Flash Fiction Friday: Alternative Fishing Methods Part 3

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Flash Fiction Friday arrived on a Tuesday. I've been behind lately. Sorry, again, for the delay. This is the final installment of Alternative Fishing Methods. Enjoy.

Alternative Fishing Methods Part 3

By,
Jennifer E. Miller

Disappointed, Dusty pulled his small aluminum fishing boat off the boat launch, leaving a little trail of water dripping from the trailer. It was the third weekend in a row without any luck catching fish. He thought maybe he needed to upgrade his vessel from a rowboat size with a 15 HP motor to something more fancy. However, he knew that his friends, with more expensive equipment, didn’t necessarily have better luck then him. They did, however, spend more money on upkeep and gear. He decided to keep troubleshooting until he zeroed in on what was making the fish bite.

Dusty had tried grubs, worms, and even those rubber frogs which he danced over the lily pads like a marionette at the end of his fishing line. Nothing worked.

Today he brought along preserved shads; expensive ones that his buddies insisted were the only brand to spend his money on. They were soaked in laboratory engineered scents, artful packaging, and sat behind the counter in a locked display case. Even with the high price tag, Dusty still wound up empty handed. Discouraged, he was determined to come up with another solution. A creative one. He would lure the fish not with a lure, but a luring tactic.

Dusty had an outdoor pond where he had thrown in a couple of goldfish that had outgrown their aquarium. They were larger than the average aquarium specimen, but smaller than a koi.

The aquarium had brought a peaceful ambiance to the living room, and Dusty found that he missed it once he transferred the goldfish to the outdoor pond. He began spending more time in his yard sitting on the ledge of the pond to relax while reading or eating. The two goldfish, one orange and one white, swam up and puckered their mouths at the surface; most likely looking for food.

One day, Dusty placed his finger just above the water and moved it back and forth. To his amusement, the fish chased it. He thought it was a fluke, but it happened again the next day so he rewarded them with an extra pinch of food. He took his exercise a step further by running his finger along the water then raising it up quickly. At first, the goldfish didn’t do much except stare, fan their fins, and pucker their mouths. On later attempts, they stuck their mouths out of the water. It progressed to popping their faces out, and before long the fish were leaping out of the water when Dusty raised his finger. He had trained his goldfish to jump like the dolphins at Sea World. Now that they were capable of jumping out of the pond, he had to keep a screen over the top when he wasn’t there.

Now this trick could prove useful in Dusty’s fishing woes. His luring tactic was simple: place a goldfish in the lake, have it chase his finger, let a wild fish come to it, and in the nick of time raise his finger and have it jump back into the boat. Dusty would have a net sitting in the water when the wild fish continued swimming straight ahead when his goldfish leaped to safety. There’s no reason why this shouldn’t work.

* * *

Dusty’s trailer bounced and creaked over the bumps in the road on the way to the lake. He glanced over at the front passenger seat, his old aquarium half full of water splashed water over its edges. Inside, floated his two goldfish, glubbing as if the jostle didn’t phase them one bit.

Arriving at the boat launch, he back in the trailer as usual, released the boat, parked the truck, and returned carrying his aquarium of goldfish. He passed a pair of tobacco chewing fisherman lollygagging at the shore.

“What’s he carrying his pet fish for?”

“Beats me. Unless he’s the type who likes to drive the game warden crazy by introducing a new species into the lake.”

The first man spat out a wad of chew. “Should we tell the bonehead not to?”

“Nah.”

When Dusty reached his boat, the breeze picked up, sending gentle ripples over the lake’s surface and rustling the leaves in the trees on shore. Ever so carefully, he stepped into his small boat, steadying himself before bringing the opposite leg in. He gently placed the aquarium on the floor, wedging it as best he could between the seats. Satisfied, with his arrangement, Dusty yanked on the pull-start and the motor bubbled to life with a brief puff of exhaust. Steering the boat in reverse, the captain and unlikely crew were off.

Dusty made sure that his pace was slow and steady, staying clear of any bumps or waves. He found his fishing spot empty; unusual, but welcomed nonetheless. Before getting started, he decided a bare spot along the shore was best for a practice run.

The boat slunk into the sand, sliding to a stop. Natural waves lapped against the metal hull with a dull clink. Dusty climbed out of the boat into the water and grabbed the goldfish net he’d brought along. He scooped the orange one out first, and while still confined in the net, dipped it in the lake water. At first, the goldfish panicked. After a few moments, it calmed down, fanning its fins rhythmically.

Next, Dusty removed the net to see what the goldfish would do. It swam around in circles but didn’t stray far. Dusty put his finger near the water and the goldfish came right up to it, just like in the pond. They practiced the leaping skill and the goldfish was rewarded with a pinch of food.

This test was repeated with the white goldfish, which passed as well. Dusty placed his goldfish back into the aquarium and motored out to his usual fishing spot further out.

Gently, he scooped out the orange goldfish, placing in the lake. Dusty turned the motor handle to the lowest gear, putting his way over the water, while the opposite hand’s finger was outstretched over the water’s surface. As the boat moved, the goldfish followed. Before long, a bass tailed it. As it ganged up on the goldfish, Dusty raised his finger and his pet leaped into the boat while the bass swam into the fishing net secured to the side of the boat. There was more scrambling than expected to get the goldfish back into the aquarium and the caught bass into the boat. But—the ruse worked.

He tried the white goldfish next but no luck. After several minutes it tired, so he scooped it back in the boat and switched fish again. A second bass swam up and Dusty instructed the goldfish to leap as before. After securing the goldfish’s safety, Dusty examined the bass. It was considerably larger than the first one, and more than capable of swallowing his pets. He was putting his goldfish in very real danger. However, the risk was paying off.

He took a snack break, noticing an osprey circling overhead. After finishing, he scooped up the white goldfish a second time, deposited it into the lake, and starts his motor. Not long later, a large elongated head appears behind it; and far more ferocious, than the bass. It was a two foot muskie with teeth that will turn that palette of pure while goldfish scales into a dripping red canvas.

Dusty directed the white goldfish to leap out of the water. It wiggled its little tail as it sailed through the air. To his disbelief, the muskie splashed out of the water after it. Twisting its torso midair, it thrust itself toward the goldfish. Dusty had began to panic when the osprey dove down, sinking its talons into the muskie. The raptor struggles with such a large fish and they become entangled, wrestling on the water’s surface. The muskie thrashd back and forth, using its long muscular body to throw the bird off its back. It worked and the osprey landed back first into the water. The muskie whipped around to sink its teeth into the mass of feathers, but the osprey quickly flipped over and leaped airborne out of the water to safety as the fish dove back into the abyss.

While Dusty had remembered to turn off his motor after retrieving his goldfish, the boat’s momentum continued over the water and the bow floated into an object with an echoing tap. He turned to see the game warden staring down at him like a pirate ready to take over a ship.

“Why do you have pet store stock in your boat?” he growled.

Dusty’s mind quickly thought of all sorts of things to say but none made a lick of sense. Taking them out for a joy ride. They needed fresh air and a change of scenery. They’re my emotional support animals.

“Well?” the warden asked again.

“They are fishing with me,” Dusty answered.

The warden looked around, not seeing any poles. He didn’t buy the story. “You okay, mister?”

“What do you mean?” Dusty asked confused.

“The sport of fishing doesn’t mean take your pet fish for a boat ride. Should I call someone for you?”

Realizing that the warden was concerned for his mental well-being, and his ticket out of trouble, he said, “Sure, that’d be great.”

Grabbing his radio from above the steering wheel, he asked, “Who should I have dispatch call for you?”

Dusty tried to decide which friend or family member would tease him the least.

“Actually, some friends are waiting for me at the launch. I don’t let them chew tobacco in my boat. Wouldn't want them to spit it into the lake. Don't want to introduce something non-native to the lake fish.”

Copyright 2018 Jennifer E. Miller