By Danny Maybin
Every once in a while I like to stop and laugh at myself. Believe me, I’ve got plenty of material. If I ever get to feeling a little too serious, all I have to remember is an incident when I was a caretaker, a cutter boat pilot/fishing guide. The fishing guide part is where I got into trouble. [incidentally, in South Georgia, “fishing guide” can also mean “boat paddler”].
On this particular day, my job was to “guide” a fly fisherman on a beautiful brown water lake, studded with cypress knees. The guy must have been a big shot because orders came straight from the top to show this guy a good time and make sure he caught fish. So there he stood: The Orvis poster child, right down to his brand new ‘l foot fly rod and his designer fishing vest!
The boat we were using that day was a Ghee-noe, pronounced “gheenoo “ a cross between canoe and a Louisiana pirot. As we shoved off, it became apparent that Orvis was not familiar with the Ghee-noe because he immediately stood up. I thought to myself, this may work out after all , the gators are always watching for stuff falling out of boats. As we reached the area he was going to fish, and he had not fallen out, I figured this guy is either really good, or really lucky. Then he started his casting sequence. His accuracy was OK but his backstroke was killing me. I suggested that he cast from the sides of the boat to which he retorted,” This boat is too unstable for that!” Now right about here is one of those times when life tries to right all of it’s injustices. As I said earlier, his backstroke was wearing heavily on me. I had already lost my favorite ball cap, a pair of sunglasses and one ear was bleeding.
We were now coasting to a quiet stop at one of my personal favorite spots which I was being forced to share by the top brass. As the boat silently glided through the water, the bow glanced off a cypress knee and sent Orvis clambering like a squirrel on a windmill. You know, sometimes something will strike you funny at the most inappropriate time. Watching his undulations alone made it worth the trouble.
What neither of us had noticed, was a softball sized wasp nest dislodged from the cypress knee, lying face up in the water right beside the boat! Up until now, I had contained myself, but when that first wasp stung him on the back of the leg, I lost my composure, though still not making a sound, my eyes were full of tears, and my upper body was twitching left and right as laughter pleaded to be released. Orvis interpreted this as my being stung to death and used his fly rod to beat the imaginary bees off me. The strain was more than I could bear. There was a sound I have not been able to duplicate coming out of me. A howling describes it best, for which Orvis mistook as more bees. Every time he would let up on me, another wasp would hit him starting the whole cycle over again. Through the now swollen slits of his eyes, Orvis finally saw the humor of our predicament and as a grotesque grin came across his face, there has never been a better Kodak moment.
His rod dangling from the handle in three pieces, green fly line everywhere, in and out of the boat, and his plastic see-through fly box crushed under his mighty, size twelve, brand new mail-order deck shoes. We paddled back to the landing in exhausted silence, both fully aware we had just made a memory. I never saw Orvis again. I half expected a pink slip over this one but nothing was ever said until now. I like to think Orvis and I became friends that day.
Danny Maybin’s family has fished and hunted in the area of Lake Summit for at least six generations. He is a state firearms instructor, blacksmith, musician/luthier and his favorite, a fishin’, and hunting resort facilitator. He also does voice acting, copywriting, and short story humor.