Sept. 7, 2002
“Oh! Did you see that?” Fred said in a clenched whisper.
Lee didn’t say anything but now the tip of Fred’s pole had his full attention. Then, another quick…tap-tap.
“Let him take it”.
This was Fred’s cue to rise out of his creaking, plaid lawn chair. It was a routine they had down cold.
He stood transfixed until the pole bent deeply. Then, and only then he picked the rod up, reeled down the slack and set the hook hard. The drag on his old Mitchell reel went zzzz…zzzzzz what a glorious sound! He tightened the drag a bit and began reeling, keeping the rod up, pulling the fish away from the bridge pilings. The fish surfaced and rolled heavily in the dark water. “It’s another good one Lee” he said
Lee was standing now with the net as Fred pulled the big channel cat closer to shore. He knew the monofilament on the cheap yard sale rig was old and rotten so when the fish began to swirl near shore he reached out and scooped it out of the slough and onto the sandy bank. Fred had set his rod and reel down and retrieved a fish laden chain link stringer from the slough. He flipped the big fish over, stepped on its belly and ran the sharp end of the clasp through its bottom jaw and snapped the clasp shut. Then, and only then he pulled the 4/0 hook out of the fish’s mouth with a pair of pliers.
Although there was no one else around out on the slough at 1:30 AM Fred held the heavy stringer up for all to see. Lee was smiling like the day his daughter was born. It would have made a great photo. Caught in the wild, two nocturnal predators at the top of the food chain.
Fred Brown and Lee (LeMandy actually) Followill were an unlikely pair. Fred was white, Oklahoma Assemblies of God and Lee was black, Arkansas Missionary Baptist. Both had been raised on a steady diet of… well lets just say racial and doctrinal mistrust. They had both made it through Korea and moved to California’s San Joaquin Valley after the war, eventually settling in the Fresno area. More importantly each man was a hardcore catfish hunter and it was a mathematical inevitability that they would eventually meet up in Bill’s Beer and Bait out on White’s Bridge Road.
They were retired now; each on a small fixed income and being practical men, they had combined resources to share expenses such as gas, bait and RC Cola. They had been fishing together for over ten years, focusing their efforts on the Mendota Slough and the series of canals and ditches that simultaneously fed and drained it. They went after big Catfish but they also caught Stripers, Largemouth, Crappie and more Carp than either would ever admit. They kept and ate or gave away almost everything they caught (except the Carp) to justify the money spent. The real truth was they fished because they loved it pure and simple. That and it got them out of the house, away from their devout wives and that strange couple Paul and Jan on the TV.
They were very efficient. Late spring through early fall Lee would come by in his old Dodge van two or three times a week. It was only a forty-minute drive out to the backside of the wildlife refuge on the slough. It had been another scorching 100 degree day in the valley but now at sunset, the Westside winds had died down and it was almost pleasant.
They set up lawn chairs, lanterns and their ice chest/footstools and each had at least three-yard sale grade fishing poles rigged up and ready to go at any given time. All they had to do was bait up (usually cut mackerel or some bloody gob of liver) cast out, prop the rods up on and wait for the fish to find their bait. This could take anywhere from 10 minutes to all night.
Fred was usually content to watch the rods and read something. Lee was more ambitious though and would wander up and down the bank looking for aluminum cans or other discarded treasure until they got a bite or it got too dark. Just last year he had found an abandoned Kenmore washer that only needed a new motor.
After dark the slough was a wild place, which was another reason they had teamed up. You didn’t want to be out on the Westside alone after dark. Things had a way of going bad out there. It’s a little spooky sitting right up against the water’s edge, your back to the darkness. Jackrabbits and rats rustling around the brush, or when a coyote or bobcat howled nearby that would wake you right up! The real danger was a lethal combination of poverty, booze, drugs and boredom. Each summer horrific car wrecks, shootings and stabbings took their toll on the Mexican farm workers that worked the surrounding fields. One way or the other, a carload of drunk or drugged up yahoos could ruin your evening big time. Maybe that was the reason there was a 12-guage Ithaca pump in Lee’s van and a G.I. 45 from Korea on Fred’s right hip hidden under his baggy work shirt.
“So what do you think, want to call it a night? “Fred asked. Both men knew their wives were bound to be fast asleep by now so Lee answered, “Might as well, my damn back’s giving me fits.” So Fred started stowing gear into the van while Lee reeled in his line but as he cranked he caught a snag out by the bridge. Instead of whipping his rod back and forth he simply cupped his hand over his reel, kept the rod pointed straight at the snag, took a couple steps back and the snag broke free. Now Lee was reeling in again but something very heavy was hooked at the end of his line.
“What you got there Lee, a sturgeon?” Fred chided. “Hell I think I got me Lois’ new dryer” and this set both of them to laughing as tired happy men are prone to do. Their laughter suddenly stopped when Lee’s catch was pulled to the surface, close to shore into the lantern’s light. It wasn’t a dryer or any kind of fish. It was a man’s body.
All Lee could manage was a sad “Oh no” and then, despite the shock or perhaps because of it they reverted to their routine. Fred got the big net and dragged the poor man up onto the bank as gently as possible and Lee fetched the pliers and bent down and tried to pull the heavy barbed hook out of the man’s polyester pants. Fred put a hand on his friend’s shoulder “Better just leave everything the way it is Lee”
Neither man would ever think of owning a cell phone so they got in the van and drove into Tranquility to find a pay phone and call the police. It was going to be a long night. They didn’t speak on the way, what could you say about a bleached white corpse with crawdad’s crawling all over it? Or maybe it was that neither man wanted to be the first to verbalize the thought that had just simultaneously occurred to them. No wonder the fishing was so good tonight. Chum.
