Chapter 5: "Two Boys and a Fish"
The year is about 1971. Two boys age 10 and 12 in T- shirts and torn
dirty jeans are leaning back looking up at the sky resting on a
grassy steep bank of a stream. Trees surround the knoll that forms a
small round quiet area in the stream that is about 20 feet wide.
Both have fishing poles propped up by sticks, and the lines dangle
quietly in the water. The trees make a shady place to enjoy a hot
summer day, and the bank, which was about 10 foot high, hides the
boys from the world that might be passing by. It was the best place
to be in the entire world.
I was one of these boys, and the other was my very best friend, Jim
Thompson. We were out to catch big trout that day. This was our
secret fishing spot, and we fished there almost everyday.
I had known Jim for about 2 years. His father's job moved their
family from Kentucky to Wyoming. Jim had been around country a lot,
but hot country. The short summers were very surprising to him and
his family. And the cold winters were a tremendous shock.
Jim lived in a house across the alley from mine, and for some reason
we hit it off. I cannot even remember how I met him, except that I
had seen a moving van bringing their belongings to the house.
Jim was quite the colorful person. He wanted to experience
everything which was quite a conflict with his natural fear of
everything. Jim was an entertainment show all in himself. He was
also very self-centered, but his strong loyalty to a friend made up
for that.
Jim had a large nose, in his opinion, and was a very sore spot of
discussion with him. This represented some of his low self esteem,
which, in character with Jim, was mixed erratically with bursts of
self importance. If you presented a new idea to Jim, for a few
minutes you might be revered as the greatest mind to ever exist,
followed by a crashing low of , "it won't work"!
This summer day we were set on catching the largest trout to ever
fight on a fisherman's line. Of course, this was very similar to
our goal the day before. And the day before that. By the end of
the afternoon, even a catfish made us feel like super fishermen.
The best part of fishing is the time between catching the fish. The
hush of the wind through the trees in harmony with the babbling
water, mixed with the cool shade from the hot sun, was probably the
most enjoyable part. I had a back pack and canteen that was from
Army surplus, and always packed a little lunch and snacks to chew on
while we fished. We would lay back on the bank and look into the
sky at the clouds. Shapes would form, and we would point out what
they would resemble. Hours can easily whiz by while examining the
intricacies of clouds.
We kept one corner of our eye on the tip of our fishing pole. The
small current from the stream kept the tip of our pole bobbing
hypnotically back and forth. I would stop watching the clouds
sometimes to watch this magical rhythm. Zing! It was unmistakable,
something besides water would yank on the pole causing our hearts to
slam against our chest.
Jim and I bolted to attention. I grabbed the pole and held the line
lightly in my fingers to feel what was happening on the other end. I
felt no pull, so I knew that a fish was tasting my bait. I waited,
and pulled the line slowly to entice the fish with a lively looking
worm. Nothing. Reeling slowly until all the line was in, I saw
that my hook was empty. Those crafty fish stole my bait, without
getting hooked! It was a let down, but it made a few minutes become
the highlight of the day.
I put another worm onto the fishing hook, always wondering if it
hurt the worm, and threw my line back in the stream, or "crick" as I
called it. I then laid back for a short nap.
Soon, Jim and I decided we had enough fishing and started pulling in
our lines. Mine had something holding it, but it did not feel like
a fish. More like seaweed that slowly gave way. When the end of
the line appeared, attached was a hideous looking fish. It was
white, round, had ugly eyes, and big fat lips.
"Sucker fish!" Jim hollered. "Sucker fish? What is that?" I queried.
They set on the bottom of the crick and suck all the dirty stuff up,"
Jim advised. "Yuck! I'm not going to eat it", and I started to throw
it back. "What are you doing?" Jim panicked, don't throw it away!
"What are you going to do with it" I asked rolling up my upper lip.
"It is disgusting." "I don't know, maybe I will eat it."
Jim just wanted to take a fish home, and I thought if he was crazy
enough to eat the disgusting thing, I would let him.
We took off down the road to our homes, Jim proudly carrying the
trophy sucker fish on a rope as if he had been the one to fight it
out of the water. Jim started to swing the fish around and around
and then brought it down with a slam on the concrete. "Why are you
doing that, that is cruel" I cried! "Give me the fish!" "It s just
a fish!" Jim retorted. This is where his selfish side seemed to
peek out. I grabbed the fish, took out my knife and cut off the
head of the flailing fish to end it's misery. "Fish have feelings
too, you know!" and I stormed on home ahead of Jim.
I was a strange Wyomingite, because although I loved to fish, and I
liked to eat fish, I I always felt sorry for the worm on the hook,
and then the fish when I caught it. My father and grandfather
always filled a 5 gallon bucket with the water we were fishing in,
and would put the fish in the bucket to swim around until we got
home. They too cared about how the fish felt, and tried not to
torture them and give them a quick death when it came time to clean
them.
The following day Jim came to my house, and in typical fashion of
boys, our problems were already forgotten. We walked down to the
river with our fishing poles. Walking by the wooden footbridge
that crossed the water, we spied a couple boys fishing with their
lines dangling from the center of the bridge. This bridge was most
valuable, because underneath it was an abundant supply of minnows
and tadpoles. Every boy, and even some girls, seemed to understand
the quality of life that was added simply by chasing tadpoles and
minnows with a net or jar.
We walked across the bridge and looked into the boys' bucket.
Trout!! Big ones! Hey, those were supposed to be ours! "Where did
you catch those trout?" We asked. "Right here off the bridge," was
the answer. Well our tackle boxes dropped, and our hooks went right
into the water. We were going to get our trout today!
Jim lost about 5 hooks catching sticks and weeds that put up a
tremendous fight. I lost a couple, and gave up. "It's past feeding
time Jim, the fish aren't biting yet. Let's come back this evening."
"I am staying here!" Jim announced, with determination. Jim had
never caught a trout yet, and he became more obsessed with the idea
every day. I think seeing that other boy with trout out of "our"
river, sparked a fire inside him.
I went down below the bridge to inspect the growth of the tadpoles,
and see how the minnow population was growing. A rumble shook the
air, and looking up I could see storm clouds moving in. "Jim, it is
going to rain, lets go!" I warned. "No! I want my trout!" Jim
declared.
I walked home without Jim, barely beating the rain. Rain was always
nice because everything seemed green and smelled fresh afterwards. I
loved the way trees drip on you as you walk past them after a rain.
After the rain, I walked back down to the bridge, assuming that Jim
had found cover. Nope. Jim looked like a drowned rat, and he was in
the exact same position as when I left, with his eyes firmly attached
to the river below.
"Jim, did you know it rained?" I snidely asked. "Yes." Jim answered
matter of factly. "It's all wet here, let's go to the store and get
a pop." "I don't want to." Jim replied. I set down to help Jim watch
the water, since that is a proven technique to coax a fish onto your
hook.
All of a sudden Jim's fishing pole bent in half! Wow! A strike! Jim
started screaming and hollering and reeling in his line. I crawled
down the bank under the bridge to help get the fish over far enough
so as not to lose him back into the river. It was a trout, a very
fine trout. Probably about 11 inches.
Jim was beside himself with excitement. He finally had his first
trout. It was then that we noticed it. A strange thing to be on a
fish. There was an orange plastic tag attached to the gills and
mouth. What is this? We could not figure this out. After a few
minutes of pondering, we packed up Jim's wet gear and started home,
Jim proudly holding his fish on a string.
A couple days later, one of the boys in the neighborhood told us that
tag had been part of a fishing contest that KROE radio had sponsored.
You were supposed to have won a prize if you caught fish with the
tag on it. KROE radio had stocked the trout when they were about 6
inches long into the river. Since Jim's fish was about 11 inches, we
knew it had been a while since the contest, but Jim decided that he
should be awarded a prize anyway.
I tried to convince him that the contest was over, and he was not
entitled to a prize. "Why not?" Jim whined. I caught the fish?
"Yes, but it was after the end of the contest!" I explained. "Well,
that is not fair!" Jim assumed that anything that did not fit into
his perfect plan of life was not fair.
Jim proceeded to head downtown to the radio station to claim his
prize. I went with him. We entered the station reception office,
and explained that we had caught a fish with the winning tag on it.
The receptionist seemed to know nothing about it and told us to walk
down the hall and talk to the manager.
Walking past those interesting booths with large glass windows and
record players we found the manager in a cramped messy office. We
explained our situation and the manager told us that the contest was
over a year ago and had ended. Jim started whining, saying it "just
is not fair!" The manager said he would look in back and see if he
had any prizes left. The prize had been a free fishing pole and
tackle box.
We set for a long while waiting on the manager, and Jim started
whining that he already had a pole. He did not need another one. I
just sighed and waited. Soon the manager returned with an armload of
Nerf foam rubber toys. Nerf was new, and was pretty exciting stuff.
He brought a foam Frisbee, a foam football, and some other Nerf toys.
He gave some to Jim, and he gave some to me! What a haul!
Jim and I had a lot of adventures together until his family fled the
cold winters to Ocala, Florida. Jim was excited to leave because he
wanted to be a marine biologist, which he said, "you can't do in
Wyoming." Of course today Jim is a proud husband, father, and
plumber in Ocala, Florida.
I observed in this adventure how persistence can pay off. Jim
decided to catch that fish, and he stayed there until he did. Jim
also decided he deserved a prize for that fish, and he stayed until
he got that. Of course I did not think Jim should have whined for
the prize when it really wasn't deserved, but I did see that the
persistence got him what he wanted.
These stories are copyrighted by Timothy L. Drobnick Sr.
1995,1996,1997,1998,1999,2000. All rights are reserved.
No permission is given to reproduce any part of these
stories without express written consent from Timothy
L. Drobnick Sr.
