Story Five: The Big Fish

There's a place not far from Ottawa, Kansas called Redmon Reservoir. My family and I spent many a weekend fishing and camping there. My recollection is that the crappie fishing was better than good--it was outstanding! And, it was an oddity when we left without a limit. We would drive up there from Kansas City and camp in my Dad's old cab-over camper. The fishing was good, the fellowship was better, and we would often meet other friends there. Linda and I had been married a few years and were living in Salina, KS when this event took place.

Linda and I had just arrived. It was getting toward evening and we all went down to the spillway and had our usual good luck catching large crappie. My Dad cleaned them--nobody else could do it correctly--put most of them on ice and saved a few that he cooked in the back of the camper on the stove. My Father was very good at this. In fact, his particular skill was being able to cook on this stove while Mom drove down the highway at high rates of speed!. But, in this case, we were stationary--all of us--and enjoyed a dinner of fried crappie, fried potatoes, and whatever else Dad wanted to fix. After supper, Dad decided he wanted to fish some more before dark. Technicalities like daily limits and creel limits were a bit fuzzy to my Father. Well, darkness came and we all retired to the close quarters of an eight-foot cab-over camper. Dad decided to leave a couple of poles baited in the water overnight. The legality of this technique is also questionable. And then we retired for the evening.

That night some storms rolled through and if you've never experienced a real Kansas thunder storm in a rocking cab-over camper with five people and perhaps two dogs in it, you really have led a sheltered life. The thunder rolled, the lightening flashed all around us and the wind blew. I really think the only person who slept much was my Father who I'm convinced could have slept through the Normandy Invasion. In fact, I think he may have. . .but I digress. We woke up early the next morning, had breakfast, and Dad went down to check his fishing poles that he'd left out. That is to say, he employed a technique that he'd perfected through the years. He said, "Ruth, while I'm fixing breakfast, why don't you go down and check on those poles I left out last night."

Mother took me along with her. I should say that I would be of no assistance whatever under any circumstances. I was then, and am now, perhaps the world's worst fisherman. When we got down to the spillway, there were three other men who'd been fishing all night. We asked them if they'd had any luck and they said no, mumbling something about a low pressure system moving in. Mother pulled the first pole out of the water and reeled in the line and there was nothing on it. Then she picked up the second rod and reel and said, "You know, Butch, I think I'm hung on a rock." My advice was simple and succinct: I said, "Pull harder and reel." She did and we quickly realized that we had a very large fish on the line. She sent me to get my Dad, realizing that this was no job for amateurs. I guess at this point I should tell you to that in order to land this fish, we had to pull it up over the spillway wall which was approximately 10 to 15 feet high. Here we were Mom reeling and pulling, Dad giving instructions, and me standing there with a net on the end of a rope. It really must have been a humorous side show.

Mom got the fish to the spillway wall. I dropped the net down on the rope into the water, scooped up the fish, and we dragged it up over the spillway wall. It was the largest Channel Cat I'd ever seen! Now, the three fellows who were fishing legally at the end of the spillway saw, and probably heard, all the commotion. They came to look at the fish as well. Mother was standing there with the pole in her hand, the net and the fish at her feet as the men walked up. Assuming that my Mother had come down there, made one cast, and caught this giant catfish, they began putting their equipment away and muttering. We heard one of them say to the others as they walked to their car disgustedly, "We've been fishing here all night and didn't catch a thing, and this woman comes down here in the morning, makes one cast and catches a huge catfish. Let's go home, boys." Well, nobody in our little group wanted to burst their bubble by long winded and truthful explanations, so we just waved and told them, "Better luck next time!" Fishing is a wonderful experience. Fish stories are even better! Have a good day.