I fish every day in the spring and summer. Catfishing, that’s my thing. Throw a chunk of liver or a big fat nightcrawler on a hook and sink it to the bottom. Reel that line in tight and let them run with it. I don’t like to do too much work when I’m fishing, and I like eating catfish. I don’t use a bobber except at night because I like to attach those little glow sticks to the bobber and watch the green light bounce up and down and then suddenly submerge under the water. I know that’s childish, but I love it.
On Sundays I get out there about one in the morning. I don’t work a normal shift. I work second shift, Tuesday through Saturday. Most people would hate it but I think it’s the best kept secret for a fisherman- a schedule that allows you to fish all alone, without any boats or jet skis making waves and without any other people fishing, goading you out of your favorite spot.
My favorite spot is Jasmine Creek. It’s one of many creeks that used to run into Jackson River before they built the Williamson Dam. Now it runs into the D.L. Vernon Lake. I fish right at the point where the creek widens out and flows into the lake. To get there you have to walk along a dirt trail through the woods. After a good distance the tree cover is less dense, and the sky opens up above you. You look to your right and there’s the best spot in the world to go catfishing.
There’s a small rocky outcrop overhanging the lake. It has a good narrow flat surface for you to set up gear. The water is about two feet under you. The lake at this point is about fifty yards across and there’s a narrow strip of land on the other side cutting through the water and creating a divide with a slower moving stream on the front side and a rapidly moving stream on the farther side. I like to cast my line in front where the two streams reconnect. I seem to have a lot of luck there. I know the bottom there is flat and there’s no chance of getting your line hung up. I know this because I scout this area in the winter when the water is low. That’s the most opportune time to see the best possible fishing spots.
There is one particular spot that is rather odd and felt out of place. This past winter I saw it. It’s new and I guess someone built it not long before I found it. It looked like a giant submerged eagle’s nest, except it was made with cedar trees. It was large in circumference, and at one end of the nest was a natural housing built over the top of it. People are always coming up with new ways to lure fish in, but I thought this was a little overkill. Maybe it was for catching Crappie. I don’t know what it was for, but I knew it wasn’t for me. I hate getting my line caught up and busted, having to tie on another hook. I wait all day for a fish to bite but I don’t have the patience for hung up and broken lines. That area was dubbed a no-go, as I like to call those spots where I don’t want to cast my bait.
At the beginning of this spring, I had my first fishing trip of the season. I decided I would start this season on a Sunday for good luck, so about around twelve a.m. I loaded my fishing gear in the truck and headed out. I usually bring two electric lanterns and a flashlight. That’s enough to see with. Don’t want to go overboard or anything. I’ll also bring a starter log and some kindling to build a fire. Those mosquitoes will eat you up. I don’t use any bug spray because the smell makes me sick. For my bait, I bring chicken liver and worms but also something different to experiment with. On this night I brought some old rotten hot dogs. They had a nice stank to draw in all the little bottom feeders.
I parked my truck in some little gravel parking lot barely room enough to fit three cars. I always wondered who built this thing. I figured some redneck folks got tired of parking on the side of the road and just hauled some gravel up here and made their own little parking lot. Oh well, no one’s complaining. As I got out of my truck, I heard a loud shriek. It sounded like a dog but not like a dog. I was a little confused by it, but also frightened somewhat. It didn’t sound like anything I had ever heard, so I waited a few minutes.
The little gravel parking lot is across the road from the forested trail. There were no lamp posts or anything but there was some light from one of the streetlights down the road casting an orange hue across the entrance of the trail. There were thick trees on each side of the trail, and they grew and entangled across the top. It created a thick canopy that blocked out all light. To me the entrance to the forest looked like a wide-open mouth ready to swallow me whole. I always hate entering the trail at first. It is a very narrow dirt trail, and you practically walk through the trees with the branches sometimes slapping you in the face. In the early mornings, the spiders build their webs across the trail, and you can’t help but to walk through them. Feels like they are crawling all through your hair. That first foray into the woods though isn’t about spiders or trees; it’s me feeling like someone is going to grab me and drag me off into the woods. Yet, I love this spot, its good fishing.
I pushed the button on my lanterns and crossed the street. I took a deep breath and lunged forward. I walked about ten feet and then felt a little better. I could still turn back. I wasn’t in too deep. It took about five minutes of walking to get to my fishing spot. I stopped for a couple more minutes to make sure I didn’t hear the sound. I started walking again and the ease that I had begun to disappear, but this is always what happens. I get to the middle of the trail, and I start thinking about that anonymous person grabbing me again. Now it’s about getting to the fishing spot as soon as I can. I don’t know why I should feel any safer there. At that point I’m in too deep to escape, but how do you explain fear. It’s irrational. I pick up my pace and don’t look forward. I look only about a foot or so away and always at the ground. I’m almost to the spot when I hear that shriek again, but this time it’s far closer than it was. It sounds like its coming from my fishing spot.
I wonder if I should turn out my lantern or not, but that’s the last thing I wanted to do. I just stop and crouch down low. I put the lantern on the ground between my legs. I put my hands around it at first and then finally decide to turn it off. My eyes took a little time to adjust but there was a little bit of moonlight. I looked through the trees to where the trail bent around to my fishing spot. I heard some rustling on the ground as if someone was shuffling their feet, and then I heard a rock drop into the water. I could hear some shallow breathing and then I saw some movement. A silhouette of a short stocky person was behind the trees moving slowly towards the water. I held my breath. At that point every sound I made seemed to be amplified. I told myself to stop breathing so loud. Then there was a quick movement and a loud splash. There was thrashing in the water, and I thought I heard a muffled voice of a man groaning or saying something. I really didn’t know but I felt like the groaning wasn’t coming from the person that jumped in the water but from someone else, from a victim, from someone who knew I was there and was calling, however weak and lame, out for help. But I couldn’t. No that would put me in danger. Now was my chance. I hid my gear in the tall grass beside the trail. The only thing I was taking was one lantern. I counted to three in my head and ran as fast as I could.
I ran fast but I swear that trail got longer. It grew or something because it took me forever to get out from under the trees and near the street. That orange streetlight was like a beam from Heaven. I didn’t stop to see if any cars were coming. I just crossed the street, got in my truck, and drove away.
Next Sunday I was really itching to go fishing and a part of me was curious as to what I would find if I went back. I decided I needed to go anyway to get my gear I left behind, but I wasn’t going to venture out during the night. I would go during the day, early morning, when it was safe.
There was no need to hesitate at the beginning of the trail because the forest was a different creature during the day. It was inviting and benevolent. I got to where my fishing gear should be, but it was gone. Oh well I thought, thieves.
I walked on to my fishing spot, and nothing seemed out of place. It was normal and peaceful, and I was glad. I wanted to do some fishing. I only had my one backup fishing pole but that was alright. That’s all I needed. I baited my hook with a worm and cast out to the front of the converging springs. I propped up my pole with several rocks and reeled in some line. It was nice and tight, and I would notice any little movement. I stopped and took it all in. Nature is active in the morning. I saw a snake gliding across the water. A Blue Heron flew across the lake and landed on a limb sticking out of the water. I was falling into a sort of ecstasy with the sound of the creek running into the lake. I felt a relaxing numbness to it all, but my serenity didn’t last. Sitting on the little strip of earth across the lake was all my gear neatly laid out and stacked in an orderly arrangement.
I was ready to run again but all of the sudden the tip of my rod bent far down and shook violently. Instinctively I grabbed the rod and jerked upward. It was hooked. Whatever it was it wasn’t getting away. I started reeling and it fought. The line traveled about ten yards from one side of me to the next. I slowed down my pace and reeled when it let me, taking out the slack and reeling a little more beyond that to get it closer to the bank. I was excited about my first catch of the season when the thought hit me that I may be reeling in a monster, and not the good kind. I thought about throwing the pole in the water at that point, but the fisherman in me wouldn’t compromise, so I kept reeling. As I got it closer to the shore, I could see it was just a catfish. I was relieved and overjoyed. This thing was huge. I reached down to grab it by the gills. Deep underwater I thought I saw something swim past. I only caught a glimpse, but it looked like it had legs. I shook my head and got back to the task at hand. I hauled that beautiful beast out. It had to have been the biggest fish I had ever caught. I put him on a stinger and went back to fishing. I was hooked.
After that nothing else was biting. I sat there for about two hours. I was frustrated. My spot had let me down on the whole. Sure, it gave one big fish, but I wanted more big fish. That’s the debate at work: would you rather have one record-breaking fish or a whole lot of medium to little size fish hitting all day? Me, I’m greedy. I want a lot of big fish biting all day long. I started reeling in my line, about to call it a day when a noticed a ruckus over in the no-go spot. It seemed like a swarm of mosquitoes and gnats were hovering over that one spot. Under the water you could see all kinds of fish gathering around. Some were jumping out of the water, and some were circling below. I thought it would be a risk but when nature gives you a sign you don’t ignore it.
I cast my line into the mayhem and immediately hooked another catfish, not as big as the first one, but big enough to be heavy on my line. I hauled it in and put it on a stringer with the other one. Should I try again I said to myself. Sure. I cast out again and bam I hooked another one. I kept fishing that spot and by late afternoon I had caught twenty catfish. My stringer was full. I had to throw a good deal of them back in the water. I was ready to go. It was getting late, and I needed to get home and get some sleep. One more though. One more cast. I cast out my line and let it sink. I pulled in the slack and waited. Nothing this time. I waited about thirty more minutes and still nothing. That was it. I had gotten all I was going to get that day and I was well satisfied. I started to reel in my line, but it was stuck. The thing I hate the most had happened. It was hung up on that monstrosity of a nest on the bottom of the lake. I don’t know why I just didn’t break the line and move on. There was no need in it but I’m stubborn like that. Inanimate objects anger me when they don’t cooperate. I pulled from my hips straight back, making sure I didn’t bend the rod or break the line. Finally, the line gave and sling back over my head with such force that it made a whipping sound through the air and landed back behind me in the grass and a little into the forest.
I started reeling as I was walking to the forest to retrieve all of my line. It was stuck even there, so I had to keep walking and reeling. I was a little irritated but hey it was a good day. Why should I let this bother me? When I got to the end of the line, I grabbed the top of the hook and picked it up. Something was on the hook. It looked organic, like something from an animal. I moved it closer to my face. The hook began to spin, and I realized that at the end of my hook was a human eye. I surmised it was human because it had a green iris that I have only ever noticed on a human being.
The previous Sunday came rushing to the forefront of my mental world. I was playing with danger. I was drinking poisonous liquid, washing my hands with corrosive chemicals. Why did I come back? Why can’t I leave well enough alone, but then I had a thought. I wonder if it would make good bait. I couldn’t help myself. I cast the line in and caught my last fish of the day.
The fishing got bad really quick. The next few weeks nothing happened at either spot. I cast and waited. Nothing. I should’ve move to another spot, but I just couldn’t do it. Maybe this spot had one more good day left in it. Maybe I was too sentimental. A fishing spot is more than just a place to catch fish. It verifies that you made a correct choice, an awesome overwhelmingly spectacularly good choice that no one else knew about. When a spot dried up you feel as if you lost something of yourself.
I got to thinking about what I was doing wrong. I had been fishing in the mornings. It was time to go back at night. That’s when the fish were biting now. Another Sunday came around and I made my plans. This time I went and bought a gun. I practiced throughout the week. I was decent. I had never owned a gun before. I put it in my holster and packed up the new gear I had bought along with the gun. The mouth of the forest was still scary, but my resolve was stronger than ever. I barreled through the portal of Hell and made my way quickly down the trail. I almost got to my spot when I heard that shriek again. I stopped and turned off my lantern. This time there was no mistake- someone was fighting for his life. He yelled for help but to no avail. Whatever had him was far stronger and I could hear the man being pulled under the water and then I would hear a ripping of clothes. This struggle lasted for a while and then it stopped. The thrashing ceased. The screaming was silenced. The waters were calm. All I could hear was a lonely bullfrog in the distance.
I crawled out slowly, wanting to be low to the ground and not visible. I got to the edge of the outcropping and looked across the lake to where my old gear had once been. I could see something was there on the land. I took my flashlight from my backpack and shined it in that direction. Laying out on that isolated little island was a man with his back towards me. His long brown hair was wet, and blood was dripping from some wound in the back of his neck and into the water. His fishing waders were torn to shreds as well as what little was left of his shirt. Out of the water I saw a hand emerge and then the rest of the arm up to the elbow. It looked human except for what seemed like to me a few porcupine quills. The hand grabbed one of the suspenders and started to drag the man below. I quickly turned off my flashlight. I heard a faint moan. The man was still alive.
I turned the flashlight back on and watched the water trail after its diabolical swimmer from the strip of land to the no-go spot. The water bubbled for a little bit and then stopped. The spot had become dead again.
I laid there for a while waiting. The sun was starting to come up and an early morning chill was in the air. The dew had settled, and I was laying in wet grass. I started to think of the spiders and how they knew where to put their webs. It was masterful. They knew where the most prey would be. They knew exactly the best time as well. I then got to thinking that maybe this isn’t so secret of a fishing spot after all. Maybe most people are smart enough not to fish here. I think I am probably a stupid moth flying right into a trap. I also couldn’t believe how fast all of it happened. Did I fall asleep. How did the night move so fast into the morning? Oh well.
Finally, I heard the sound I was waiting for. The water was churning, and the mosquitoes and gnats were buzzing. I got up and walked over to the outcropping. I pulled out my can of worms and put one on a hook and cast it out into the no-go spot. I reeled in the line, got it tight, and secured it with a rock. I had found the perfect bait or at least the best chum to get the action going: humans. The rod bent forward, and I smiled. I felt confident that today I was going to haul in a whole mess of catfish.