By Jim Mize
Beanpole sat in the back booth of Ronnie’s Diner as was our custom, only this time he was almost hidden behind a stack of outdoor magazines. I approached cautiously as I’d learned that such signs foretold impending danger or at least discomfort. I wasn’t wrong.
“What’s with the magazine collection?” I asked while sliding in on the opposite side of the mound.
“Just studying,” said Beanpole, hardly looking up. He seemed capable of simultaneous reading, deep contemplation, and precise sopping of gravy with one of Ronnie’s biscuits.
Usually I didn’t have to pry words out of Beanpole, just unplug him and let them flow. So I waited until he finished either the article or biscuit, figuring one or the other would bring him out of his trance.
“You know,” started Beanpole, “striper fishing doesn’t sound that difficult. You just watch for seagulls and when they start diving into the lake, you zoom in on your boat and cast into the gulls. The stripers are underneath and will attack your lure.”
“Your boat doesn’t exactly zoom,” I reminded Beanpole. “That 9.9 horsepower motor won’t even make your boat plane out until it’s warm.”
“True.”
“And you know that the closest striper lake is 200 miles away.”
“True.”
“And you’ve never caught a striper in your life.”
“True.”
“What am I missing?” I asked.
“Oh, I’m just looking to try something different,” sighed Beanpole.
“You could clean out your garage. That would be a first.”
“That’s what Nell said.”
“She’s a smart woman,” I responded. I then ordered breakfast without glancing at the menu. I knew it by heart anyway.
“Well, I’m going tomorrow,” said Beanpole. He gathered up his stack of magazines and surprisingly, was able to balance them all. “I’ll let you know how it turns out.”
I waved over my shoulder and watched Beanpole out on the street attempting to get his keys out of his pocket while holding too many magazines in one hand. It ended about the way I expected his fishing trip to end. It reminded me of watching someone falling on ice with no way to help and only one possible outcome. Beanpole dropped his keys, his magazines went skyward, and the only two cars on the street screeched to a halt.
I didn’t hear from Beanpole for a few days and began to wonder how his trip went. On Sunday morning, I was back in the diner and Beanpole came in with a bandage over his neck. He sat down without a word and I waited.
“What happened to your neck?” I finally asked.
“It’s a long story,” said Beanpole, as if that was all the answer I needed.
“I’ve got time,” I said.
Beanpole sighed and seemed to get smaller.
“Well,” said Beanpole, “I went striper fishing like I said I would. I got there before daylight after driving half the night. I drove out into the river channel like the magazines said I should and then I waited. Pretty soon, I hear boats screaming up the lake so I follow them.”
“But not screaming,” I offered.
“Not yet anyway. As I rounded the bend, the sky was full of gulls. Just as I pull up, all the other boats leave and I think I’ve got the school to myself. So I start casting jigs and spoons into the school. But nothing happens. No stripers. Yet the gulls keep diving.”
“Then, I took one really long cast and fling it all the way across the apparent school. A gull flies into my line and gets tangled up. You ever caught a gull on spinning tackle?” asked Beanpole.
“Can’t say I have.”
“It’s not pretty. For one thing, it’s just the opposite of fish. Gulls fly up, fish swim down. It swerved, crashed into the lake, got back up in the air, and finally got so tangled up I could reel it in. It’s a weird experience.”
“Then, when you get one in the boat, the gull is not happy to be there. As soon as I start to get it unwound, the wings, feet, and beak all start in on you. All that flapping and pecking is dangerous. Got me once on the neck.”
“So that’s under the bandage?”
“Yep. Hope I don’t catch something. I don’t know what diseases you can get from seagulls.”
“Me neither. So did you catch any stripers?”
“No. When I got back to the ramp, I asked one of the locals about the fish and all the seagulls. He had a big laugh. Said every morning the guides get followed up the lake so they always dump a bag of Cheetos in the same spot to attract gulls. The fishermen who follow the guides don’t know any better and stop to fish under the gulls. Said it works every time.”
“So you drove all night and most of the next day and all you caught was a seagull?”
“Yep.”
Beanpole was mopping up the last of his gravy and pushed himself out of the booth. It was unusual for him not to stay for at least one free refill on his coffee.
“Where you headed?” I asked.
“Striper fishing didn’t work out so I thought I’d try something else different.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Cleaning out the garage.”
Fishing With Beanpole On His Humorous Pursuit of Fish
Fishing With Beanpole is the second in the series of misadventures with Beanpole. If you have already read Hunting With Beanpole, then you and Beanpole have met. If not, I’ll introduce you to him. Beanpole is a curious fellow in all meanings of the word; he’s different, inquisitive, and gullible. These characteristics breathe life into a story when you add ingredients such as bad weather, tall tales, and natural phenomenon. By the end of this book, you will realize that your fishing buddies all have a little bit of Beanpole in them, or if not, you will wish they did. The world is a richer place once you have met Beanpole.
Jim Mize has received over eighty Excellence-In-Craft Awards, including for each of his first three books: The Winter of Our Discount Tent, A Creek Trickles Through It, and Hunting With Beanpole. Also, Hunting With Beanpole was selected for the Pinnacle Award from the Professional Outdoor Media Association (POMA), the organization’s highest honor for books.
Fishing With Beanpole is available in paperback and e-book formats from Amazon. Autographed copies of all his books may be ordered from www.acreektricklesthroughit.com.
Jim admits to having once caught a seagull himself. This story is an excerpt from his newest book of humor, Fishing With Beanpole. Jim’s books are available on Amazon or you can order autographed copies at www.acreektricklesthroughit.com.