Butch

The fishing was good; it was the catching that was bad.
A.K. Best

As a young woman, I was determined one summer to learn how to fish. After purchasing fishing gear, based on the advice from a sporting goods clerk, my black lab Butch and I headed for the nearby lake.

I pulled over at what appeared to be the local fishing hot spot; several cars were already parked along the roadside. A morning mist still hovered above the water, clearing as the morning warmed. It was a wonderful day to wet my line for the first time. Fishermen were catching spawning crappie by the bucketsful, some probably destined to be buried in the garden for fertilizer rather than landing in a frying pan. Actually, I was hoping for a little more luck―- I wanted to catch a bass.

I tied on a lure and added a brightly colored round bobber. I proceeded to cast my line and work my lure with what I thought was a most enticing jigging motion. When I quickly got a bite, I remembered the need to set the hook, so I pulled my pole up with gusto and sent my little fish flying in the air past my head. The poor fish hit the steep bank behind me with a smack. I repeated this several times with the fish usually falling off my hook and flipping back into the water. Butch lay well behind me, wary of my casting backswing after I'd managed to hit him with a soaring fish or two. I scrambled in pursuit of each escaping fish, stepping into the lake water―- and a couple of times into underwater critter holes. I kept getting wet, first up to my knees and finally above the waist, much to the amusement of the experienced onlookers.

Apparently my knot-tying skills also needed improvement. I had soon lost all of my lures, with few fish to show for my efforts. The fisherman next to me took pity (or maybe wanted further entertainment) and offered some tie-ups so I could continue fishing. I thanked him and went back to work. His kindness and my persistence paid off. I had a hard strike! My pole bowed down, almost touching the water. My mentor was excited too, shouting, "Bet you hooked a bass! Bring him in easy now. Don't jerk too hard."

Laughing, I landed the fish without it becoming airborne. But it, too, came loose when my line broke just above the bobber, and both the bobber and my fish slipped back into the lake. As the other fishermen groaned, we watched the bright red bobber mark where the fish traveled. The fish towed the bobber round and round the cove, sometimes tantalizingly close to the bank, only for it to disappear underwater for what seemed like a long time and then pop up somewhere else. The fish grew in size, at least in our minds, the longer it stayed under. As the bobber cruised its course past other fisherman, they cast out, trying to snag it without success.
A rowboat was hailed to help. Just about the time they'd get close enough to grab it, the bobber would sink out of sight. "It's over here now!" a spotter would yell. One enterprising fellow climbed a tree, broke off a long branch and joined the rowboat's efforts. They finally gave up and went back to their own fishing.

Discouraged, wet and muddy, I prepared to leave. I called my dog and ruffled his neck. I was seeking consolation. Suddenly I got an idea―- one of those lightbulb kind. As the bobber made another pass, I said, "Go get the ball, Butch!"

As everyone watched, Butch wagged his tail, spotted the ball moving across the water and happily fetched it, fish and all. We went home with a nice-sized bass.

A few days later, I returned to the same cove and set up next to another woman. She commented that more women must be taking up fishing, then told my own fish story back to me, as her fisherman husband had related to her. I nodded and giggled in all the right places. The story, being a fish story, was slightly embellished, of course.

"That's quite a fish story," I acknowledged. "I have one, too. I'm that same lady. It was my dog that fetched the fish!"

She wasn't the only one who unknowingly repeated my story to me. On a visit to replenish my lost gear, I shared my experience with the sporting goods clerk.

"That was you and your dog?" he grinned. "A customer was just in here this morning telling me about it!"

For one fishing season, at least, Butch and I became the legends of the lake.