Five Pounder

Childhood Memory
Jake Morris


It was cool, not particularly cold for that time of the year but something I definitely had to wear a sweat-shirt for. Even so, my dad insisted I shoulder the blue hand-me-down that barely fit, the elastic strap strangling my mid-section. I did so without protest—there was no point arguing with him over anything, he was always right. Satisfied that I would stay warm, my father, Bob, opened the hotel door and let the flood of cold air sweep in to greet us. It was refreshing, and though it was before dawn I felt myself start to wake up.

My sister followed my dad and I from the hotel and down the metal steps to our suburban. I wondered how early it really was; the moon was still hanging bloated in the sky, casting its sickly yellow light down around us. 4 or 5 in the morning, I figured. Nevertheless I was excited, and glad to be up. We were in Wyoming on vacation, one of those sight seeing ones where you go around and look at trees the entire time. It was for this moment that I had been waiting the entire trip—it was finally time to go fishing.

It was unusual of my dad to be up this early, especially for something like fishing, and even more unusual for my sister to come along. But, it was the three of us together who piled into the brown suburban. The engine sputtered to life without complaint and we backed out of the hotel parking lot, pulling onto the main road that ran through the dungy little town.

“Dad, how long of a drive is it?” My sister, Lauren, questioned from the back seat. Her blonde hair cascaded down to the middle of her back, which was not too high above the ground, her being but six years old.

“Oh, about 20 minutes or so. You should try and go to sleep.” I wondered if my dad wanted her to go to sleep for her own well-being, seeing how it was so early, or if he just wanted to avoid any further questions from her. She asked too many questions.

The roads were clear this early in the morning, and we flew at a steady speed on the way. It didn’t seem long before we finally pulled into the little parking lot next to the public-access. We got out of the suburban and filed around back.

“Now, be careful and stay by me.” My dad handed my sister and I life jackets.

“Ahh, dad, do we really have to wear these?” I held up the red life-jacket that my dad had handed me from the trunk.

“Of course!” My dad smiled, dimples on the side of his cheeks formulating. “It’s much to cold for me to go swimming after you if you fall in.” I grimaced, and accepted defeat, slinging the red life-preserver over my blue jacket, and beginning to feel like a giant beach ball. My sister harnessed hers without complaint.

“See, Jake. That’s not so bad.” My dad wheeled me around making sure all the straps were tight enough for optimal strangulation.

“Here, hold this for a second.” Bob ran a hand through his receding black hair as he handed me the Snoopy fishing pole I had gotten last Christmas. My sister had a Pocahontas one. I took it in my two little hands and gave the reel a crank, pretending there was a big fish on the end.

“Ok Lauren,” My dad said fastening a hook to the end of her line, “If you get a bite, start reeling and pull back real hard to set the hook. To cast, you just press this button on the reel and throw your hook forward.” He demonstrated. “Got it?”

“Do we have to use worms?” A squeamish look flashed on my sister’s face as she griped about worm guts.

“Nah, I just put a jitter bug and a bobber on yours.” Dad then shut the trunk, it clicking into place as he lifted his own pole and the tackle box from the gravel ground of the parking lot. We walked slowly over to the rivers edge. The crickets obviously didn’t stop singing until daylight, and we were welcomed by their raucous calls. The loud swish of the water demonstrated how fast the black current was going.

“Alrighty, this spots as good as any.” My dad set his tackle-box on the riverbank, and cast his line and bobber into the waters. The glow in the dark bobber bounced up and down as it danced down the river. My dad let out line with his left hand as the light got smaller. Eventually he set the hook and reeled it back in.

“Spread out a bit, we don’t want to get tangled.” My sister moved upstream a few yards and I skipped the other way. I placed my creel on the sandy bank, flicked on the light to the bobber, and cast my line out into the water a few feet. With my thumb I held down the button on my reel and let the slack line be carried downstream.

“Good job Jake, that’s the way.” My dad praised my fine fisherman abilities. My little heart was pounding with excitement, though none of us had yet gotten a bite.

“The fish usually bite best right around sunrise, which isn’t for a little bit yet. See if you can snag anything before then. Lauren, make sure to keep that rod-tip up.” My sister had the tip of her pole submerged in the black waters as if she was trying to spear a fish to death. I wondered again why she had even bothered to come in the first place.

“How big are the fishies here?” My sister scrunched her face as she looked up at my dad.

“Depends, 1 or 2 pounds at most.”

“I’m going to catch a 5-pounder.” I
replied matter-of-factly. My dad smiled.

“Sure you will.” I turned back and concentrated on catching the five-pounder. My dad, however, was the first to catch a fish. It was about a foot long, ‘good-sized’, as he had proclaimed upon pulling it out of the chilly water. The fish had a rounded mouth, like the tip of a plunger. It was pale, like the moon overhead, and had a spiky fin on its back like the sunfish I often caught up at my cabin.

“Not bad for a sucker, but some of these babies can get pretty big.” He unhooked its lip and tossed it back into the water. It writhed mid-air until it hit the surface with a splash. I was determined to catch one bigger.

I was starting to get frustrated and contemplated changing bait. Maybe I could take whatever my dad was using. It was on this thought that I focused when I first heard the splash. It came from upstream, and that was where I looked. My sister had been wrenched head-first from the bank, and was flopping in the middle of the river as she was being pulled downstream. Her long, golden hair was snagged inside the reel and she struggled to pull it free as her head bobbed up and down.

It had happened so fast that my dad had no time to react before she was swept downstream of him, and she was floating quickly past me when I threw my pole down and prepared to jump.

“DON’T!” My dad yelled at me as he ran down stream. I relaxed, and decided not to jump in after her. I could hear her cough as she gasped for breath, trying to stick her head above water. I looked towards my father, terrified. He was at a dead sprint now, further down the bank than me and I started to run after him. He got past her a little ways and dove into the river. He was now being carried downstream, and struggled to swim upriver to her.

It was not onto her that my father first grabbed, but onto the pole that was tangled in her hair. He put an arm around her waist and rose her up out of the water, fighting with the pole and whatever was on the end.

“Jake! Grab her.” My dad had swum to the embankment and held Lauren up over the 2-foot drop to me. I put my arms about her pink jacket and pulled her up. She was crying fiercely, her head still being jerked by the fish on the end of the pole. I laid her onto the ground and grabbed onto the Pocahontas pole. Something on the end was pulling, and pulling hard. I dug my feet into the ground and tried to pull back on the rod, letting there be some slack between my sisters tangled hair and her head. My dad, dripping, heaved himself over the embankment, onto the ground, and ran over to my side.

“It’s ok Lauren, it’s ok.” He consoled her as she bawled furiously. My dad began to work at pulling her hair from the reel. He grabbed a big blonde handful and pulled upward. The reel sang and let out some more slack, and some more hair, each time he pulled. After about three or four jerks, and nearing the end, he put his hand onto the back of my jacket, making sure that I didn’t fall in as soon as the hair came free.

“I got it dad, its fine.” He took my word on it, and his grip loosened but he did not let go. Finally having her hair out of the way I started to fight the fish on the other end. Every little bit of slack I’d reel up would be instantly pulled back out and downstream. I reached down to tighten the drag at the bottom of the pole.

“Don’t tighten it; it’ll just snap the line. Keep your rod-tip up.” I was doing my best to do so, and the rod was bent over in nearly a complete ‘U’ shape towards the water. My sister’s crying had slowed down and my dad had put his jacket around her as I fought the fish.

Minutes later I had gained, seemingly, no more line against the monster fish. My arms were tired and sweat beading on my forehead. My dad had put a hand on the pole, bracing it and making sure I didn’t let it go flying down the river. Thankfully, it seemed that every-time I neared the end of the spool the fish would swim upstream and let me reel in a bit. I knew that if I got to the end of my line, I’d also be at the end of my luck, and the end of the fight.

Systematically I would pull back on the rod, and then let it droop down as I reeled up some slack. Eventually, after what seemed like ages, I could see the shining bobber submerged a few feet beneath the turbulent black water. My vigor renewed, I reeled faster, harder.

“Patience, Jake. Take it slow, and let out slack if the line gets too taut.” I did not heed my fathers warning, and reeled ever more voraciously as the light got nearer. Feet away, I could see the mammoth fish. Long, sleek, and silver. It was not a sucker, that was for sure. The northern pike had a long ‘V’ shaped head and I heard my dad gasp as it came within view. It was fully four feet long, at least. Taller than my sister or me. Unfortunately, its icy green eye laid upon me and it bolted away in fear. With a silver flash the line began to scream louder than ever as the pike shot like a bullet downstream. The pole curved down, and my dad grabbed onto it to keep it from being ripped out of my hands. The screaming line reached a pitch so high my ears hurt. And then, the pole snapped. The fiberglass shot from the top of the arc in a splinter, and all at once the tension was gone.

I looked down at my hands. I was bewildered. Disgust and utter disappointment flooded my face and I felt like crying. A five-pounder getting away was one thing. How could I let this, a chance of my life-time, the biggest fish I ever saw, escape when it was so close? A tear trickled down my cheek and onto my lip.

“It was beautiful, wasn’t it?” My dad smiled, rocking my sister in his lap.