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Every angler has "the one that got away" permanently imprinted in their brain.  For some of us, there are actually several that got away.  I like to call these fish unicorns.  They are like mythological creatures and, since no one else saw them, you begin to question their existence.  Am I imagining things or was that a trout over 20 inches?  That's what ran through my mind as I walked upstream to the next hole in Toms Creek.
Just a few minutes before, I saw my most recent unicorn.  Slowly peering over a ledge my body went into absolute shock, as my eyes immediately fell upon a trout of epic proportions.  This fish was about three times too big for the water it called home.  Upon seeing the fish, I formulated a plan of attack while trying to remain calm.  My palms and forehead became sweaty as my heart rate increased dramatically.  After several minutes of thought, I decided to approach from upstream.  I did my best to make myself invisible as I crawled into position for a cast.  "This is going to be amazing" I thought.  The cast landed more or less where I intended, but the trout was apparently not interested.  I went back up to the secret lookout, ever-so-carefully peaked over the edge, and the trout was gone.  Forever.
I never saw that fish again but to this day I remember it.  It was a fish worth telling stories about, worth subsequent visits to the stream, worth ridiculous amounts of time and effort.   It was too good to be true.  It was a unicorn.  That is, if it was ever actually there.