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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Fairy Tales & Fantasy
- Subject: Comedy / Humor
- Published: 06/17/2022
A FISHERMAN'S SECRET
Born 1943, M, from San Jose, United StatesA FISHERMAN’S SECRET.
Just because they took my fishing gear away and posted my picture in the Fish and Game office doesn’t mean my story isn’t true. And this room I’m in… ? They don’t want to believe me, because if they did, they would have to admit to the world that the same thing had happened to them or someone they know.
I realize that anybody on any given day can have the same bad luck as I did. What I don’t understand is why won’t some people admit that some fish out there are not supposed to get caught. I know it now! Of course, I found out the hard way.
My only friend here (who works in another ward) has managed to slip me some paper so I can tell the world about the big one that got away. The only things I have to write with are big crayons, so my friend is going to type this story up for me. I hope that he gets it right. Then maybe someone out there Will believe me and help set me free. When that happens, I’ll be able to go back, and this time, land the big brute that caused all of my problems.
Here’s what happened that day when a fisherman went out to play.
I decided to take my family on a camping trip one day a few years ago. (Yeah, I know, why didn’t I go by myself?) Of course everybody was happy to go. We started on our trip.
Let’s forget about the bit with the kids every ten miles or so, asking, “Are we there yet?” Let’s look on the bright side. This was the trip that I was going to teach my two girls, (actually three counting my wife), how to catch THE BIG ONE.
We headed northeast and set up camp about a hundred and eighty-five miles north of our hometown. The town closest to our campsite at the time consisted of a massive population of ten. Nowadays it’s grown beyond that. It’s up to somewhere around one hundred and fifty people. What can I tell you? It’s become a great metropolis. What’s next? Large shopping centers? Maybe even two or three auto dealerships? Who knows?
Just before you enter this thriving populace, there lay a State camping ground called Stoney Flats. For a couple of dollars a day, you live like a king. Just remember that in the old days a king’s life wasn’t all that easy. Even they had outside toilets. Not to mention that everything was cooked on open fires. Of course, most kings, I suspect, had nice warm beds to climb into. Nothing like the partially frozen ground that you attempted to pitch your tent on. Well, enough with the Royal amenities. Let’s go right to why a camping/fishing trip is great to take your family on.
REASONS: It’s cheap and it’s fun.
We’ve discussed all the comforts of camping. Now let’s talk about the one that got away. You know which one? Right!
The one that took your hook and fought for its life for a good two minutes, maybe more. As usual, the more we tell our stories, the longer the fight lasted. Just like the time I fought that German Brown. Sure, he got away, but, by the time he was free, he had to apply for Social Security. OH! You say you almost had him once yourself? Then you know which one I mean.
I had climbed down from this small cliff onto some rocks that made a great place to feed the fish. It was a point at the bend of the South fork of the American River, which ran through the campgrounds.
Under normal rain and snowfalls, this river can produce rapids that equal the Colorado River. (Well… maybe not that great.) At other times, the water is so low, you might have a trout come up and ask for a drink of water. Either case, I can tell you… you never know what the day is going to bring. You are a hero one day with a limit of trout, or it’s in the car and up to the general store for some canned stew.
As I was saying, I climbed down onto my fortress and began my battles with the monstrous bait-devouring, line snapping eight to twelve inch trout that the State sometimes so graciously plants for us. Beware ol’ wary fisherman. There are Wild trout too!
Catching German Browns anywhere from three to five pounds are not that uncommon. (To me, Yes!! To Local fishermen, no! They catch ‘em all the time.)
My luck for the day was holding up. I had three very, very, nice pan-sized rainbows in my creel. I had just cast out, hoping for a fourth when I slipped on the wet boulder I was standing on. In doing so, my line missed its mark. I had been casting up river and letting my line float back down in the rapids. I was doing OK. This time was different though. When I slipped, I threw my line further out toward the opposite bank, almost missing the rapids. The bow in my line got caught in the racing water, pulling my bait across the river faster than I wanted. I couldn’t reel in fast enough. My hook went beyond my line of sight and landed in a backwater pool. Lucky me!! I managed to bring in the slack and started to retrieve my hook when I felt a tug. My first thought was I had snagged. (Yes! I snag too!) When I released the pressure on the reel, the line shot out and headed down stream. Yahoo!! I got one. A big one!!
So? Now what? I know that I have a Loch Ness type monster out there, debating on whether to just pull me in, or come back upstream and have me for lunch. If this thing decides that I would make a great dish, how do I explain myself at the Pearly Gates? All this time, while holding my five hundred pound sea serpent at bay, (at least it felt like five hundred.) My mind races with the conversation I’m having with Saint Peter.
“I don’t think I heard that right.” Saint Peter says to me. “Did you say that you were dragged into the South fork of the American River and eaten by a twelve hundred pound trout?”
“Yes.” I answered meekly.
“YOU GO TO HELL!!” He points downward.
Okay, back to this problem of bringing in the big one. If I try to reel him back to me, against the current, I could lose him as I have others. This guy I want. Once he’s mine… all you others out there… eat your heart out.
Oops!! Sorry about that! Even level headed people like me, (yes I am level headed. I know, because all of my friends have said to me, “You’re so level-headed, that rainwater won’t run off.” (I think that’s what they said.) As I was saying, …oh yeah, about my monster two ton trout.
Knowing I couldn’t drag him back through the current, I did the next best thing. I raised him out of the water and over the large boulder I was standing on. Hold on a minute, don’t shake your head! It worked… for a minute anyway.
All this time that my monster and I are fighting for survival, my family is up on the cliff calling out their support of me. That cheering changed real fast to screams of “Oh my God!! Where did he go?”
That’s a simple question to answer. After bringing this three thousand pound beauty out of the water and over the rock, his massive three-foot tail managed to make contact with the boulder. This gave him the advantage he needed. As I watched in horror, this prize of prizes immediately began calculating his dive back to sanctuary. With pencil and paper in his fins, he estimated that with a certain amount of push from his tail, he could very easily reach a height of forty feet straight up. Once there, he would be able to dive bomb back to the rapids. He decided against that particular tactic.
Here I am trying to maintain my balance on this very, very wet boulder, and still holding my trophy to be, when suddenly something very fishy happens. He aimed right toward me. The force of this leviathan’s head banging into my chest caused my balance to no longer exist. With my one hand clutching his jaw and the other one trying desperately to hang onto the mighty tail, Mr. MONSTER and I went for a swim, but not before I did the one thing necessary. I screamed from the top of my lungs as I fell into the foaming rapids. (See Colorado River.) I guess I just wanted the world to know who almost caught the ‘Big One’. Why else would I have done something so stupid?
Okay, nod if I’m right.
You’ve heard the old story about a drowning man isn’t drowning until he goes up and down three times? SURPRISE!! Not true. I started drowning on the first dive. On my way down the second time, I called out to my wife… “Which way did he go?” On the third time down I remembered to tell her that I loved her. (You gotta cover all bases, see Pearly Gates.)
I managed to get my bearings. I now knew that I was drowning for sure. While still on my way down for the third time, I saw my wife frantically pointing up river. “Alas,” I thought, ‘she spotted the giant trout.’ No such luck. She was merely trying to show me a place to swim to. Reluctantly, I swam to a shallow bank. Actually, I believe that I ran to it. Either that, or for a minute there, I forgot that I couldn’t swim. Whatever!?
Feeling foolish, I climbed out of the swirling waters and realized that not only was I on the opposite side of the river now, but people had gathered from all over the world. Well… a few campers showed up. They heard my wife and kids yelling out. They must have thought that I was a world-class stunt man. As I pulled myself up, they all started cheering.
Of course, me being me, I bowed and waved. There was no way in hell that I was about to admit losing my battle with a three ton giant trout. Strange as it seemed at the time, my pole was right there with me. So, naturally I picked it up and began to cast one more time with no success. The crowd roared again. Only this time, they laughed too. It turned out that my pole’s line had wrapped around me. I looked around. Did they know what really happened?? Nah??
There… now you have it all. That’s what really happened that fatal day when a fisherman went out to play. Just do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone that I know, about this. Fortunately for me most of the people I know spend their time fishing and not reading. I’m not sure, but I may have left some of my close, (or formerly close) friends thinking that I really caught the scourge of the South fork of the American River.
A FISHERMAN'S SECRET(Louis M. Serra)
A FISHERMAN’S SECRET.
Just because they took my fishing gear away and posted my picture in the Fish and Game office doesn’t mean my story isn’t true. And this room I’m in… ? They don’t want to believe me, because if they did, they would have to admit to the world that the same thing had happened to them or someone they know.
I realize that anybody on any given day can have the same bad luck as I did. What I don’t understand is why won’t some people admit that some fish out there are not supposed to get caught. I know it now! Of course, I found out the hard way.
My only friend here (who works in another ward) has managed to slip me some paper so I can tell the world about the big one that got away. The only things I have to write with are big crayons, so my friend is going to type this story up for me. I hope that he gets it right. Then maybe someone out there Will believe me and help set me free. When that happens, I’ll be able to go back, and this time, land the big brute that caused all of my problems.
Here’s what happened that day when a fisherman went out to play.
I decided to take my family on a camping trip one day a few years ago. (Yeah, I know, why didn’t I go by myself?) Of course everybody was happy to go. We started on our trip.
Let’s forget about the bit with the kids every ten miles or so, asking, “Are we there yet?” Let’s look on the bright side. This was the trip that I was going to teach my two girls, (actually three counting my wife), how to catch THE BIG ONE.
We headed northeast and set up camp about a hundred and eighty-five miles north of our hometown. The town closest to our campsite at the time consisted of a massive population of ten. Nowadays it’s grown beyond that. It’s up to somewhere around one hundred and fifty people. What can I tell you? It’s become a great metropolis. What’s next? Large shopping centers? Maybe even two or three auto dealerships? Who knows?
Just before you enter this thriving populace, there lay a State camping ground called Stoney Flats. For a couple of dollars a day, you live like a king. Just remember that in the old days a king’s life wasn’t all that easy. Even they had outside toilets. Not to mention that everything was cooked on open fires. Of course, most kings, I suspect, had nice warm beds to climb into. Nothing like the partially frozen ground that you attempted to pitch your tent on. Well, enough with the Royal amenities. Let’s go right to why a camping/fishing trip is great to take your family on.
REASONS: It’s cheap and it’s fun.
We’ve discussed all the comforts of camping. Now let’s talk about the one that got away. You know which one? Right!
The one that took your hook and fought for its life for a good two minutes, maybe more. As usual, the more we tell our stories, the longer the fight lasted. Just like the time I fought that German Brown. Sure, he got away, but, by the time he was free, he had to apply for Social Security. OH! You say you almost had him once yourself? Then you know which one I mean.
I had climbed down from this small cliff onto some rocks that made a great place to feed the fish. It was a point at the bend of the South fork of the American River, which ran through the campgrounds.
Under normal rain and snowfalls, this river can produce rapids that equal the Colorado River. (Well… maybe not that great.) At other times, the water is so low, you might have a trout come up and ask for a drink of water. Either case, I can tell you… you never know what the day is going to bring. You are a hero one day with a limit of trout, or it’s in the car and up to the general store for some canned stew.
As I was saying, I climbed down onto my fortress and began my battles with the monstrous bait-devouring, line snapping eight to twelve inch trout that the State sometimes so graciously plants for us. Beware ol’ wary fisherman. There are Wild trout too!
Catching German Browns anywhere from three to five pounds are not that uncommon. (To me, Yes!! To Local fishermen, no! They catch ‘em all the time.)
My luck for the day was holding up. I had three very, very, nice pan-sized rainbows in my creel. I had just cast out, hoping for a fourth when I slipped on the wet boulder I was standing on. In doing so, my line missed its mark. I had been casting up river and letting my line float back down in the rapids. I was doing OK. This time was different though. When I slipped, I threw my line further out toward the opposite bank, almost missing the rapids. The bow in my line got caught in the racing water, pulling my bait across the river faster than I wanted. I couldn’t reel in fast enough. My hook went beyond my line of sight and landed in a backwater pool. Lucky me!! I managed to bring in the slack and started to retrieve my hook when I felt a tug. My first thought was I had snagged. (Yes! I snag too!) When I released the pressure on the reel, the line shot out and headed down stream. Yahoo!! I got one. A big one!!
So? Now what? I know that I have a Loch Ness type monster out there, debating on whether to just pull me in, or come back upstream and have me for lunch. If this thing decides that I would make a great dish, how do I explain myself at the Pearly Gates? All this time, while holding my five hundred pound sea serpent at bay, (at least it felt like five hundred.) My mind races with the conversation I’m having with Saint Peter.
“I don’t think I heard that right.” Saint Peter says to me. “Did you say that you were dragged into the South fork of the American River and eaten by a twelve hundred pound trout?”
“Yes.” I answered meekly.
“YOU GO TO HELL!!” He points downward.
Okay, back to this problem of bringing in the big one. If I try to reel him back to me, against the current, I could lose him as I have others. This guy I want. Once he’s mine… all you others out there… eat your heart out.
Oops!! Sorry about that! Even level headed people like me, (yes I am level headed. I know, because all of my friends have said to me, “You’re so level-headed, that rainwater won’t run off.” (I think that’s what they said.) As I was saying, …oh yeah, about my monster two ton trout.
Knowing I couldn’t drag him back through the current, I did the next best thing. I raised him out of the water and over the large boulder I was standing on. Hold on a minute, don’t shake your head! It worked… for a minute anyway.
All this time that my monster and I are fighting for survival, my family is up on the cliff calling out their support of me. That cheering changed real fast to screams of “Oh my God!! Where did he go?”
That’s a simple question to answer. After bringing this three thousand pound beauty out of the water and over the rock, his massive three-foot tail managed to make contact with the boulder. This gave him the advantage he needed. As I watched in horror, this prize of prizes immediately began calculating his dive back to sanctuary. With pencil and paper in his fins, he estimated that with a certain amount of push from his tail, he could very easily reach a height of forty feet straight up. Once there, he would be able to dive bomb back to the rapids. He decided against that particular tactic.
Here I am trying to maintain my balance on this very, very wet boulder, and still holding my trophy to be, when suddenly something very fishy happens. He aimed right toward me. The force of this leviathan’s head banging into my chest caused my balance to no longer exist. With my one hand clutching his jaw and the other one trying desperately to hang onto the mighty tail, Mr. MONSTER and I went for a swim, but not before I did the one thing necessary. I screamed from the top of my lungs as I fell into the foaming rapids. (See Colorado River.) I guess I just wanted the world to know who almost caught the ‘Big One’. Why else would I have done something so stupid?
Okay, nod if I’m right.
You’ve heard the old story about a drowning man isn’t drowning until he goes up and down three times? SURPRISE!! Not true. I started drowning on the first dive. On my way down the second time, I called out to my wife… “Which way did he go?” On the third time down I remembered to tell her that I loved her. (You gotta cover all bases, see Pearly Gates.)
I managed to get my bearings. I now knew that I was drowning for sure. While still on my way down for the third time, I saw my wife frantically pointing up river. “Alas,” I thought, ‘she spotted the giant trout.’ No such luck. She was merely trying to show me a place to swim to. Reluctantly, I swam to a shallow bank. Actually, I believe that I ran to it. Either that, or for a minute there, I forgot that I couldn’t swim. Whatever!?
Feeling foolish, I climbed out of the swirling waters and realized that not only was I on the opposite side of the river now, but people had gathered from all over the world. Well… a few campers showed up. They heard my wife and kids yelling out. They must have thought that I was a world-class stunt man. As I pulled myself up, they all started cheering.
Of course, me being me, I bowed and waved. There was no way in hell that I was about to admit losing my battle with a three ton giant trout. Strange as it seemed at the time, my pole was right there with me. So, naturally I picked it up and began to cast one more time with no success. The crowd roared again. Only this time, they laughed too. It turned out that my pole’s line had wrapped around me. I looked around. Did they know what really happened?? Nah??
There… now you have it all. That’s what really happened that fatal day when a fisherman went out to play. Just do me a favor. Don’t tell anyone that I know, about this. Fortunately for me most of the people I know spend their time fishing and not reading. I’m not sure, but I may have left some of my close, (or formerly close) friends thinking that I really caught the scourge of the South fork of the American River.
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Gerald R Gioglio
06/25/2022Louis, love the wry humor. How were the minnows? Cool adventure. Thanks, Jerry
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Lillian Kazmierczak
06/25/2022OMG that was so funny! I love to fish and I felt your pain in trying to keep him! Great writing and terrific subject matter. Congratulations on short story star of the day!
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COMMENTS (7)