Monday, November 19, 2007
A Nose for Fishing
Hi, folks. Pastor Hank here, with a story from my first summer here. (Some 16 years ago.)
It was slow making friends as the new pastor. Everybody figured they had to be righteous or something around me, so they didn't want to do anything relaxing for fear of doing something "stupid." They never worried about the pastor being the one to do something dumb! One Sunday, Wilbur Hucks came up to me after church. (I think his wife may have done a little prodding, but he came nonetheless.) He asked if I wanted to do a little fishing the next Saturday. Boy howdy, did I! I'd grown up in Idaho, and if it's one thing this place has, it's good fishing. I'd been too busy to get out and drop a line. Now here was a local, wanting to take me to some sweet spot.
I was pretty excited to get my waders out and get my feet wet. Wilbur seemed a cantankerous sort, so I didn't want to set him off. I hoped to show him this "man o' God" could get right in there. I didn't know the best lure for this area, but I picked out some of my favorites. Wilbur drove up in his Chevy before the crack of dawn, and we were off. It was a quiet trip except for Wilbur always "honkin' his horn" as he put it. I'd never seen a man blow his nose so much. He said he was having trouble with allergies and never could seem to break open the dam in there.
We started into some small talk until we parked at the trailhead, and then we hiked a little ways to one of the tributaries that feeds Kanner Lake. Lovely area, with trees lining the shore. Wilbur was chatting a little more, telling me about life in town. He also started bragging about his fishing prowess. "I always land the big one," he bragged between nose wipes with his handkerchief. Our lines started dancing over the water, testing the fish to see what they'd bite. All the while, Wilbur couldn't stop blowing his schnoz. I couldn't take it any more after awhile.
"Wilbur, you're gonna scare the fish away a mile around if you keep it up!" I declared. He glared at me as if to say, "You young pup, who are you to be telling me to hold my honker."
In my peripheral vision I saw a big fish splash in the water. They hadn't been biting earlier, so I was determined to get this one. Just about the time I went to cast, Wilbur took a step toward me--and I hit him right square in his snoot. My line flew out just so--right where the fish had landed. Wilbur yelped and threw his hands to his face. "Wilbur, are you all right?" I asked. All the same, I didn't set the pole down. I wanted to catch that fish.
"Oh my node!"
I glanced over and saw blood on his fingers. I hadn't realized I'd hit him that hard. About that time I felt a powerful tug at the end of the line. Wow, what a fish it must be! He almost pulled the rod out of my hand. I look back at my wounded companion. I figured I was in big trouble now. I could read the headlines Jared Moore would be writing: Clumsy Local Pastor Gets Tied Up in Own Fishing Line. So much for making a new friend. Wilbur pulled out a handkerchief to stem the flow.
Instead of threatening me, Wilbur waved me back toward the stream. "Don't worry aboud me. You git dad monster!"
We were a sight, let me tell you. I was reeling in what would be the largest fish to come out of Cooper Creek in twenty years, according to the locals, while Wilbur cheered me on with his head tilted back, trying to stop the bleeding. I wrestled the beast to the shore, and after getting him secured, I packed up all the gear. I tottered down the trail with Wilbur leading the way, the occasional drop of blood escaping to mark our path. We reached the truck and got some ice out of the cooler.
After another 10 minutes or so, the flow slowed to a trickle, and then stopped. Wilbur was quite the vision, with blood and dirt smeared across him. I was sitting there as contrite as I could be, feeling awful about ignoring him while hauling in my prize. That is, until Wilbur slapped me heartily on the back. He sat on the tailgate, beaming, then pointed at his swollen nose.
"Hey, I can breathe! I can't remember the last time I didn't feel stuffed up. You knocked it loose just great." He looked me up and down before commenting, "You'll do good here in Kanner Lake, Hank Detcher."
Wilbur and I have been friends ever since.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Hi, folks, from Bailey--on behalf of all the Scenes and Beans bloggers. I know we've been quiet for a long time. But you all know why. We simply needed time to heal from the latest trauma in Kanner Lake.
We're going back now to our regular schedule of running stories from the lives of the S&B bloggers. Hope you enjoy them.
I know you all are wondering about Carla. She's doing fine. Right now she's vacationing far away at an undisclosed location, thanks to the gifts of some friends. There was simply no getting away from media here.
Greetings to all you reporters who spent time in Kanner Lake and are now back home--or somewhere else on the road. Wilbur wants you all to know if he snapped at you in Java Joint, he's sorry. He says come back and he'll try to behave better. Just leave your camera and notepad at home. And don't forget the fourth stool at the counter is his.
Love to you all. Thank you for your patience during this time of silence.
Bailey Truitt ~ Java Joint owner
Leslie Brymes ~ reporter extraordinaire
Carla Radling ~ realtor at your service
Wilbur Hucks ~ ya gotta love him
Jake Tremaine ~ retired logger
Ted Dawson (S-Man) ~ sci-fi writer
Hank Detcher ~ pastor and friend
Janet Detcher ~ keeps Hank in line
Bev Trexel ~ retired teacher
Angie Brendt ~ Bev's best pal
Sarah Wray ~ Simple Pleasures owner
Jared Moore ~ Kanner Lake Times
LEARN MORE ABOUT KANNER LAKE
A Christian Worldview of Fiction
Mary Ann Diorio
Girl's Write Out
Joy in the Litter Box
A Life in Pages
Pieces of Me
Readin N Writin with Patricia
Robin Lee Hatcher's Write Thinking
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