The Greatest Fish Story Ever Told!

It is not hard for a ten year old to tell a big tale, but the fish story I am about to relate is mostly 100% true. Although I admit that it might be flavored by hyperbole, peppered by my many rich experiences with my fisherman daddy, and enhanced even further by my mind's eye, it is definitely very true as I remember and imagine it! My mom says my imagination stays in idle, only waiting for the slightest prodding of the pedal to move forward. In addition I feel a little victimized when she adds that she fears too much bar to the metal and I’m off to the drag races of unbelievable fantasies. However, I am working hard to relate to you a realistically true fishing story that will be the best one ever told! I trust my memory lane adventure will give you fodder for thought!

It is 5:30 in the morning when my fisherman daddy enters my room and says, “Walt, get up. The fish are biting and we must hurry!” I must admit that the sleep in my eyes is gluing me to the solace of my bed. However, I am not about to let my daddy know. It is Saturday and this is the day he and I go fishing! This new tradition is one that I fully embrace. In the custom of Christmas and birthdays, as I will never let them slip, neither will I miss these fisherman’s Sabbath retreats. Indeed they hold gargantuan advantages unrealized by most 4th graders: these are weekly pilgrimages into adulthood; and they are special shared adventures with my fisherman daddy!

I scurry from my bed, putting on pants and t-shirt as I hastily stumble into our bathroom. My daddy fisherman says, “Hurry” and I am doing just that. I quickly, although a little messily, finish my morning business, sprinkle a few drops of water over my hands and face, grab a towel, rub it over the affected areas, and leave it knotted up on the sink. It is early Saturday and I know I will be gone before Mom can give that dreaded “cleaning up after yourself” lecture!

I enter the kitchen smelling sausage and eggs. My dad is cutting up a big red tomato and putting it on my plate. My dad believes that no meal is fully complete without at least one of his home-grown, succulent, red, vine-ripened tomatoes; this is one of the first lessons I ever learned. Another of my dad’s mantras is, “Son, you had better eat a good breakfast for we are going to fish today, not picnic. I know what he means! He always packs for each of our lunches a sandwich, a small cake and a whole tomato. This lunch tomato is never cut but is eaten like a juicy apple so it can drip down the face and add to the fishiness of the day. This might sound a bit messy and a little nasty, but I looked forward to it! Real men eating rough and rugged under the influence of inhaled fish perfume. The fact is that I get more bites at lunch than I do all day fishing, but at least I smell the part, just like my daddy fisherman.

We travel in our pickup truck to the dock where my daddy fisherman keeps his trusty old and somewhat water-logged boat. Dad attaches his outboard motor, gives the starter rope two hard strokes and a clean but salty word. Evidently the old motor hears his threat as it whines, then sputters before it calms and begins the slow mush to the fishing site. We are headed to the lower side of Fort Loudon Dam. I believe my daddy knows every fishing hole in Loudon County. Our trustworthy wooden water sled keeps plowing toward our impending adventure; I corkscrew my head around to observe our wake. I note my dad’s intense grin; I have seen that ¾ smile before. Part of it is from his sheer love for the water; another for our joint participation in this Saturday project, and yet another for his built-in GPS ability. You see, we did not need modern technology to find fish, because my daddy is personally acquainted with both our destination and the trawl awaiting. His unforgettable smile bellowed louder than my school recess bell and sweeter too. Though he makes no sound, his pleasantry is like a loud speaker but far clearer; it is as a bell ringing and echoing that we are having super fun today.

My dad slows the old boat to a baby crawl; he readies his anchor; he announces, “Get ready to drop your anchor too; I’ll give the word!” My fisherman daddy insists the boat be not only in the right spot but in the correct orientation as well. My lighter anchor is to be dropped precisely on time so that we are positioned parallel to the dam even though we are a long distance from it. If I make the slightest misstep, I get a fatherly, Captain Hook, scolding and my own daddy-delivered salty but clean utterance. I feel as if the success of our trip rests on my accuracy.

Finally we are here. My dad hands me my rod and open faced reel. We never use a closed faced “sissy” reel. I remember my first ever grown-up fishing lesson is, “You never reel backwards because you’ll get a mess of a backlash and you can’t fish if you’re out of the water straightening your line!” My line has two doll flies, one white and one yellow, at its end. This is the way it always is at this fishing hole. We seldom vary from this time honored, tested and proven scheme. It is not that my dad couldn’t do else ways; when he opens his tackle box full of homemade lures, it is like entering an “Alice in Wonderland” sporting goods store. The variety of colors would cause a rainbow to blush.

My daddy fisherman reminds me to cast my enticing bait as far as I could to a spot along the water break between the eddy and the current. Then I am to quickly reel in my slack, hold my rod high, let the lures sink three to four feet and begin a slow but steady return. I am to fixate my eyes where the line meets the water; by the time that spot reaches 20 feet from the boat, a big ole crappy will grab one of those flies. As he nibbles, I am to give a controlled jerk of the rod, hard enough to set the hook into my prey but not too hard as to pull it through his soft mouth. This anchors the hook like a harpoon into Moby Dick and I bring home the bacon or whatever. One other thing, if I miss that 20 foot window, I will catch that unseen rock ledge and end up having to attach new flies to the line! It sounds easy!

With excited optimism I cock the bail of my reel, extend my index finger to maintain control and feel of the line. In a backward motion almost to the water behind, I hurl my daddy-made lead treasures toward the awaiting trawl! Up, up and away my bait sails towards the sky like a rocket to the moon. I felt like hollering, “Fore”, but that would be another sport. My dad says my cast is not supposed to go that high but it seems to me the higher the better. Then comes the sound of “Splat” as the flies meet their target. Well, at least they are in the water. For all my effort they land two giant steps left and five short. That is ok for there are surely fish there too! It seems to take forever to retrieve the slack in my line and by the time I get my rod high in the air I am by now at that dreaded twenty foot window. I am already to the point where that big Nemo is waiting for my enticement. I slow my reel to a crawl; I wait, I feel the tension of my rod and then it happens.

With as much control as a 10 year old can muster, I set my hook, and Big Crappy and I are off to the races! I fight; I struggle, I reel; I holler; my fisherman daddy just laughs. “You’ve got the big one!” His laughter intensifies; somehow I did not expect this response. “You’ve caught that big rock ledge; you’ll have to break your line and tie on two more flies!” Humility sets in and replaces my optimism as I break the line and pull in nothing but disappointment. I hate to tie new flies on my line; I hate even more to hear my dad say, “You can’t fish when you are out of the water!”

By the time I struggle through the chore of re-baiting, my daddy fisherman tosses two crappy back to me and says, “While your are not fishing would you string up my fish?” Insult to injury.

This is the way the day goes. I am still having fun, but it would be so much better to catch something. My dad rubs, and rubs it in, over and over. I reckon this is what fishermen do! It is now late afternoon and the last casts are being made. At least I am not losing as many doll flies now, but I really want to catch something; I want my own tale to tell tomorrow at church. I want to steal the show in my Junior class and make Mr. Hicks stand and take notice. He is the best Sunday School teacher ever; he makes all us feel like we are his favorites! “Why can’t I catch any?” I asked my daddy fisherman. With an ear to ear smile he says, “You’ve got to hold your mouth right – like a fisherman!”

Well, I know that is but bull manure talk (pardon my English, but I am getting desperate here)! Nevertheless, I find myself studying my father a little closer. I mean, the day is almost gone. If I am going to catch anything, I must remove all the stops!

So, I contort my mouth in as many ways as my imagination would allow me, but I feel more like a clown than a fisherman. Then the dreaded words come, “It is time to go – Make this your last throw.” I feel the pressure of the now or never as I let the last dance of my fishing plugs go. Somehow, there is a magic in the air as I see my bait actually land in the correct spot. I do not know whether to label it chance or lay it to a day’s practice but here it is. I begin the retreat reel of my line. My hope is thin like a single violinist in a great orchestra who has broken all his strings except one. I keep plugging away trying to keep up with my daddy fisherman. Then, “Whoosh!” my rod, my reel and my line all take on a life of their own. My line grows taut; my fishing rod folds and bends; my reel sings and zings. I feel rivers of blood flowing through my clown contorted face; every muscle in my body tightens; my rod gains weight and I feel a pull like a summa wrestler trying to move me from my seat. “You’ve got the big one, son! Bring him in!” I felt like handing it all to my dad, but my pride keeps urging me not to let go. I know it is serious fishing business when I see my dad shuffling across the boat to get the net. He hasn’t done that all day.

“Easy, easy, easy!” my daddy fisherman reassures me. He continues to guide me through every bout of the fight. One would think, to hear him go on, that I never caught a big one before and one would be right! Finally, I retrieve the miles of line. My daddy lowers the net under the head of my whale and we land the biggest fish I ever did see. My dad tells me it is a 6 ¼ pound carp! It is still the biggest fish I ever did see. At least that is the way I feel, and I reckon it’ll do nothing but grow every day for years as I tell it! The first commandment of fishermen is to never tell a lie. Of course, this doesn’t apply to fish captured or to those gotten away!

Now, you may think this is not the best fishing story ever. After all, that is what I promised and this is the part I will deliver. The real best fish story happens on Sunday morning. I arrive in my class and meet sweet old Mr. Hicks. My dad tells me he may be as old as 38 but I think he is great anyway. I am telling my story about my ten pound carp when Mr. Hicks opens his Bible and reads:

Mar 1:17 "Come, follow me," Jesus said, "and I will make you fishers of men."

He says, “Walter… Jesus, the Son of God, is a fisherman too!”

Wow! With these words I experience a “Eureka” moment like when Newton got plugged by that apple! My grey matter begins churning and all those remembered Bible stories come together like minnows in a fish school. Now, I understand. Now, I know the best fishing story ever told.

You see, Jesus is a Fisherman like me! His dad is the Father Fisherman like my daddy! All his disciples are fishermen (or fisher-moms or fisher-girls or fisher-sisters, etc., if you get my driftings). This is all because God, the Father and the Son Fisherman, loves the water, the fishing holes, the fish and all us fishermen!

Do you know what the Bible really is? It is “The Fisherman’s Guide To The Universe!” In the beginning God sets out and makes this world with all kinds of fishing holes. He then commences to make fish of all shapes, colors and sizes. He really loves those fish; they are his first animals. Then, to make it complete, He adds all kinds of animals. Now, here is the real amazing part of the story – Everything is good, as good as can be, and the Father Fisherman says, “We need to have more fishermen just like us, and we will all fish together in the cool of the evening!” “Wow.” “WOW!!” – I say it louder!

This is what He does. He makes a dad fisherman and a mom fisherwoman and tells them, “Take care of these fishing holes!” Then he adds, “And when you are not fishing, have fun and raise me a whole bunch of little fishers!”

As you know, if you read your Bible and you should, this Holy Guide is packed full of fish stories from Noah and the flood, to Jonah and the whale, to Peter and John, to fish with money in their mouths, to two little fishes feeding 5,000 people and many, many more! It is high-stacked and jam-packed with fish stories. Did you know that even the symbol for Christ is a fish? Cool Beans!

Let me close with my favorite fish story following my “Eureka” experience:

Matthew 28:18-20 And Jesus came and spake unto them, saying, All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: Teaching them to observe all things whatsoever I have commanded you: and, lo, I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. Amen.

In case you wonder how this can be the greatest fishing story ever told, let me give it to you in the fishermen’s translation.

All power is given unto me in heaven and in earth. TRANSLATION: “I know how to fish for my Father Fisherman and I have been fishing for a very long time!” (I believe their first fishing whole was around a place called, “The Rock of Ages!”

Go ye therefore, and teach all nations, TRANSLATION: “This world is full of fishing holes … go and fish everywhere … even where those twelve pound carp are! And teach all the people how to fish so they can be fishermen too! I want a lot of fishers!”

Baptizing them in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost: TRANSLATION: “Remember, you can’t catch fish if you are not in the water. Do things right exactly like I told you and you will catch more!”

I am with you always, even unto the end of the world. TRANSLATION: “When you go fishing, I’m going with you, whether it is 5:30 in the morning or late afternoon. Just like Walter’s daddy fishermen went with him!”

Amen. TRANSLATION: “The end!” “It is settled like the sun setting on the best fishing trip ever!”

This Is The Greatest Fish Story Ever Told… I rest my case!