You might call this month’s column “from the other end of the boat.” Or maybe “George’s revenge.”
For years, I have shared stories about my fishing buddy George, who often gets to read my side of the fishing story in print, with no real chance at public rebuttal. Perhaps sometimes they are a teeny weeny bit one-sided…just possibly. He’s a good sport, but then he doesn’t have much choice. Other than his quarterly security reports on his status in the Witness Protection Program, he doesn’t write much.
In case you’ve missed some of my earlier George tales, you can always go to LouisianaSportsman.com and enter GEORGE in the search bar and catch up. I use the word “catch” loosely when talking about George and fishing. In fact, he always seems to get front-ended or stung by yellow jackets or is two hours late when we go fishing. He’s notorious for having to buy a last-minute license on-line on our way to the lake. But since he’s in the WPP (and George isn’t his real name), I have to be careful about what I write and the photos we publish. I’ll admit, I’ve been rough on him at times. But I always enjoy them, as does his son, Little George.
But I’ve always promised him a chance to write in this space about his own fishing adventure in his own words one day. Today is a good day. So here goes. It’s George’s turn. I didn’t change a word. This is his story:
By George
I can’t believe I’m actually getting to tell my side of a fishing story, uninhibited by the words of my famous outdoor writer fishing partner. But I’m not missing out on this chance.
You’ve heard them all before. “Wind’s outa the east, fishin bite the least”…“thundered last night, no way they gonna bite”… “can’t go tomorrow, my brother-in-law’s sister is coming in from Missula.”
All of the above are just examples of what my fishing partner (the one who regularly pens this column) is usually saying when he really means, “Leave me alone. I want to sleep in in the morning.”
That’s where things were on a special Saturday morning not too long ago. I couldn’t budge the editor from his warm bed with a big John Deere tractor. Oh well, sometimes you just gotta ‘go it alone.’ I loaded up my rod and a few plastic worms and off to my secret hole I went, all by my lonesome.
I knew it was risky; without Kinny there would be no peanuts, Nabs, Dr. Peppers, or unending horrible fish stories of some imaginary time he thought he had beaten me fishing. Come to think of it, this was looking like it might really be an enjoyable, quiet trip!
First cast!
On the first cast I landed a small bass! I’ve never done that when the editor was along. ( I’m talking about the small bass part.) On the second cast, I had a hit and hung a good one, but he got off at the boat. There’s another thing. Even if I hooked a bass and it splashed water on my partner, if it got off, he would say something like “Did you get a bite? I don’t see a fish.”
No worries, the day was young and I could front end myself rather than watch his lure land right where I was hoping to aim mine. Things slowed down a little after that but they were still interesting. I could make excuses, but I won’t go there.
Just when I was starting to have second thoughts about going it alone, along came Spot. I was walking around the edge of a good sized lake we fondly call “The Aquarium” because it is literally, full of fish. But they don’t always bite. Spot had joined us before and I was glad to see him just for the company. Spot would walk in front of me and keep the slithery creatures moved out. And I caught several good fish after he got there.
About that time I made a poor cast and backlashed really bad. All Spot did was wag his tail and grin, unlike my partner who would usually mutter something about rookies and make all kinds of snide remarks and try to take a photo with his fancy editor camera. Then I caught another fish. This time Spot really wagged his tail fast and let out a little yelp as if to say: “Good job George!”
No smirks from Spot
This was so unlike my regular partner’s usual response: “you gonna keep that little fish?” I realized after I made a cast that missed a stick I had aimed at by 3 yards that all Spot did was wag and grin, no smirks or comments about how he would show me how if I ever wanted to learn. This was nice. Although it did seem like something was missing.
This was usually the type of thing that led to some old story like the time I made about a dozen casts beside a certain old leaning log without a bite. The editor turned around and looked at it and I could tell he was about to cast back toward it. I warned him not to bother, because I had already tried that for 10 minutes. Sure enough, somehow a fish swam up under there from somewhere else and he caught it. I never heard the end of it. In fact, I can’t believe I added it to this story.
But as things went, Old Spot turned out to be a pretty good partner. When I decided to head in, he just turned and headed off to look for someone else to keep company. No excuses about rushing off to a Dentist appointment (on Saturday?), which meant I would have to clean the fish all alone.
It was a good day. I’m glad I decided to ‘go it alone’. Now I’ve got ammunition to use on the editor for years to come, especially if he really does put this in print.
Do you think he will?
