A Lake Full of Bluegills

ORIGINAL POST FROM NOVEMBER 2008:

This is a story based on facts which happened some 40 years ago. It has deeper meanings, chief of which is how underestimated and stereotyped people, can rise to the occasion and create miracles of sorts.

Always remember and never forget, "Greatness is as fragile as the glass in your windowpane, as reflective as the glass in your mirror, as clear as the glass holding your drink and as historical as the glass protecting your favorite picture". 

Note: A bluegill is predominately a hand sized fish also known as a sunny in some parts. It has colorful (blue & reddish) gills and is overall a shiny brownish silver fish with an aggressive attitude. I believe the record for this fish is over five pounds, clearly bigger than hand sized.

A Lake Full of Bluegills

The moon shown full in the cool night air and the stars were out in all their twinkling beauty. The leaves were just starting to turn as a cool breeze pushed puffy clouds towards warmer destinations. A campfire burned, as did the stomachs of three men from eating too much hot venison stew.

It was a perfect night for tales of memories gone by. Three men, two of mid-age and one much older, were relishing in the delight of being far removed from their day to day routines. The old man, who sat and listened to the younger men tell tales of fishing and hunting, some so wild he knew they were more the just embellished lies, they were outright fantasy.

Other stories were actually based on truth. There was the one about the Northern Pike that rose and ate a whole loon as it sat on a calm and dark Minnesota lake. There was the one about a sailfish that jumped into an offshore boat, clearing the deck of all its hardware and even one of the crew. And of course, the twenty-six-inch Redfish caught on six-pound test from the bridge of Guanna Dam.

The old man sat patiently, listening to these tales, separating lies from truth. After an hour or so it appeared as if the younger men had run out of tales, both fact and fiction.
At that point one of the younger men spoke to the old man saying “Don’t you have a tale or two to tell?”

The old man scratched his stubbled chin, looked skyward, and with a raspy haggard voice said, “Sure I have one, but it may not live up to your standards as a great tale, however it is based on the truth.” The younger man said, “Well, go ahead on old man, let’s hear it anyway.” After a pause the old man started his story….

It was the middle of the summer in Northern Wisconsin. I was part of a group on a family vacation. There were three families sharing a multi room cabin. The men decided to get all their gear, gather everyone up, load up the boats, and go catch a mess of fish for a huge nights fish feast.

As the loading commenced it was clear there was not room for everyone. Someone had to stay behind. One of the men, whose name was George said, “Hey this is a serious trip, we need the best fishermen on this trip, I think Little Johnny should stay behind since his fishing skills are limited.” This was a cruel thing to say and Johnny took it hard while the others just shook their heads. But George was right, there was no room for a six year old boy who couldn’t cast more than twenty feet, when serious bass and perch fishing was about to commence.

So off the four boats of experienced fishing grown ups went, to catch the nights dinner. Johnny stayed at the cabin with Grandma who was too afraid to maneuver in and out of a small boat.

Now Johnny was just like any six year old boy. Not to be totally left out, and being there was a lake, a dock, and a big can of worms, he grabbed his Zebco, and started fishing off the dock. The water was so clear you could see the blue gills as they came to the hook, looked at the small chunk of worm, and as if ordered from some unknown master would charge one by one at the morsel of worm suspended on the hook. This was amazing to Johnny, to watch this swarm of bluegills, as if they were piranhas, devouring his hook one by one as if they hadn’t eaten in weeks. He did not need to cast, he did not need to set the drag, all he had to do was hang his line over the dock, wait a second or two, and pull up his catch.

There was an old rowboat next to the dock; it had rained the night before, so there was several inches of water in the bottom of the boat. Johnny, whose stringer was full, started throwing his catch in the row boat, not really paying attention, still mesmerized by the sight of the swarming blue-gills; he didn’t notice his catch was now filling the old boat fore and aft.

After about three hours Johnny heard the sound of boats, it was at that point he also ran out of worms. So, he caught his last bluegill and tossed it in the rowboat with the mass of others. As the boats pulled up to the dock, Johnny couldn’t wait to see the catch that the grown-ups had gotten. To his surprise after four hours of expert fishing only one perch was caught. The grown-ups had all but decided there would be no fish fry this night.

As gear was unloaded one of the men walked by the rowboat and couldn’t believe his eyes. There were at least two hundred blue gills, most of them still alive, flopping and sliding and trying to hop out of the boat. “Hey George look at this, I think Johnny caught every blue gill in the lake!” This was of course an exaggeration, but nevertheless there was truly a mess of fish in that old rowboat.

Johnny was now a hero, the fish he caught was surely enough to feed the whole group. Of course George was not overly happy; he got the majority of the fish cleaning duties since Johnny was too young to handle a sharp knife.

That night, as Johnny joined everyone for dinner, he had a huge smile on his face. Because as everyone dined on bluegill, on his plate was the lone perch the grown-ups had caught, made especially for him.

As the old man finished his story, albeit not the grandest of tales, he pointed out to the younger men, “Don’t ever under estimate the fishing prowess of a six year old boy, a Zebco, an old rusty can of worms, and a lake full of bluegills.”

© Bryan A. Stross January 2008