An Odd Fishing Trip

During the past twenty years of living in southern Texas I have made the discovery that we have two seasons throughout the year, hot and super hot. But at least there is a way to determine the signs of the changing seasons. My wife often points out the signs of spring to me whenever her mountain cedar allergies kick into high gear. However, the same thing cannot be said about the seasons of my childhood years growing up in northern Wisconsin.

Northern Wisconsin has one year-long season, which was usually as cold as the heart of the head-cheerleader who consistently snubbed my attempts toward a potential date. Of course there was the occasional warm front which allowed some of the braver, or more foolish, Wisconsin residents to try the ever risky art of outdoor recreational activities.

During those years I grew up differently than most but I like to think my parents raised me proper and taught me many of life's important lessons. Perhaps one of the most important life lessons I learned was to always respect your elders, and when I was a young boy a sure sign of someone being your elder was the presence of facial hair. Especially when it was someone's Grandma.

As an adult I now know that rule to be more than asinine but back then it was pretty much the golden rule. I often find myself wishing today’s youth exhibited that same mentality. But alas, this is not the case.

Just the other day, while sporting some very impressive facial hair, I told my little niece that there was once a time when the Green Bay Packers had considered taking me into their honored organization. Regardless of the lack of truthfulness of that statement my niece should have taken my word seriously based on my facial hair alone. Nevertheless she believed her own father, whose face was as bare as her own, when he informed her I could not even throw a football without it quacking. Of course this experience forced me to shave my face in utter humiliation.

However, my brother-in-laws vicious lie is not important. What is important was how I was respectful enough to honor my elders, even when it was my cousin Chad. For as long as I could remember Chad had sported some very impressive facial hair, and based on that fact I was under the assumption he could not possibly steer me wrong. Unfortunately one early Wisconsin spring day, according to the calendar and not the temperature, my confidence of someone in facial hair never being wrong was shaken if not completely shattered.

Chad was twelve years my senior, had a truck, and my parents often entrusted me in his care. Of which to this day I still do not quite understand their reasoning behind that notion. Of course I never put much thought into it back then. I only knew Chad was my elder and must be respected.

In addition to being ones elder it was also common knowledge for any ten year old living in my immediate area that someone with facial hair not only always knew what he, or in some cases she, was doing, they were also a blast to hang around. To this day, when I am not in my right frame of mind, I find myself looking back fondly on those days. One day in particular stands out among the others.

I was just settling down to a nice bowl of cereal and countless hours of cartoons when I heard what most people would take for nothing more than a series of frightening explosions. However, I knew those frightening explosions to be Chad’s truck, which always made me instantly consider what form of adventure I may be inadvertently forced into.

As I quickly slurped down my cereal my mother pulled back the curtains to confirm what she had to have already known. At the same time I looked at my mother sigh to confirm what I already knew, Chad was here to take me on an adventure.

"Chris," my mother called out, "hurry up and get ready before he has to come into the house."

Being in complete agreement with her in not wanting to make Chad wait I rushed to get dressed. When I was fully dressed I ran out the front door to find Chad standing with an irritated look on his face.

"What you make me wait for?" Chad spat. "I know you began to hear my truck at least ten minutes ago."

"Sorry Chad." Was all I could say.

"Well," Chad scratched his head, "just see it don't happen again. I ain't gonna wait a full three minutes for you again."

"Say Chad," I said after I felt certain he was no longer upset with my lack of haste, "did you put your truck in park?"

"Course I did."

"Then where is it?"

Irritated Chad pointed to the driveway but when he looked his jaw dropped. Not being polite enough to answer my question Chad ran to where I assumed he had parked his truck.

I knew I had some time, seeing how our driveway was nothing more than a steep hill ending at an even steeper hill. Therefore I sat on the porch steps while I watched Chad disappear down the driveway.

I had just considered giving up on Chad in favor of my cartoons when I heard the roar of his truck. I saw white smoke before Chads truck had crested the hill so I was able to meet my cousin at the end of the driveway. Chads truck came to a violent and sudden stop once he reached me. His back bumper was missing, the passenger side panel resembled crumpled tin foil, and there was not a piece of glass that was not shattered.

"I am glad to see nothing happened to your truck," I told Chad.

"No thanks to you," he said, "If you did not take so long I would not have been forced into rushing and would have remembered to put my cinder block behind the tires."

I only stood silently as I thought of my shortcomings. There was no doubt in my mind that it was my fault that Chad forgot to deploy his cinder block parking brake. After all Chad had the facial hair.

"Well just as long as you know not to interrupt my thought process with your laziness anymore then I think it will be alright." Chad finally responded much to my relief.

"So what are we going to do?" I asked shaking from excitement and of course the cold.

"Seeing how we have already wasted enough time I will tell you on the way."

Knowing that Chad expected me to hurry I quickly grabbed the rope he fashioned as a door handle by running it through two roughly bored out holes and pulled. The door refused to move until I put all of my strength into it, then it opened so easily I was forced to stop its momentum with my shin.

"Stop your belly-achen," Chad said as I entered the truck rubbing my knee.

"Yes Chad," I replied, "so, what are we doing?"

Chad placed a wad of chew under his lip. "We are going fishing."

I suddenly became even more excited, "What for?"

"Narrow-necked pole fish."

My excitement turned into confusion. "A what?"

"You'll see," Chad said as he spit out the window, "now shut-up and let me drive. I need my full concentration."

Chad was not joking about needing his full concentration. I marveled at how he was able to keep the truck on two tires as we past dead-mans curve, and when he was able to fly into the ditch and right back out without even slowing down I was dumbstruck. Chad had said the curve was a result of his skill and the ditch was just for fun, and due to his being my elder there was no debating his reasoning.

When we arrived at our destination I discovered we were fishing at Devils lake. Devils lake was one of my favorite lakes throughout the whole county. It was clean, big, and because of its beautiful beaches the lake was a virtual magnet for two-piece swim suits. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately because of my present company, the two-piece swim suits were not at Devils lake when Chad and I had arrived.

"So," I said, "we fishing from the shore?"

"Nope," Chad said removing his chew, "I stored a canoe over there."

I looked where he was pointing and saw a canoe tied to a cinder-block just at the edge of the lake. Chad reached into the truck and produced two old poles, a small tackle box, and a wooden pole with a large hook bolted at the end.

I scratched my head and wondered why he was not using his new fishing pole, good tackle, and why he had brought the makeshift pole with a hook? However I kept quiet. Not because I was reasonably sure Chad would simply tell me to shut-up, but because he was the man with the facial hair and obviously knew what he was doing.

After we loaded up Chad’s 'gear', untied the boat, and pushed off, Chad immediately gave me the task of bailing out the water seeping into the several hairline cracks located throughout our vessels hull. A task I took very seriously seeing how the water was still cold enough to make a man very embarrassed should any two-piece swim suits suddenly appear.

"This is the spot," Chad said, "drop the anchor."

I lifted the coffee can filled with cement and gently lowered it into the lake so I would not frighten the narrow-necked pole fish.

"Just throw it in," Chad commanded.

Now I was becoming skeptical. I did not have enough fingers or toes to count how many times Chad had chewed me out for throwing the anchor into the water. He would always find a way to give me a long lecture on not scaring away the fish before we even bait a hook. However I just assumed that narrow-necked pole fish did not frighten easily.

Chad handed me a pole and opened the tackle box. I suddenly found that I could no longer keep my concerns quiet when I saw the tackle box contained nothing but sinkers, ice, and a six-pack of Budweiser.

"Where is the bait?" I asked.

"Don't you know nothing?" Chad pointed out. "Narrow-necked pole fish only like bare hooks. Now put a sinker on your line and start dragging your hook along the bottom."

Still not wanting to doubt a man with facial hair I complied to Chads orders. After a long, boring hour of occasionally bailing out the boat, Chad suddenly grew excited and grabbed the wooden pole with the hook.

I knew he was onto something when he set down his beer and dipped the pole into the water.

"Do you have a narrow-necked pole fish?" I asked as my excitement heightened, "I always wanted to see what one looked like."

Chad looked over at me while he still jabbed the pole into the lake. "You did not even know they existed until I told you this morning. Now shut-up and let me concentrate."

I knew Chad was up to important work when he said he needed to concentrate. Perhaps not as important as driving his truck, but important nonetheless.

"Got it," Chad exclaimed.

I searched for the net before realizing we did not bring a net. Not knowing what else to do I started bailing more water while I waited in anticipation for Chad to haul up his catch.

Chad tossed the wooden pole back into the boat and much to my amazement he lifted a large tackle box out from the lake.

"Chad," I queried, "that looks like your good tackle box."

He did not get to answer me before my pole jerked abruptly. The tackle box was quickly forgotten when I seized the fishing pole with two shaking hands. I instantly felt the weight of the narrow-necked pole fish and begun to reel it in. I was surprised to discover that the fish was coming to me without a fight. This fish was as good as caught!

"My new pole," Chad called out when I got my line reeled in. "Good job."

That was the moment when my confidence in facial hair had become shaken, if not utterly shattered. As it turned out Chad had went fishing the night before and ended up overturning the boat. He was lucky to escape the lake with nothing more than a severe chill and a bruised fishing ego.

However, all of his new fishing gear was on the bottom of Devils lake. Therefore, he had recruited me and had sent my excitement levels soaring with the prospect of catching a brand new species of fish named the narrow-necked pole fish. Or more accurately named by other anglers as a fishing pole.