Fish Story

The twilight sky was clear and when one strolled to the end of the pier the city lights blackened. I was far enough away from the capital not to hear the traffic. In fact, all I could distinguish was the clapping of cruise-ship-begrimed waves against the rocks that lined the cornice off the old lighthouse. In addition to Polaris I could make out an obscure eddy well off the shore. At least a shower was to be anticipated.

Given the warm night air, getting wet would not be worse than puddle hopping like I used to do when a kid in Vancouver. And Snook love to hunt on nights like this so I rushed home to grab my fishing tackle. Since I moved here exclusive of any rain gear, I grabbed an old, blue polo shirt that sported a few cigarette burns on its front and a pair of peddle-pushers.

I climbed the seawall and attached a shiny plastic-green minnow to the line on my Ugly Stick, cast as far out as I could and began a slow retrieve. It was pouring by now so I stood up as straight as I might and tried to resemble a lamp pole so as to absorb less precipitation on my body. I figured I’d attract fewer vertical drops than those tossed by an increasingly horizontal wind. On the third cast I felt something bump the line. I tried to set the hook and came up with nothing so thought it was either seaweed or a log. In the meanwhile the rain had penetrated every dry area on my body and the drizzle had turned into an outright squall. I thought it peculiar that the droplets were undersized - but that just meant there were more of them per cubic inch. The water moved like osmosis from the surface of my wardrobe to the surface of my skin. I was not cold but utterly drenched and the moisture made me itch. Then I felt another hit, this one harder than the first. There was no quitting now.

Just as beads of water started running down my back I tried to steady myself from the gusts by accidently bracing myself against the knife in the haversack I was using as a creel. Blood spurted from the four fingers I needed to reel in anything so I turned the rod upside down and used my other hand when whatever was on the line began to run. Whatever it was it was large enough to force an adjustment to the drag. My pole bent downward no matter how hard I tried to keep the tip up. I had a big one on the line and now just had to land it. He ran hard as soon as I had him close to the cement wall I was angling from and it was about 15 feet straight down to the surf. I had no net and wrapped the line around my good hand and pulled as to lessen the pressure on the lightweight reel. Suddenly I was overtaken by passion �" the blood in my veins turning less viscous - as if I had taken a corpulent dose of nitroglycerine and my heart ran the 100 yard hurdles. Surely my jaw was ajar anyway. Then, that something banged against the cement when I yanked the test line and this succeeded to wrench the hook from its mouth. I could see it summersault back into the ocean. I winced, sighed and closed my eyes and asked myself …. “If not a soul saw it, did it really happen?” Indubitably I had radiated at least one grin during those ten wondrous minutes and was convinced that grin would convert to a happy wrinkle for all to see in my expression soon and forever.

In the meantime, the rain continued uninterrupted. I could not see for the liquid that penetrated my eyes and I scratched my rear to rework drifts of wetness delivering the frightful sensation that Tinker Bell’s tail was tickling my a*s. I made another cast and again a strike. This time the fight was less intense and I brought in a catfish of about four pounds. It was time to get dry so I departed and paraded my catch through the streets on my way back home. Beguilingly, I did not comprehend the catcalls and laughter brought on by such a manly action until I met up with my friend Leroy.

“You going to eat that?” he asked. “Plan to” I said. “We don’t eat catfish here, Alan” he added. While I cleaned my quarry, he told me a story. Smiling, he subtly imparted the history behind his revelation. “You see, in the 20s many people constructed new homes along the river banks and seashore here. The buildings included what were modern latrines placed directly above the water to obviate the need for sewerage systems. In the surrounding areas below the structures many villagers observed marine animals performing their innate scavenging activities. Most of them turned out to be catfish …..” he did not need to amplify. I bagged my fish and its innards and placed them in the garbage can.

“Now I get it” said I with blushed cheeks -- so much for an evening of angling on the shores of this tiny country. I cleansed my wounds thoroughly and went straight to bed.

Reviews

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would you excuse me for laughing, too?

you articulated your story in great detail. i found myself thinking i'd have t be either an angler or your familiar to stay with this story.
since i am neither, i suppose i was feeling just patient enough to stick with your story to the end.

with that said, i think this would make a nice chapter in a legacy book for your kin.
nice job