers included folks like Carharrt and Red Ball.

For the official C.A.R.P. boat, we decided on two 1948 Plymouth hoods welded together, and Forrest Wood should thank his lucky stars we never could find two of 'em. If we had, a Ranger boat would probably look a lot different today.

We found it impossible to narrow the field to just one official C.A.R.P. boat motor, so we settled on two: a cracked wooden sculling paddle, or a pushpole 8 to 12 feet long. The pole could be sycamore, willow, hickory, sweetgum or persimmon, but the bark had to remain attached.

Allowable types of fishing tackle, we decided, would be pretty much unrestricted, except that no dynamite or rotenone would be allowed unless the contestants planning to use it brought enough for everybody.

Then we got down to the nitty-gritty: C.A.R.P. tournament rules:

* The tournament entry fee would be a case of beer and a tube of Slim Jims, payable directly to the tournament directors (us).

* The tournament limit would be all the carp that will fit into a 55-gallon drum.

* Points would be deducted for live fish brought to the weigh-in.

* The minimum length limit was left undecided, except we unanimously felt that any carp small enough to be used for trotline bait was definitely too small. However, anyone caught releasing undersize fish would be disqualified and banned from all future tournaments.

* Archery tackle would be legal in C.A.R.P. tournaments, but prohibited within 200 yards of any marina that had a coin-operated "feed-the-fish" fish-pellet dispenser. Tourists the shape of Mama Cass feed carp at these places, and we figured sticking an arrow through some Yankee vacationer's cellulite would be bad PR.

* No tournament angler could fish more than 20 hooks at one time.

* No one who had ever owned a rod/reel combo valued at over $100 would be allowed to enter a C.A.R.P. event.

* Fishing outfits valued at more than $30 (rod, reel and line combined) could not be used in a C.A.R.P. event.

* Chumming with more than 100 pounds of corn or other vegetable matter at any one spot would be illegal; however, there would be no limit on the number of chumming spots an angler created and baited.

* In addition to standard prizes for total poundage and biggest fish, C.A.R.P. tournaments would also have prize categories for the carp with the biggest scales, the carp with the biggest lips, the biggest eyes, and the reddest fins.

We went on bass fishing that week, refining the C.A.R.P. charter each night, but of course once we got back to classes it all got put on the back burner and we eventually forgot about it. The only reason I remember all this stuff now is because I found that old notebook in a box of old college books the other day.

There's some sort of half-baked fly-fishing carp tournament out West nowadays, I understand, but it'll never get off the ground. I mean, c'mon. Fly tackle? For carp??

Our idea, though, might have grown wings, if only we hadn't gotten sidetracked by minor nuisances like getting an education and making a living. Compared with a reality show based on Gilligan's Island, C.A.R.P. sounds pretty reasonable.

For your charter membership in C.A.R.P., send Jim $150 in small, unmarked bills. And some Slim Jims. And some beer.