Patrick put the GMC Sierra in reverse and eased the
trailer hauling his top of the line fiberglass bass boat down the boat ramp
like he’d done 100’s of times. He put the truck in park as the trailer’s rear
wheel rolled into the water’s edge. He winched the boat off the trailer and
into the water, then tied it off so he could return to park the truck and
trailer. The morning was shaping up to be a great day for fishing.
He returned to the boat and fired up the 200 horse outboard motor,
circled the boat 180 degrees and thrust the throttle forward. The boat was
humming at full speed within a few seconds. The wake slammed onto the boat ramp
as he left the launching area and proceeded to the main lake.
Fifteen years ago, Lake Wannabee had enjoyed a reputation
locally as the Holy Grail for bass fishing. There were three professional tournaments
and numerous other amateur level events hosted annually that raised thousands
of dollars for local and national charitable organizations.
Patrick grew up fishing the lake. He joined his grandpa
almost every Saturday morning when the weather was hospitable from the age of 8
for several hours on the water. They’d take the fourteen foot aluminum jon boat
and its puny 9 horse outboard to fish the outer edges for blue gill, crappie,
and catch an occasional bass or channel catfish. Using night crawlers for bait,
they’d cast out a bobber about 10 feet from the boat toward the shoreline and
wait for the bobber to drop below the water line, jerk the line slightly by
moving the rod tip upwards, reel like hell and land the fish. It didn’t much
matter what they caught, but that they caught something. Anything would do. It didn’t
much matter, but it was a way to get out of the house and spend time with
grandpa.
By his 17th birthday, he’d saved enough money
earned mowing lawns to buy the first boat of his own. It was a ragged out flat
bottom painted flat black. The guy selling it said he used it for duck hunting.
It was ugly as hell, but he didn’t care. It was a boat and it meant he could
fish on his own anytime he wanted. Many times he’d head out in the late
afternoons during daylight savings time months and every Sunday after church
during the fall of the year and even some winter weekends as long as the lake
wasn’t iced over.
He traded up to an aluminum V-bottom and then to his first
used fiberglass boat with a real live well. He fished his first bass tournament
in that boat and even finished a respectable 9th in the event. Truth
be told, he should have won the tournament. He’d spent more time fishing every
nook and cranny of the lake; more than the other fifty-plus contestants
combined. But with their sponsorships for tackle, rods, reels and a few who
were pro staff for the big three boat manufacturers who also provided
sponsorships to include fully rigged bass boats, he was outgunned.
And now ten years later he’d been a pro staff angler himself
for two of the same three bass boat manufacturers. They were practically
throwing money at him at times hoping for a few minutes of precious TV time; a
priceless product placement worth its weight in gold or a least it’s weight in
plastic or silicone so prevalent with the manufacturers of popular bass lures.
It was a good gig for those lucky enough to get the opportunity.
All the time on the water, traveling the country fishing the
professional bass touring series events had been hard on his marriage.
Patrick married Kelly two months after high school
graduation. She was voted homecoming queen as a senior and named most likely to
marry a redneck by her classmates. He was definitely redneck, but what the
hell; he was her redneck after all.
Besides they’d been going steady since 5th grade. They were the “it”
couple throughout high school and getting married was almost an afterthought.
It just happened, as everyone expected.
They lived simply the first couple of years with Patrick
preferring to spend any spare money left over at the end of the month on
fishing equipment instead of saving up for better living conditions, clothes,
groceries, or a better car for Kelly. When she’d suggest a purchase for her
convenience, he always resisted preferring instead to prioritize everything
toward fishing.
She had to admit, he was good at it. He was getting paid to
fish, something he’d been doing for free two-thirds of his life. His first win
at a $10,000 to win out-of-state event down in Okeechobee, Florida turned into
a nice second honeymoon. They left Okeechobee Sunday night after the final
weigh in and arrived at Boca Raton a few hours later. They got a room at a
beachfront hotel and spent a week lounging around the pool and on the beach
watching the waves rolling in from the Atlantic. He won the next three
professional tournaments he entered and used the money buying a second bass
boat, a new 4 x 4 to tow it with and even bought a little house for the two of
them.
Through the years she’d always played second fiddle to
fishing. Fishing paid the bills, but for the past few years, money from fishing
was slowing a little.
Patrick pulled back on the throttle and let the boat settle
in the water as it neared a shallow bay on the north end of Lake Wannabee a
full 3 miles from the launch ramp. It’s where the bass came to spawn. Lately
he’d been spending more and more time in this area of the lake than years past.
He’d need a calculator to count the numbers of prize winning bass he hauled out
of this honey hole. Three of the keepers he caught here during the bass
tournament a few years ago, clinched the tournament and the $25,000 purse. He
won enough to pay for the new hair plugs to cover up his balding head and
replace the veneers on his upper and lower teeth. He needed to look good in the
winner’s circle, on the TV commercials his sponsors insisted he be in and for
the occasional out of town rendezvous becoming more and more common as he spent
more and more time away from home. With the slowing economy the big money
tournaments were fewer and farther between and Kelly didn’t like spending so
much time away from home anymore. She knew the deal; keep the fisherman happy
and the checkbook stayed fat and happy. She sure as hell didn’t mind spending
the money he won.
His favorite fishing spot was cooling off lately. In year’s
past, fishing this area guaranteed a 7 or 8 pound fish or even two or three
every fishing trip. Something was definitely up and hurting the fishing. And it
wasn’t only in this area of the lake. It was getting harder and harder to catch
a trophy sized bass in the lake period. There were rumors some of the
manufacturers were considering pulling out of the sponsorship deals on the
annual pro tournament. And with sponsorship drying up, that would put an end to
local pro tournament events on the lake requiring even more travel to events
farther from home.
Some of the locals said the slower fishing might be caused
by the algae blooms that were becoming more common each year. The theory was
that with more housing development near the lake and a couple of luxury resorts
catering to out of town bass fishing weekend warriors.
Who could blame them
anyway? If you got the dough to build a mega mansion you ought to have the
right to fertilize the grass to keep it green. Run-off? The water’s got to go
somewhere right? If it’s near the lake, it’s logically going to run into the
lake. Right?
The way he saw it, the realtors and developers were making
money from his reputation anyway. It was his fishing success nationally that
was bringing in the weekenders wanting to fish where the pro’s fish anyhow.
They should be paying him a commission.
The development could be causing the algae blooms, but
little could be done about that. Patrick had another theory. It was caused by
the freakin’ invasive species - German carp - that were taking over the lake.
You could hardly spit off the boat these days without the spittle hitting one
of them.
Everybody knows carp eat bass eggs during the spawn. He’d
met one of the biologists from the university once and asked him about the carp
eating bass eggs. The biologist was not really definitive with an answer, but
he said it couldn’t be ruled out, but he didn’t really know for sure.
Who cares if they
really know for sure. Who knows anything for sure anyway? If it couldn’t be
ruled out, then that was enough for him.
But he had a fix for them freakin’ kraut fish. He had some
control over them. Damn jack wagon mother… Errgh! He was getting all worked up
just thinking about it. Time to get to work.
The boat had drifted 10 feet from shore and sat in two feet
of water. This area was always good for some of the larger carp that seemed to
school nearby. If bass spawned here then it stood to reason carp probably did
too. But who really knew for sure? All he knew is the German carp were costing
him chances at some prize money. And what if the damn carp took over other
popular bass fishing lakes? How many more tournaments were in jeopardy?
Those carp are not
going to jeopardize my livelihood. Stupid trash fish. Stupid bottom feeders.
He took the compound bow from storage and selected an arrow.
It’s the biggest ones
I’m after. If a 5 pound bass spawns 2,000 eggs, how many eggs does a 20
freakin’ pound carp spawn? 10,000? 20,000? 50,000? With that many carp spawn,
those bass don’t stand a chance. How’d the carp get in this lake anyway?
He preferred broad heads on the arrows rather than the quick
release variety. In his experience the broad heads provided more penetration
and a cleaner kill.
Those carp have thick
skulls sometimes. But everyone knows you’ve got to shoot the carp just behind
the gills.
He steadied himself in the boat and trained his eyes on the
water below.
Where are those
mothers…? Here carpie. Ahh, there you are.
Come to daddy.
Let it fly! Got him!
In a matter of a few hours, Patrick killed more than 30 carp
– the smallest of them weighed 22 pounds – which is an average sized adult carp
in most area lakes and matching the weight of the largest largemouth bass ever
recorded caught in the state during the depression era.
A few weeks ago he mentioned to Kelly that he’d been out
shooting carp with bow and arrow. She started asking questions about what he
did with all those dead carp. He could tell she didn’t approve. She’d never
questioned the bass he caught, because the bass were caught and then released.
In the tournaments, there were penalties if the fish were not brought to the weigh
in alive. Aware that a dead largemouth bass could cost an angler a big pay day,
she did not approve of killing fish – even carp – and just throwing them on the
bank for the coons and buzzards to scavenge.
Later that day he arrived home, unhooked the trailer and
headed into the house. Dishes in the sink remained in sink, unwashed from the
prior night’s dinner meal. Laundry lay on the couch where it was placed after
removal from the dryer earlier in the morning. An empty bag of potato chips and
empty container of sour cream dip lay on the foot rest.
Why should he be
surprised? Did she ever do anything anymore?
He checked the basement workout room. He checked their
bedroom. The bathrooms. Nowhere to be found. He found her outside later on
lounging in the pool on a large floating lounger sun tanning in a pink bikini. The
blue colored lounger had cup holders on both armrests. She had a margarita in
one and a daiquiri in the other.
Did she even own a one
piece suit? Didn’t she know she’d outgrown that bikini at this point? It’s a
good thing the pool was in the backyard. The neighbors don’t want to see that.
And then it happened again, she started in with the third
degree about the carp.
Did he throw them on
the bank? Did he leave them for the coons and buzzards again? Why’d he kill
those poor little innocent fish? It’s barbaric she said. You’re a monster she
said. Why did he shoot the biggest ones first?
Didn’t she realize
those poor little innocent German carp were jeopardizing the lifestyle she’d
grown so accustomed to?
I bet it’d be a
different story if I don’t keep bringing home that prize money and endorsement
checks. That ungrateful little b….
He headed out to the garage and pulled the bow and broad
head tipped arrow out of the boat. He walked through the gate into the pool
area. Took up a position, steadied the bow, drew back the arrow, took
deliberate aim, and let it fly.
