Summer Interlude

 

The ride through the night moved along quickly as there was little traffic on my way to Indian Lake. I pulled into a nearby town to fill my truck tire inner-tube. I would strap it onto the back of my pack along with all of my other paraphernalia for the five-mile hike down to Indian Lake. It was the Monday morning after Labor Day weekend, and I passed the last few stragglers coming up the road after their weekend of wilderness camping. They looked happy and serene but also tired. The air was crisp and clear, the trees were green beyond belief, the sun was shining, and the birds were singing as I made my way down the road to the lake.

            Upon arrival I got right to work collecting the stones for my fireplace setting up my tent and searching for and collecting firewood for the days ahead. I even sorted out my tools and utensils and then took a rest. It was now time to enjoy this place of quiet beauty nestled at the bosom of Mother Nature.

            With water sealed matches and cigars in my pocket and a six- pack of beer tied with rope around the tube and hanging down into the depths by the plastic rings of the six pack I launched my inner tube from the rocky beach near my campsite. I was now the unofficial steward of the lake but without any hope of help in the event of an injury. There is something to be said for not having an agenda or a goal and simply existing in time and space floating endlessly with a cool breeze keeping the warm sun in check from being overpowering. Here and there I could see bubbles emanating from the depths below. A large turtle was basking itself on a flat rock in the lake undisturbed and unimpressed as I passed the sun-worshiper. At a turn in the lake’s contour, I now picked up a new breeze and I was shot off in another direction. Little fish had discovered a nondescript log passing into their view and they proceeded to nibble on my toes, which tickled. This gave me the idea to fish for one of their larger cousins and I pulled out a fishing line with a float and a lure and tossed it away into the deep water.

            Lake fish in these parts had little experience with the implements of fishermen and I quickly felt the unmistakable tug of a large fish on my line. Almost immediately we took off on a Nantucket Sleigh Ride as the old whalers used to call it, after impaling a Sperm Whale. My light inner tube was almost frictionless and flew through the water under the power of the escaping leviathan. At one point the forward motion stopped, and the big fish broke the surface clearing the water. His translucent scales of pink, green and blue reflected the sunlight as he tried to see what he had been snagged on. Now the monster crashed back into the water and headed towards me at a high rate of speed building a wall of water before him and stopped by my feet.

“Who are you and what do you think you are doing in my lake without my permission?” blasted the fish in his fury.

“I am camping and trying to catch something to eat for dinner!” I said indignantly.

“Well, isn't that a nice idea in fact I could use a bite myself, in fact I may just snip off each of your toes for a nice luncheon appetizer,” said the fish.

“I have a better idea “I said realizing my vulnerability.

“If you bite off my toes you will still die eventually from that rusty hook in your lip”. I could see that the monster was contemplating my logic.

“Instead, if you allow me, I will tie a rope to your tail and carefully remove the hook from your lip and sterilize the area in question. After you give me a ride around the lake and return me to my rocky beach around the bend, I will release you”. At this point I must reiterate to the reader that this is not a tail of a tale but the absolute truth!

“Why would you release me?” inquired the monster.

“Well truthfully I don't think that a fish of your age and girth would taste very well, no insult intended”, I reiterated.

“None taken “said the leviathan after some thought. I will agree to this contract, but I will drag you over the rapids and into the lower lake to die on the rocks if you do not honor this agreement”, said the fish.

“Well then I believe that we have a gentleman's agreement”, said I.

“Yes, I believe we do even though I fear that we are one gentleman short”, said the bloated chordate.” Just remember that my wrath will be swift and deadly if you do not honor our bargain!”, said he.

            As the wind blew softly through the trees that lined the bank, and small blue birds discussed an apparently very important topic, the sun beamed down as the inner tube bobbed up and down like a cork dancing in a bottle and the fish came right up to the circular raft blocking the sun and exposing his lip with the embedded hook for removal. I reached up to the swollen lip and carefully backed out the hook from where it had lodged and then sterilize the wound, all the while being stared down intently by the fish, not trusting that our parley would be respected. Finally, the hook was out, the monster sighed with relief, grateful for the end of its torment. The fish did not attack and allowed me to tie the corded rope around his tail even assisting me by situating himself to make it easier to accomplish. Now we were off on our excursion complete with a narrative as the fish retold stories of past events in each location, even showing me the rapids that would have led me to the lower lake and my demise. After circumnavigating the upper lake, I was brought to the pebbled beach near my campsite, and we parted friends during which I even received permission to return to the lake understandably without any fishing implements. Before departing the monster pointed out where I might harvest large juicy crayfish with which to make an excellent dinner of these smooth lobster-like crustaceans. He was not a fan of crayfish and apparently considered them expendable.

Jim- July 24’