Boy! It was hot! Farm work had kept the 14-year-old youth from that favorite fishing hole far too long. Today, everything was just right. All the chores were done early and the cool riverbank beckoned. That old catfish had played all his tricks, eluding the enticement of the bait for the last time. This was going to be the day that he found out who really was the master of this black water river.
Mosquitoes swarmed around the aspiring fisherman's sweaty head and neck. Having been smart enough to remember to wear old long-legged blue jeans and a tee shirt was a good decision. There seemed to be something about a sweaty fragrance that those bugs loved. But, even they were not going to deter this appointed mission today. Pulling a red bandana from a back pocket, it was quietly dipped into the cool dark water and wrung out over the bank before being tied loosely around the neck. This would keep the welters a bit more at bay and offer some comfort from the sweltering heat. A dirty hand made a swipe across the face leaving a smudged streak.
After examining the rod and reel as if it were the finest surgical instrument, a jar of foul smelling catfish bait was opened. Without so much as a twitch of the nose, the big hook was loaded with all it could possibly hold. Determined to make the presentation as irresistible as possible, a quick spit was added for flavor. The old channel cat was going to enjoy his last morsel in life.
Looking about the river's edge for the most likely spot the "old man" would be lying, an educated decision was quickly made as hope and anticipation were cast into the water near a fallen, rotting log. Feeling the weight of the bait and the sinkers pulling the line deeper and deeper beneath the calm dark water, excitement began to build. This would be the day; this had to be the day, no doubt about it.
Anxiety over the possibility began to take its toll. Both hands began to sweat causing the sure grip on the rod to become less secure. In frustration, each hand was swiped in turn across the seat of the old blue jeans without ever taking an eye from the taunt line. What if he didn't bite today? What if he had become too wise to nibble at a morsel that clung to a barbed hook? The fisherman's mouth became set in a firm line as doubt was replaced with determination, and the post was steadfastly wooed and manned.
Maybe the bait should be checked. That first anxious cast had been pretty hard. It could have fallen off as it sunk to the riverbed where hoped-for victory lay waiting. There was also a possibility that bream or blue gill, too small to be noticed, had sucked it clean. Slowly, the line was reeled in. It came forward offering no resistance. As it broke the calm surface of the water it was apparent that there was no bait attached to the hook.
Heaving a deep sigh of frustration, the hook was again loaded with the smelly enticement. Being much more careful with the cast this time, it was gently placed back in almost the exact same place from which it had been drawn. This had to work. Patiently waiting, time seemed to have lost all meaning. The sun was moving down below the horizon as the day was coming to an end. Now, was when supper would be cooking back at home and all hopes were that the old catfish was ready for his supper too.
The line twitched. Sharp eyes strained to see if it was imagined. Just about the time it was believed to have been wishful thinking; it happened again! Stronger this time. Yes! That was a definite tug on the line. Excitement made the palms begin to sweat again, as a drop of the salty brine trickled through the eyebrow and ran, stinging, into the corner of the eye.
The mottled face was wiped on the shoulder of the already dirty tee shirt, as anxious hands tightened their grip on the rod. Mosquitoes swarmed about with their incessant whine, looking for a place to bury their stinger. This was only an annoyance now. Nothing was going to be a distraction.
"Take the bait!" kept chanting through the fisherman's mind as anxiety welled up inside.
Trying desperately not to over react, a finger cautiously interlaced in the line, praying that it would help keep it taunt when it was time for the hook to be set. Suddenly, another tug came on the line, stronger than before. This time it nearly dislodged the rod from the slippery hands. In one swift but strong move, the rod was lifted upward and the hook was set. Sweat began to drip from every pore.
Steadily, the line was reeled in. Reel a little…allow a little slack. Reel some more, drawing the heavy catch closer to exposure. This had to be the one. Just as the fish was almost near enough to the surface to break water, he dove hard toward the bottom. The line made a squealing noise as it strained against the reel to be free. This was torture. Allowing only as much slack as was dared, the war was on again.
This time, the line was kept tight as it was steadily reeled. Muscles in the forearms burned from the controlled strain. The fish was tired and seemed to offer less resistance on this second ascent. Closer and closer it came, as the line became shorter by the second. Finally, the fish broke the water. It was! It really was the old catfish that had been plotted against for so long.
Drawing him onto the bank, his gills pumped wide as he struggled to live out of his watery world. Lifting him required both hands. This old man must weigh more than 20 pounds. He flexed his body trying to be free of the unfamiliar hands that held him so proudly. Gingerly removing one hand from its grip and reaching into the tackle box for pliers, the fish struggled and fell from the slimy grip.
Scrambling down the slippery bank, he was triumphantly retrieved before he could reach the safety of water. Taking the pliers again and gently removing the hook from the whiskered mouth, the fish was carefully examined. This time it was as if their eyes met. An understanding seemed to pass between the two of them. Making a tormented decision, the valiant old channel cat was gently slipped back into his dark watery kingdom.
She had proved her point of lessons learned well from her grandmother's instruction. Now, she would always have the satisfaction of knowing that she possessed all the skill and patience one needed to catch the biggest and best. She smiled as she watched him swim away. Picking up her tackle box and rod, she headed for home too, with joy in her heart and pony tail swinging. She was hungry!
©2000 All rights reserved to Universal
Verse ownership remains the property of individual authors
Nothing written or posted here can be copied and or used without
the website owners, or individual authors written consent
