Teach a Czech to fish...
What an interesting night this has become. It all started when my friend and I decided to go fishing around midnight. He met me at my house first and I told him he should wear a spiffy fisherman's hat like my new one, but he was quite proud of his bald head. Meh. After some discussion, we both agreed to try our luck on the river first, not far from the suspension bridge. Nothing was biting, though--unless you count the bounty of underwater debris we were so lucky to find. I moved down upstream a bit, only to be greeted by the incoherent shouting of one crazy bastard. Fish don't like crazy people, especially ones that are very loud. It's science.
Annoyed but not willing to call it a night, I suggested that we go walk around the suspension bridge. He agreed, and we walked over to the well lit bridge. I haven't been over there in since I was a child, but it's still as nice as I recalled. Peace and quiet--but not for long. My silent reflection on the week was interrupted by a man walking two bicycles, approaching my back quietly. My friend and I both turned around, and the stranger asked for money for the flat tires on his bikes. I glanced down for a moment, and not one of the tires looked even remotely flat. I callously responded that I didn't have any cash on me--one of the few times my wallet was empty--and the man left quietly He didn't get far, though; a patrol car must have thought it was odd to be walking two bikes as well. As we walked off, he tried to hide one of the bikes and I smirked to myself and the officer got out of his vehicle and approached the man. It's always nice to see one cop NOT at Krispy Kreme.
As we were driving away, I remembered a recent article I found online about Waco's parks. Apparently, there is a pond that is stocked with catfish in the summer and rainbow trout in the winter, but I couldn't remember the street it was on. I went home and looked it up online, printing up directions. Rotten luck, I tell you...the park was closed off until 6 a.m. However, it was already 2:30 by now, not much longer to wait at all. To kill the time, my pal felt it would be best to regroup at his house and watch a movie. I agreed.
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The drive to his house would be short, I figured. He's only a few miles out of town...just moonlit drive down an old highway. Shouldn't be bad at all--hell, it will give me some time to collect my thoughts. Wrong. A sudden right turn down a dark gravel road shook me from my contemplation.
"Where the hell are we going?" I asked.
"Never been down this road," he replied, "though I've always wanted to see what it held."
"I have a bad feeling about this place."
"You always have a bad feeling, Tom. Besides, this should gradually bend back to the highway."
We traveled for what seemed like an eternity down a winding, gravel road, dense foliage looming over our path, its branches stretching as if to prevent further entry. I hoped the occasional clearing would prove to be reassuring. Boy, was I wrong--old, broken down homes with no sign of life...overgrown driveways...rotting fences...hell, even what appeared to be an abandoned church. Bad memories. I shivered at the thought.
"Damn," my friend and driver muttered under his breath as his eyes glanced downward. I leaned back into the jeep to see what would break is unusually stoic mood. The gas gauge was on empty, and we were nowhere near the highway at this point. I advised we backtrack and get the hell out of here, but he insisted the intersection couldn't be far ahead. I bit my lip as we passed what seemed to be a junkyard for 18-wheelers. We both exchanged uneasy glances and continued on.
Two miles down the road we hit an intersection. Looking at the signs, we both realized that we were definitely lost. Pissed off at the stupidity of his impulse, I calmly spoke, "Turn back now, or we're fucked." He obliged.
We were almost out of this fiasco when we fell into an argument over where to turn. I told him to bear right; he went straight ahead. We ended up lost again. We backtracked again, but he listened this time. Finally, we reached the highway and found the nearest gas station to refuel.
Eventually, we made it back to his house. He popped in a box set for C.S.I. to kill the remaining two hours. I felt tired, so I went to lie down in the guest bedroom. I tried to sleep, but my thoughts kept returning to to what my heart feels--empty. Love was an important aspect to my life, and shutting myself away from leaves me incomplete. I didn't want to dwell on this at all, especially not now. I cleared my mind and emotions, hearing only the beating of my heart and noise of the television. Around five, I felt the myself drifting to sleep.
My vision is blurred, yet I can make out the figure of a woman. Her hair is long and black, cascading down to the middle of her back. Though I cannot see her face, I know she is smiling. I wrap my arms around her waist. Everything feels right. I feel warmth radiating from her as she gently reaches for my face...
The image is engulfed by a flood of bright yellow light. I wake up startled, springing to a seated position. A pillow slams into my face.
"Wake up, superstar. It's time to fish."
I groan as he exits the room. It's irritating to wake up to bright lights, but it's even worse to be greeted with aggression. My eyes narrow as I look at the clock. I've only slept for half an hour.
"You'll get yours, asswipe," I mutter as I reach for my shoes and hat.
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We arrive at the park and make our way down to the pond. The morning air is cool with a slight breeze and the grass is bejeweled with tiny beads of dew. A large fountain sprays from the center of the pond. There are a few large oaks and pines, their roots trailing right into to water as a few ducks swim by. My eyes follow the banks all the way around, making note of a tiny bridge and a handful of benches along the path. We prepare our fishing rods and stake out our own places; I sit next to the trees while he heads to the far side of the pond for a better chance at casting. Time passes while I test several kinds of bait, eventually trying some meat. I watch as my companion casts over and over again in several places. Patience, my friend. You have all the time in the world.
I notice several large ripples about ten yards out ahead and to my left, not far from a ring of algae. Perfect spot. I cast my line and wait patiently. A few moments pass and I watch the ripples become more frequent. For a moment I turn and see my friend heading back this way, probably to try another bait, possibly another lure. I shake my head and return to watching my bob just as it starts to dance around. I slowly turn the reel, taking the remaining slack out of the line. A few seconds pass and my line moves again. This time, I yank the rod back and reel in as fast as I can. I hear the rod begin to crack a little, right around the cork handle. "Damn, this has to be a catfish to do this to such a thin rod as this," I say to myself. Seeing me stand up and reeling faster with a laugh, my friend comes over just as I pull in a catfish. He looks to be maybe three pounds, but he sure as hell put up a fight.
For those of you who don't know, I am not a fan of seafood, not to mention this one wasn't really big enough for a meal. Catch and release, they say; that is certainly me. My friend grabs the pliers while I steady the line. Once the hook is removed, we release the fish back into the pond and we both return to our spots. I cast more to the left this time and sit down, but not for long. Within minutes I have another one going for the bait. Moments later, I'm reeling in another catfish, slightly larger than the last one. However, this release doesn't go as well. in the midst of holding this one down he wriggles out of my grasp and somehow sticks a sharp fin right into my thumb. I swear for a second and laugh, thinking my reflexes aren't that great these days. We get the little bastard back into the water and I wipe the blood off.
Apparently, my friend is keeping score, and his impatience isn't improving his odds. As he returns to the tacklebox once again, We start talking again.
"I think I'm gonna try from the bridge," he says as he gestures to my left.
"Not bad, but I feel you should try from where I am." I reply with a gesture to my right side.
"No," he retorts with a hint of aggression. "I'm going to my own place."
"Fine, don't take my company."
He groans and walks toward the bridge. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for what his behavior, or perhaps he just realized the fish were biting where I was; who knows. Either way, he settled for a stump between myself and the bridge. I considered the place earlier as I surveyed the area, but I just didn't want it.
Now I know why.
I turned to look at him while he made some comment about the pond, a comment he never finished. We both looked down in horror at the swarm around his feet. My jaw dropped as they began to sting him; he jumped around screaming "SHIT! SHIT! FUCK! FUCK!," then began running and spinning in circles. That didn't last long...he spiraled and slammed into the ground, shouting "JESUS H. MONKEYBALLS!" I was frozen in place until he fell down. I helped him up as he continued swearing--that was when I noticed several stuck to the back of his shirt.
"Damn, you have more on your back," I said as I took off my hat and began to aim carefully.
I paused for a moment, waiting for a clean hit. Apparently, it was too long for him.
"DAMMIT, GET THEM OFF ME! CHRIST, YOU'RE NOT HARTIGAN...STOP TAKING YOUR FUCKING TIME!"
I knocked them off, asking if he had any allergic reactions to bee stings. He said no and calmed down.
I started laughing. I tried my best not to, but damn it was funny...it was like watching a three-legged dog on acid frantically chasing its own tail. He looked a little pissed off at first, but he started laughing as well. Needless to say, he didn't fish in that spot again.
Everything balanced out, though. We both got to see a beautiful sunrise, though that was it for catching anything else. Oh well, it was fine with me--there's something peaceful about fishing, even when you don't catch anything.
As my eyelids grow heavier, I am left with a new lesson:
Fortune favors the bold, but definitely not the bald.
Annoyed but not willing to call it a night, I suggested that we go walk around the suspension bridge. He agreed, and we walked over to the well lit bridge. I haven't been over there in since I was a child, but it's still as nice as I recalled. Peace and quiet--but not for long. My silent reflection on the week was interrupted by a man walking two bicycles, approaching my back quietly. My friend and I both turned around, and the stranger asked for money for the flat tires on his bikes. I glanced down for a moment, and not one of the tires looked even remotely flat. I callously responded that I didn't have any cash on me--one of the few times my wallet was empty--and the man left quietly He didn't get far, though; a patrol car must have thought it was odd to be walking two bikes as well. As we walked off, he tried to hide one of the bikes and I smirked to myself and the officer got out of his vehicle and approached the man. It's always nice to see one cop NOT at Krispy Kreme.
As we were driving away, I remembered a recent article I found online about Waco's parks. Apparently, there is a pond that is stocked with catfish in the summer and rainbow trout in the winter, but I couldn't remember the street it was on. I went home and looked it up online, printing up directions. Rotten luck, I tell you...the park was closed off until 6 a.m. However, it was already 2:30 by now, not much longer to wait at all. To kill the time, my pal felt it would be best to regroup at his house and watch a movie. I agreed.
*******************************************************************************
The drive to his house would be short, I figured. He's only a few miles out of town...just moonlit drive down an old highway. Shouldn't be bad at all--hell, it will give me some time to collect my thoughts. Wrong. A sudden right turn down a dark gravel road shook me from my contemplation.
"Where the hell are we going?" I asked.
"Never been down this road," he replied, "though I've always wanted to see what it held."
"I have a bad feeling about this place."
"You always have a bad feeling, Tom. Besides, this should gradually bend back to the highway."
We traveled for what seemed like an eternity down a winding, gravel road, dense foliage looming over our path, its branches stretching as if to prevent further entry. I hoped the occasional clearing would prove to be reassuring. Boy, was I wrong--old, broken down homes with no sign of life...overgrown driveways...rotting fences...hell, even what appeared to be an abandoned church. Bad memories. I shivered at the thought.
"Damn," my friend and driver muttered under his breath as his eyes glanced downward. I leaned back into the jeep to see what would break is unusually stoic mood. The gas gauge was on empty, and we were nowhere near the highway at this point. I advised we backtrack and get the hell out of here, but he insisted the intersection couldn't be far ahead. I bit my lip as we passed what seemed to be a junkyard for 18-wheelers. We both exchanged uneasy glances and continued on.
Two miles down the road we hit an intersection. Looking at the signs, we both realized that we were definitely lost. Pissed off at the stupidity of his impulse, I calmly spoke, "Turn back now, or we're fucked." He obliged.
We were almost out of this fiasco when we fell into an argument over where to turn. I told him to bear right; he went straight ahead. We ended up lost again. We backtracked again, but he listened this time. Finally, we reached the highway and found the nearest gas station to refuel.
Eventually, we made it back to his house. He popped in a box set for C.S.I. to kill the remaining two hours. I felt tired, so I went to lie down in the guest bedroom. I tried to sleep, but my thoughts kept returning to to what my heart feels--empty. Love was an important aspect to my life, and shutting myself away from leaves me incomplete. I didn't want to dwell on this at all, especially not now. I cleared my mind and emotions, hearing only the beating of my heart and noise of the television. Around five, I felt the myself drifting to sleep.
My vision is blurred, yet I can make out the figure of a woman. Her hair is long and black, cascading down to the middle of her back. Though I cannot see her face, I know she is smiling. I wrap my arms around her waist. Everything feels right. I feel warmth radiating from her as she gently reaches for my face...
The image is engulfed by a flood of bright yellow light. I wake up startled, springing to a seated position. A pillow slams into my face.
"Wake up, superstar. It's time to fish."
I groan as he exits the room. It's irritating to wake up to bright lights, but it's even worse to be greeted with aggression. My eyes narrow as I look at the clock. I've only slept for half an hour.
"You'll get yours, asswipe," I mutter as I reach for my shoes and hat.
*******************************************************************************
We arrive at the park and make our way down to the pond. The morning air is cool with a slight breeze and the grass is bejeweled with tiny beads of dew. A large fountain sprays from the center of the pond. There are a few large oaks and pines, their roots trailing right into to water as a few ducks swim by. My eyes follow the banks all the way around, making note of a tiny bridge and a handful of benches along the path. We prepare our fishing rods and stake out our own places; I sit next to the trees while he heads to the far side of the pond for a better chance at casting. Time passes while I test several kinds of bait, eventually trying some meat. I watch as my companion casts over and over again in several places. Patience, my friend. You have all the time in the world.
I notice several large ripples about ten yards out ahead and to my left, not far from a ring of algae. Perfect spot. I cast my line and wait patiently. A few moments pass and I watch the ripples become more frequent. For a moment I turn and see my friend heading back this way, probably to try another bait, possibly another lure. I shake my head and return to watching my bob just as it starts to dance around. I slowly turn the reel, taking the remaining slack out of the line. A few seconds pass and my line moves again. This time, I yank the rod back and reel in as fast as I can. I hear the rod begin to crack a little, right around the cork handle. "Damn, this has to be a catfish to do this to such a thin rod as this," I say to myself. Seeing me stand up and reeling faster with a laugh, my friend comes over just as I pull in a catfish. He looks to be maybe three pounds, but he sure as hell put up a fight.
For those of you who don't know, I am not a fan of seafood, not to mention this one wasn't really big enough for a meal. Catch and release, they say; that is certainly me. My friend grabs the pliers while I steady the line. Once the hook is removed, we release the fish back into the pond and we both return to our spots. I cast more to the left this time and sit down, but not for long. Within minutes I have another one going for the bait. Moments later, I'm reeling in another catfish, slightly larger than the last one. However, this release doesn't go as well. in the midst of holding this one down he wriggles out of my grasp and somehow sticks a sharp fin right into my thumb. I swear for a second and laugh, thinking my reflexes aren't that great these days. We get the little bastard back into the water and I wipe the blood off.
Apparently, my friend is keeping score, and his impatience isn't improving his odds. As he returns to the tacklebox once again, We start talking again.
"I think I'm gonna try from the bridge," he says as he gestures to my left.
"Not bad, but I feel you should try from where I am." I reply with a gesture to my right side.
"No," he retorts with a hint of aggression. "I'm going to my own place."
"Fine, don't take my company."
He groans and walks toward the bridge. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for what his behavior, or perhaps he just realized the fish were biting where I was; who knows. Either way, he settled for a stump between myself and the bridge. I considered the place earlier as I surveyed the area, but I just didn't want it.
Now I know why.
I turned to look at him while he made some comment about the pond, a comment he never finished. We both looked down in horror at the swarm around his feet. My jaw dropped as they began to sting him; he jumped around screaming "SHIT! SHIT! FUCK! FUCK!," then began running and spinning in circles. That didn't last long...he spiraled and slammed into the ground, shouting "JESUS H. MONKEYBALLS!" I was frozen in place until he fell down. I helped him up as he continued swearing--that was when I noticed several stuck to the back of his shirt.
"Damn, you have more on your back," I said as I took off my hat and began to aim carefully.
I paused for a moment, waiting for a clean hit. Apparently, it was too long for him.
"DAMMIT, GET THEM OFF ME! CHRIST, YOU'RE NOT HARTIGAN...STOP TAKING YOUR FUCKING TIME!"
I knocked them off, asking if he had any allergic reactions to bee stings. He said no and calmed down.
I started laughing. I tried my best not to, but damn it was funny...it was like watching a three-legged dog on acid frantically chasing its own tail. He looked a little pissed off at first, but he started laughing as well. Needless to say, he didn't fish in that spot again.
Everything balanced out, though. We both got to see a beautiful sunrise, though that was it for catching anything else. Oh well, it was fine with me--there's something peaceful about fishing, even when you don't catch anything.
As my eyelids grow heavier, I am left with a new lesson:
Fortune favors the bold, but definitely not the bald.