doubletaper
Pro Angler
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- Location: clarion, pa
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An October Night
An October Night
Sit back, grab a nightcap and relax. Let me tell you a story about the strangest experience I’ve ever had happen to me on the ‘Nut’.
It was a long week and I needed some peace and quiet away from the rest of the world. I don’t care to night fish but to avoid the crowds and get time to myself, that night in October on Walnut, was the night to do just that.
I laid down my sack of goodies and jug of homemade brandy. I rolled a lone log over for something to sit upon along the deep pool of water. The full moon shined down making visibility fair without the need of artificial light. I smeared a glob of paste bait on my hook, with weight, and cast the line into the deep pool. It wasn’t about fishing as much as getting out to relax and enjoy my hooch on this last day of October.
Looking up, moon beams danced off the wet light colored leaves left on the semi-bare branches. A soft breeze blew down the hill rustling dried oak leaves bunched on the end of thin limbs. Light reflected off the water running down the edge of the floor of the tunnel. All else was quiet.
I was sure I saw a red glow up the inclined trail leading to the open area across the creek. I listened intently for any intruders. A stick cracked against the hard ground and with this I looked towards my left across the creek. Through thin branch cover a red lantern glowed. I watched as a line of figures turned towards the creek, exposed by the bright moonlight.
The first figure is a short man dwarfed by the two taller figures behind him. The moonlight lifted off the water enough to see the first fellow has a fully bearded face. He stops near the pool with a red globe lantern held to his knees. He picks his head up as if searching the light breeze for an unfamiliar odor. Turning his head slowly he searches the premises for danger or self-assurance. He gazes across the pool in my direction. I sat quietly and had no reason to admit my presence. I wasn’t scared, as the alcohol inside my brain had already calmed any fears about the night. I was curious who these three men were and what they were up to.
The bearded fellow sets the lantern down along with a tin looking coffee can. He glances quickly my way before crouching and sitting on the heels of his feet.
The tall dude on his left has to be about 7 feet tall. He looks square shouldered and muscular built as much as I could tell under the moonlight. He moves stiffly as if his joints are not flexible. His head is long under his open weave cowboy hat. I’m not one to make fun of people but he was a sight to see. Normally, a big dude like that will sport a small head but his head fit his big framed body. He holds a long noodle rod with the line hanging down. The crouched bearded man reaches in the tin can and, I believe pulling out a worm, attaches it to the hook on the noodle rod line.
Glancing over I watch the thin cloaked gent piecing together his fly rod. With precision he assembles the rod, reel and strings the line through the guides like it was daylight. Holding the rod under his arm he ties on a fly without any additional light. He moves with grace as he strides down below the pool to the shallow outlet, his cloak fluttering in the light breeze behind him. In the shadows only a silhouette of his upper body is visible in the dim light below the pool. If it weren’t for the shine off his slick black hair reflecting rays of moonlight, he would almost be impossible to notice at first glance. With ease of movement he put his fly rod into the air. His performance, of false casting line out, is as fluid as I had ever seen. Each step precise. Forward he cast the streamer, than slowly he strips it in.
Kerplunk. I look and a heavy weighted line drops in the middle of the pool tossed in by the big dude. I waited for the florescent bobber to submerge from the heavily weighted shot I heard hitting the water. After the circular swirls disappeared the bobber sat alone atop the water. Evidently the three men have been here before and knew where to extend the weight to reach bottom without pulling the bobber under.
I was so amazed, I recall that I forgot about my own fishing. I sat there for a while as still as I could have been observing the threesome. I remember my mouth being dry and was about to disclose myself by reaching for my jug of hooch when the florescent bobber moved along the top of the water then disappeared.
I glanced across the pool and the big dude gave a yank and the bobber came up out of the water. I’m not sure what pound test the line was he was using but it was strong enough not to break. The big guy gave a throated ha,ha,ha, that echoed within the confined area. The bearded man sprang from his feet and began jumping up and down. With each leap of the steelhead the bearded man twirled in a circle. Without even noticing any other movement, the thin cloaked gent appeared behind the big dude’s shoulder, coaching him on.
No matter how the steelhead tried to escape the big dude was able to keep the same angle of the rod with his stiff forearms until the steelhead finally gave in. While the big dude was reeling the fish in the bearded man jumped into the shin deep water. He rolled up his sleeves and waited. I was totally astonished!
As the fishing line drew closer the bearded man reached his hands into the water. With one sweeping motion he threw the fish about 10’ on shore away from the bank. The thin gent bent over the fish, with his back towards me, and I assumed disgorged the hook from the fish’s mouth. Reaching down with his hand the big dude yanked the bearded fellow out of the water with one pull.
I took a guzzle of brandy and couldn’t wait to see what was next.
The two men stood waiting for the gent to finish his chore. The gent turned and handed the bearded fellow the fish. Turning into the moonlight, towards me, the man laid the dead fish upon the stony shore and crouched down before it. Bending at the waist only, the big dude reached down and picked up the red lantern and then set it to the left of the bearded fellow.
I strained my eyes to see what sharp instrument the bearded fellow was using to slice the fish with. He cut a slit along the lateral line of the dead steelhead and peeled the skin back. He continued and cut a chunk of fish meat and handed it to the big dude. He proceeded and cut himself a chunk and they both started eating the raw fish.
"Sir, you are welcome to join us for some of our fish if you like" an English accent called out.
I almost crapped my pants. They knew I was there all along. Not being one to eat raw fish but not wanting to offend the three I replied,
"No thanks, but I do have a jug of brandy "
"Fine" came a remark from the far bank.
I reeled my line in and flung my sack on my back and picked up the jug. Carefully I slid my feet across the wet cement floor of the railroad trestle. Water ran through the tunnel, around my knee high boots then tumbled over the edge and into the deep pool. On the other side I stepped down onto a big cement block and then onto the ground. I limped down to their side of the bank.
I noticed the thin gent wiping off a red liquid stain on his cleft chin when I got near them. I laid my sack and rod down and carried the jug over to the threesome around the dead fish. I remembered how the tall dude towered over my small frame. He held out his oversized hand in greeting while at the same time the crouched bearded fellow held up his hand gesturing for the jug. I handed the jug to the bearded fellow and feared the strength of the big dude’s handshake.
"They call me Frank’" the big dude said
I shook his gentle hand and we greeted each other.
"I’m Egore" I replied and then turned to face the thin gent.
"How long have you had that hunch behind your shoulder?" the thin cloaked gent spoke in his English accent.
He spoke eloquently and I believed he was trying not to offend me. I looked into his sharp deep-set eyes. I studied his long face trying to uncover his motive for such a question. His anemic complexion showed no sign of harm. I felt I was a bit older than he was and with the alcohol affecting my better judgment I blurted out
"About as long as you’ve had that cleft in your chin!"
The bearded fellow belched out laughter. The big dude gave out a loud ‘hardy har’ that echoed through the trestle tunnel. The cloaked gent smiled in satisfaction and took the jug handed to him by the crouched fellow. He then offered me the first swig in politeness. I took a big gulp then handed the jug to the English gent sporting a widow point upon his forehead.
"Happy Halloween" the Count said!!
What did you expect? It is the 31st of October.
~doubletaper
post edited by doubletaper - 2008/10/31 00:04:31
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