Fishy

My grandfather was an avid angler as well as a gifted storyteller. This little story bears a certain resemblance to one of his tales that frequently enchanted me as a child. His version employed an elver (young eel), and only two fish - a largemouth bass and a chain pickerel. But, as it is well-known that fish often continue to grow long after they have been caught, cooked and eaten, I think it is to be expected that fish stories should grow long after their teller has departed this life. So I'm sure that as a man who was skilled at both catching fish and telling tales about them, Oompa would approve of how this story has blossomed in the 30-plus years since his death...

From the minutes of a regular meeting of the Lake Itcheeskippenjump Anglers' Resource Society (never known by its acronym), sworn to as truth by all 14 attendees, 3 of whom were present for the events described:

Call me Ishmael. OK, OK, my name is Dennis Bartle, but I always wanted to say that. My brother, Roger, and my best buddy, Buddy Cluff, and me all went out to the lake last Friday. Yeah, Bobby, I called in sick - it was a mental-health day. Like you never done it before.

Anyways, we stopped at the gas station on the way out of town to get some bait. Hank had a tub of pretty good looking waterdogs, so we had him grab us out a couple dozen. While he was counting them out for us, this funny-looking one hung onto the edge of the scoop. It was kinda small and its right front leg was missing. Hank said he'd throw it in for free if we wanted it. It didn't really look like great bass bait, but what the heck - it was free. We laughed and called him "Lefty."

So we hopped back in the truck and headed on out to the lake. Before long we was out on the water and baiting up our rods. We had some of them harnesses that keep the 'dogs alive longer and lets them move around on the bottom. Roger, he baited up and tossed his line out, and then Buddy did the same. But you all know how clumsy Buddy is...yes, you are - always have been. Hell, no, I didn't spill the damn bucket - that was you and we all know it. Yeah, Buddy got his 'dog on the line and kicked the bucket over, spilling all our bait overboard.

"Pretty expensive chum," someone piped up from the back of the room. Everybody laughed at that one.

"They didn't all fall out," Buddy protested weakly.

And he was right - when I picked up the bucket, why, that odd-looking little three-legged waterdog was hanging on the edge. I wasn't completely sure Lefty would stay in the harness, but I gave it a try and tossed him into the water.

Well, we sat there, waiting for the fish to move in for a meal. And then I got a solid strike. I missed him, but I could still feel a little movement on my line, so I figured Lefty was OK. Right away I got another bite, but I missed again. Buddy and Roger laughed at me. Like they had anything to laugh about - how many bites was they getting? But I gotta admit, after the third strike I missed, I was getting a little peeved at myself. Four, five, six...I just couldn't set the hook. If Roger and Buddy weren't so pissed about not getting any bites, they'd've really had a laugh on me.

I lost count of how many times I didn't set the hook. I ignored Buddy's offer to take over for me. And then my rod bent again and I hauled back for all I was worth. This time I didn't miss. I thought I musta hooked a world-record for sure. I never felt a fish fight like that. It was like it was pulling every direction at the same time. I fought that thing all day. Buddy wanted to go home, but I wasn't going to give up. On through the night I fought. Every time I gained a little, it just up and pulled my line right back out again.

The sun came up Saturday morning and I was still wrestling with that monster. Buddy and Roger each caught a little bass during the night...hell, no, they wasn't nothing like that big, you liars! Whatever was on my line had pulled the boat down the lake and clear across the county line and I wasn't sure just where we was gonna end up. But now Roger and Buddy was trolling lures while my fish pulled us around. And they caught a few bass and some bluegills, too, but I just kept on fighting whatever was on my line.

By sunset Saturday I was getting pretty tired. We was out of food and down to our last sixpack of beer. But I hung on. Just after daylight Sunday I finally turned things around and started gaining. It still took a couple more hours before a fish appeared at the end of my line. It was a big bass, all right, maybe ten pounds, and as I lifted it up I saw another one right behind it. A little bigger. And each fish I pulled out was followed by another, and each one was bigger than the last.

Well, I never seen anything like it. Each of them bigmouths musta swallowed ol' Lefty, and somehow he just sneaked on out their gills, leaving them strung on the line. After the tenth one - exactly my limit - the line was tied in a perfect knot.

"Improved clinch," Roger put in.

"Nope - Uni Knot," Buddy disagreed.

They wanted to argue the point, but it really don't matter. All that matters is that those ten bass, weighing ten to fifteen pounds, was all tied right up on my line by that smart little critter, Lefty. Now, Lefty, well...

Buddy interrupted at this point, "Lefty just slipped out of the harness, gave us a little salute with his good arm, and jumped overboard. We never seen him again."

"You're as crazy now as you was drunk then," Roger hollered. "Lefty was just done in by all them fish. He slipped out of the harness and fell dead, right into the boat. I buried him up on the hill by the dock when we took the boat out of the water."

And Roger and Buddy went at it, arguing like two kids. I just smiled, 'cause they was both wrong. Well, to give 'em credit, each of 'em had part of the story straight. Lefty slipped out of the harness and gave us sort of a salute, like he was thanking us for believing in him. Then he fell over dead, all right, poor brave critter. But we never buried him. Hell, everyone knows there ain't no better catfish bait than a dead waterdog. And believe me, that's just how Lefty would've wanted it.