By Danny Maybin
Some of my fondest memories as a boy are, of course, fishing trips with my friends. It’s that time of life when your biggest worries revolve around who’s got the best pocketknife. On one of these numerous trips, my friend Pete and I were fishing a small mountain creek that ambled through a long cow pasture.
At about the halfway point, we had caught nothing but had arrived at the two most promising holes on the whole creek, one just above the other. It was agreed that I would take the lower one and Pete would fish the upper hole, as neither was large enough for both of us to fish together.
I was standing there amazed that I hadn’t gotten a bite fairly quickly, as this little hole had produced rainbows for me many times before, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw Pete lift a nice trout out of that upper pool. I had always secretly considered the upper pool inferior to mine but there he was, holding a nice rainbow by the bottom jaw with a big, dumb grin on his face.
I returned with determination to my own affairs, confident that I would prevail. After no bite for what seemed like a decade and repeatedly casting casual glances at Pete to see if he was getting any action, Pete said “come up here with me.”
Pride is a funny thing. It’s amazing how much a guy can actually swallow in desperate times and at this age, getting skunked was akin to Christmas being cancelled. So I bit my lip and, with as much indifference as I could muster, I joined Pete in fishing the upper hole.
Wanting to gain an edge, I turned my back to Pete and added another worm to my hook. When I turned back around, there was Pete in my hole with a bigger trout and an even dumber grin on his face.
Don’t get me wrong, Pete was a great guy but when he saw the look on my face, it was like a shark that smelled blood. Pete was not opposed to taking great delight in endless ribbing and teasing if he knew he had gotten under your skin.
The taunting was unbearable and I was frantically trying to think of an escape. I considered stomping up the rest of the creek like a mad buffalo and ruining the rest of the fishing trip but Pete was bigger than me. Not wanting a black eye to compliment my humiliation, I thought better of it and determined to bare my suffering until opportunity presented itself. This brings us to the next fishing expedition.
Our next trip was also in a cow pasture but this time on the Green River. Pete and I were joined by another friend, Sam, and he was even bigger than Pete! Where we were fishing was slow moving, deep water. We were on the bank under some big ole river birch.
Now, when the fishing gets slow on a quiet river, young boys tend to get restless. Soon Sam announced that he was going to walk to the store and get some crackers and a drink. I asked him if he would bring me something back to which he replied as young boys will “your legs ain’t broke.” With nothing left to say, Sam headed for the store, leaving Pete and me to watch the fishing poles.
Earlier Pete had caught a carp, around two pounds, that had expired in a bent position. When I was sure Sam was out of earshot I suggested that we hook the dead carp on Sam’s line. We agreed this needed to be done and so, we did. Casting the bent carp as far out in the river as we could, we placed the rod back on its forked stick and waited.
Eventually, Sam came sauntering back with half a drink and a candy bar. Any bites? Sam asked. Not much, I said, but something did hit your line real hard a while ago.
Sam’s attention immediately turned to his rod, which was twitching wildly from the bent card spinning in the current. Dropping his candy and drink, he grabbed his rod and reeled forward, preparing to set the hook. “Hit him hard” I yelled. “That’s a big un”. Sam put all he had in it and started reeling. The faster he reeled the harder the bent fish spun against the current, leaving Sam thinking he’d hooked a trophy!
By this time, Pete and I were behind Sam so he couldn’t see us in fits as he battled his giant. When he got it to the bank, he held it up by the line and said, “I think I broke its dang neck!” I had moved to what I felt was a safe distance as Pete and I were now howling with laughter.
As the light of understanding slowly dawned on Sam, his shoulders drooped and he muttered something that I’m sure would not be permitted at the supper table. Then, he put the icing on the cake by flinging his rod, reel, and bent fish as far into the river as he could throw. Before it hit the water, Pete had smelled blood and started such a barrage of taunts and teasing that I almost felt sorry for Sam…. Almost.
Then, as all boys do when they reach an impasse, they fight. I watched in amazement as the battle ensued, vindicating me of both my oppressors. I felt no duty to inform them that they were over ankle deep in a huge bed of poison ivy.
For the next couple of months, Pete and Sam were pink with calamine lotion. I spent the rest of that summer fishing by myself. It was a little lonely but I caught a lot of fish. Most importantly, I learned the high value of patience when fishing!
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.