{"id":2052,"date":"1969-05-20T18:00:00","date_gmt":"1969-05-20T18:00:00","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/kurtbusscoloradofreelancewriter.com\/?p=2052"},"modified":"2023-05-20T18:33:23","modified_gmt":"2023-05-20T18:33:23","slug":"big-fish","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/kurtbusscoloradofreelancewriter.com\/?p=2052","title":{"rendered":"Big Fish!"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

  The fish\u2019s head slowly emerges, its steely, amber eyes rupture the river\u2019s surface and glare into Ben\u2019s eyes before it plunges, rolling back down into the dark, flashing a big yellow belly and boiling the water with its tail, waving buh-bye<\/em>! Ben knows, at that moment, he has the biggest creature of his life on the end of this 6# monofilament line, spooled onto his dad\u2019s old Shakespeare spin-cast reel the previous week. He\u2019s glad he grabbed his dad\u2019s rig and not his, which was a Sportmaster \u2013 Ben\u2019s first, and one of the few reels sold at the Caroline Hardware.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Ben is nine years old, standing on a rickety, wooden dock sticking ten feet out into the Embarrass River with his sister, Judy. The water is dark and cold.  He\u2019s genuinely afraid this creature is going to pull him in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

  When the fish runs, Ben holds the rod tip up and braces for whatever\u2019s going to happen when the line comes taught. He doesn\u2019t want to click the thumb button and release line, because he figures that would be the end of it – the fish would pull out all the line his father had just bought and loaded. Ben didn\u2019t ask to borrow his old man\u2019s pole.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   The rod tip dips as if something is pulling it by its hair, and line zips out of the water, racing toward the fish but finding only another boil, this time deeper in the channel and heading downstream. Ben\u2019s expecting a loud snap and quick release of tension on the rod, as it sounds when breaking off a snag. What he hears is something else: the solid, mechanical whirl of tiny steel gears as the tension drag begins to operate on the line. It\u2019s a beautiful sound, the sound of solid engineering – not a noise the Sportsman can make. The vibration bolting through the rod handle is electric, and the tip begins to bounce as the sound of the drag diminishes and the line stops playing out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   The fish halts its run. Ben keeps tension on the line and tries to move it, just a little bit, but the fish doesn\u2019t oblige. Ben wonders what it is. When he sees the big yellow belly his first thought is that it must be a carp, since one of the neighbors has been baiting the area with shucked field corn. But Ben was using a bass popper – a surface bait. Everyone knows carp are bottom feeders. They don\u2019t care what\u2019s on the surface, until it sinks.  <\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Ben picks the popper out of his father\u2019s tacklebox after having no luck soaking nightcrawlers under bobbers, looking for crappie and black bass (smallmouth). His dad\u2019s rod is set up for northerns \u2013 the fishus maximus<\/em> of Central Wisconsin river ponds \u2013 with a long, wire leader and a snap swivel; so changing lures doesn\u2019t mean Ben has to tie a new knot. Which is good.  Ben\u2019s knots never look as perfect as his Pop\u2019s.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Ben\u2019s dad\u2019s tackle box, like his grandfather\u2019s, and most others he\u2019d seen, is all metal and smells of machine oil. The top tray holds the traditional bait: Daredevil spoons striped like candy canes, streamer flies the size of small birds, barbed objects resembling mice, crayfish, leeches; and big wooden lures called plugs, handcrafted with glass eyes and dripping with treble hooks.  Some are two pieces and swivel in the middle; others are designed to dive or splash along the surface when cranked. Most are painted to look like fish or frogs; but there seems to always be at least one lure sporting a thick white body and a red head \u2013 like a big toe with a bloody end – as though red and white is a color combination that provokes big northerns, the way a red cape provokes a ringed bull.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   But Ben hasn\u2019t chosen any of the big lures because he\u2019s fishing for bass and crappie. He has caught them before and knows what to expect. The little lure he selects is just enough wood to float a hook and some hackle feathers. It\u2019s called a popper because you \u201cpop\u201d the lure along the surface imitating a bug or other bait. This one is designed for bass, so it\u2019s much smaller than the top shelf lures designed for northerns. If this is a bass he\u2019s hooked into, it will be legend.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Ben and Judy agree it\u2019s best to get off the dock, so they shuffle to the bank where she helps Ben get his arms around a tree while holding the pole in the direction of the fish.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   \u201cI\u2019ll get help,\u201d Judy says, looking at Ben, then the tree. \u201cJust hold on!\u201d and she\u2019s gone. Ben looks at the rod tip as it begins to bounce again. He starts reeling in\u2026very gently, to the quite whirl of the drag. The fish begins to move\u2026slowly, toward him. Ben realizes, for the first time, that he might, somehow, not lose this fish. Footsteps sound behind him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   \u201cWhatcha got, sonny?\u201d It\u2019s Tony Netzel, their next-door neighbor who\u2019s out working in his yard. It\u2019s his dock. Ben\u2019s glad the fish hasn\u2019t destroyed it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   \u201cBig fish!\u201d Ben says. \u201cBass!\u201d Tony shambles out to the end of the dock just as the fish boils ten feet away. He stops and stares at the water, then looks at Ben hugging the tree.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   \u201cNo,\u201d he says. \u201cIt\u2019s a nordern. A biggun!\u201d Ben has never seen Tony this excited before. He\u2019s a World War II vet and keeps to himself mostly. \u201cI\u2019ll git a net,\u201d he says, looking at Ben, then the pole. \u201cJus hold on!\u201d and he\u2019s gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   At first Ben doesn\u2019t believe it. He isn\u2019t old enough to go northern fishing, not even with his sister who\u2019s a year older than him. Northerns are for grown-ups. Ben has spent plenty of time watching the old timers catch them off docks, or bring them back in rowboats. They\u2019re frightening to look at, with that long, gator head and those rows of spike teeth.  Fresh water barracuda. They\u2019re the biggest fish in this river and are known to eat anything they can grab in their considerable jaws – including each other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Their full name is northern pike, of course, and most people in the world simply refer to them as pike; but in central Wisconsin they\u2019re \u201cnorderns\u201d, second in celebrity only to their larger cousins up north – the musky. On this river, anything over 30 inches or five pounds is considered a \u201clunker\u201d; fish 20-24 inches are called \u201cjacks\u201d or \u201chammer handles\u201d; and everything in between is \u201cnot bad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   The favored method of fishing is to set anchor from a rowboat on the pond, snag a river chub or shiner onto the biggest treble hook you have, slap a tennis ball sized bobber about three feet up from your leader, gently swing that gear out into the channel and wait for Jaws to slowly drag that indicator under, wondering if you\u2019ll need a bigger boat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Footsteps sound behind Ben again. Tony\u2019s back with a landing net, almost taller than he is. \u201cJus hangonda im, Sonny! Bring im inda shore.\u201d He scoots onto the dock holding the net like an infantry rifle and stabs it into the water just as the surface boils beside him. He struggles, and the water churns, but with a twist of his wrists he yells \u201cGot im!\u201d – and the fish is in the net. Ben will never feel the same swimming in that river. Those big teeth. His little toes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   \u201cWhat are we going to do with it?\u201d Judy asks.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   \u201cI dunno,\u201d Ben says. He wants to get a picture with the fish, but he doesn\u2019t want to kill it. They decide to keep it in their mom\u2019s big metal wash tub until they had the photo taken. Judy runs ahead and gets the tub ready. Tony hustles the fish up to the garage, carrying it in the net. Ben follows with his dad\u2019s pole, hoping he won\u2019t get into too much trouble for borrowing it without permission<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   Ben\u2019s parents don\u2019t quite share his enthusiasm for this fish. They made it clear they weren\u2019t interested in eating a fish with \u201call those y-bones\u201d and darn sure aren\u2019t going to clean it. So, after Ben\u2019s grandfather comes over with his Nikon Nikkormat camera and gets the picture, and the neighbors have all left, Ben and Judy just stare at this monster in their mom\u2019s washtub, suspended in the water, moving its head back and forth to get air. They each grab a handle of the tub and slush their way back down to the river. They walk out onto the dock and gently pour the contents of the tub into the river.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

   It would be nice to say that the big fish turned to look at them, and winks. But it doesn\u2019t.  It just bullwhips its body and bullet-snakes away \u2013 Jaws\u2019 tail waving buh-bye!<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

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