TALL TALES

One spring Saturday when I was in my teens, my favorite uncle took me fishing out to Maple Lake, Minnesota. We were pole fishing from the bank on a lazy afternoon when we noticed a squirrel making its way cautiously out over the lake on a sappling which had been uprooted by the scouring away of the bank from the action of the waves and which was now leaning almost horizontally out over the water

Hanging almost at the tip of the uppermost leafless branch was a twig with two walnuts, and the squirrel had spotted these and was intent upon retrieving them. We watched as the squirrel ventured cautiously further and further, As he did so the branch with those nuts dipped ever lower and closer to the surface.

Finally, just as the squirrel had reached the tip and safely tucked the nuts into his cheek pouches and turned to return, there was a sudden swirl in the water as a fish rose up and seized the squirrel. The surface boiled for no more than a second, and both were gone.

I looked to my uncle in wide-eyed amazement, shocked by this unexpected demonstration of violence in the food chain. He removed his pipe thoughtfully, nodded slightly and said, "Killer perch." and then returned to his fishing.

I returned my glance to the spot where I had just witnessed that violent act of nature and was surprised when the surface of the water beneath the sappling suddenly erupted once again and the same silvery fish arched upward and hung two more walnuts on the tip of that sappling before falling back into the depths.

As I was a ponderin' ...you requested a tall tale. I don't know about that, what I have to tell is the honest to goodness truth. I was there and saw the whole dang thang with my own eyes.

.....what's that ? ......get on with it ?......stop wafflin on ? ...

Geeze young'uns today. As I was just sayin' I saw the entire scene. I have to say that here on the Isle of Man we don't say the word     r.....a......t....  as it's considered unlucky. We calls them long tails. So it's appropriate to recount what I saw.

.....okay, okay ....I'm a gettin' to it .....

It was a boil in the bag, blue sky, scorcher that day upon Kerrowdhoo Reservoir. A whole host of fly fishers had gathered to try their skill in a local competition. Friendly like! Right from the go I was knowin' there was trouble brewin'. A local tackle dealer, large chap, as wide as he was tall, all the latest hi-tech gadgets. His only disadvantage was his speed. Or lack of it. This time he had his son, a spritely youngun', put short on witt. This young lad shot up the reservoir bank like a terrier after a rabbit. Only like a terrier the lad didn't know when to stop. He overshot the best fishing spot by a good 50 meters. The tackle dealer nearly exploded, especially as I managed to slip into the spot myself before the lad had chance to turn round.

Red faced and wheezing the tackle dealer was forced further up the bank. He was not happy. It was not long before I had a couple of fish when I caught a bush that had sneaked up behind me. Quick as a flash the dealer dispatched his terrier to 'help' relieve my snag. I hear the instruction, "Go help, and tell me fly he's usin'". I was havin non of that. I got there first and concealeld my fly in my hand while I untangled it.

That was only the beginning.

He did catch a fish ...then 20 minutes later he began to bellow. I thought his terrier had jumped in or somethin'

"SOME LONG TAILED, B*$%#!RD HAS STOLEN MY FISH !!!!!"

What's the edited version you understand. God fearin' folk should not have to listen to the profanities he was spoutin'. It appears that he had the fish on a rope secured to a peg. Rules are that if you intend to keep the fish it has to be dispatched with all haste. The rope, peg and fish were gone.

He reported that he heard a rustle in the bushes and when he looked down the fish had gone. 15 minutes he spent thrashing around, grass, twigs, and what not flyin' in a frenzy about him. But the fish was gone.

I did okay in the competition, the tackle dealer did not. Turns out that he had not been killing his fish. He was keeeping them alive on the peg so he could release the smaller ones. (Limit on the day was four fish). The fish in question had pulled the peg and swam into the distance. It was caught a week later, thin as a nymph, sickly. Poor creature was still towin' it's rope and peg.

The tackle dealer, well, he's lost all his trade on the Island and is now away across the water to your shores in America. So if you come across big Bill from the Isle of Man ....steer well clear. 

Some time ago, I was fishing at a new fishery that had been constructed at a farm about 20 miles from here. There was quite a bit of farmyard stock mooching around here and there. I had had a reasonably good day so far and had just made a cast out of sight, using a shooting head with a lure or streamer fly attached. I had noticed several geese swimming around, and, suddenly - to my dismay, one of them seemed to be taking an interest in my fly !! Without further ado, I started stripping line back in as fast as I could. Unfortunately, the faster I stripped, the faster the goose chased after it. Finally, with a great squawk of triumph, the goose ducked  its head under the water and surfaced, proudly displaying its catch of the day. Well, I wasn't sure what to do. Should I cut the line and leave nature to play its own part in this drama, or, should I try and coax it towards me and attempt to removed the fly from half way down its long neck ?? I decided that latter course of action would be the most humane. I tweaked the line. For a moment nothing happened, then ...... with an indignant roar, the opressed but attached goose decided something was not quite as it should be. With a great flurry and flapping of wings, off it went on a grand tour of the lake. I furiously paid out line as quick as I could, immediately down to my backing. I tentatively put some side strain on and, surprisingly, the goose started to come back towards me. It was at this point that the farmers wife appeared, having been summoned to watch the landing of the Catch of the Day by fellow anglers. If it hadn't been her particular pet goose, I think I would have stood a chance but, no, I had to land the goose under a tirade of threats and verbal abuse and without the aid of a landing net which by now had been attached to my head and twisted somewhat about my shoulders. I had to put up with this abuse for another hour while we hunted for someone with a very long pair of disgorgers to enable me to retrieve my extremely battered fly from the depths of the gooses neck. Apart from the lifetime ban, I wasn't even allowed to keep my biggest catch to date !!