Midnight Fishing

A splash of cold water hit Oliver’s hand as he continued to paddle. The cool sensation jolted him from a space of serene displacement. Away from any sort of paying attention. All his life his mind couldn’t help but wander like a toddler learning to walk. Tumbling forwards, backwards and sideways with a sense of bewilderment and curiosity. As the sound of reeds and cattails scratched the underside of his canoe, he pulled his paddle from the water laying it across his lap, letting the boat glide across the glassy lake. He stared ahead into the darkness of Deer Lake as the ripple from his canoe spread outwards disturbing the clear reflection of the night sky above.

This seemed like the right spot. Oliver grabbed his fishing pole from the murky puddle that was developing inside the canoe and rested it standing between his thighs. He then reached for the tin tackle box they had used every Summer since he could remember and had been in the family for generations. Tin and rusted with broken compartments and a twisted hinge on one side, the tacklebox served its purpose with integrity and refused its suggested retirement. Besides it was good luck. They had caught a fish every time they went out with this box.

“Not eeeevery time?!” A young Oliver asked Dad.

“Yes, every time. Just ask Grandpa!” Dad assured him. “Hey Curtis, pass the dang tackle box.”

“Are we using the stinky bait or… worms?” Curtis asked with a revolting look on his face. He sat in the middle of the canoe on a pile of cloth life jackets and passed the rusted tackle box back to Dad.

“The stinky bait, doofus!” Oliver interjected in a chastising tone towards his younger brother.

“Quit it, Olly!” Dad said reprimanding Oliver. “We use the stinky bait when we’re midnight fishin’ ‘cause the fishies can’t see the worms at night! They gotta follow their nose.” He winked at Curtis as he accepted the tackle box from the boy.

Oliver smiled to himself as the memory faded and he opened the tackle box and grabbed the glass container of Powerbait. As he unscrewed the lid the smell of rotting fish invaded his nostrils. He rolled a small chunk of the bright orange playdough like substance between his thumb and index finger forming a ball. With the rod held between his knees he exposed the hook from the cork rod handle piercing the ball into it. He cast his line out towards an area of lily pads just like Dad had shown him and Curtis many Summers ago. Oliver sighed to himself a satisfied Dad-like sigh as he unhooked a Budweiser from the 6-pack ring. Amongst the deafening silence of the night of crickets chirping the PSHHKK of the beer opening echoed across the lake bouncing back towards him from the surrounding mountains.

“HELLO!” Curtis yelled holding back the giggles.

“HELLO!.. HELLO.. HEllo.. hello.. hel..he..h” The sound echoed back as Oliver and Curtis both laughed with delight.

“Dangit boys, don’t scare the fish!” Dad replied in a hushed yet punishing tone. He then would explain to them the upmost importance of remaining quiet while fishing. Especially midnight fishing.

It was because of this conditioning in Oliver’s brain that he was startled by just how loud the PSHHKK of the beer can was. He sipped long and deep at the piss warm beer. He knew it was warm to begin with but there is really nothing quite like drinking a piss warm beer. Ice-cold beer was almost as important as bait when it came to fishing. Especially midnight fishing. But ice-cold beer was not in the cards, he had forgotten it in the hot trunk of his wife’s car all day.

The beer was always courtesy Curtis. Oliver chuckled to himself shaking his head as he downed the can. It had been years since the two brothers reconciled their strained relationship and had honored the midnight fishing tradition. It had been years since cold beers, he mused.

The relationship between the two brothers was as weathered as the local campground surrounding Deer Lake. When they were kids, the park was filled with families camping for days at a time. The lake was full of canoes and kayaks, swimmers and fisherman alike. Girls undid the straps of their bikini tops as they lay face down on their towels spread out over the grassy beach front. Now the grass was overgrown and covered in Goose shit. The lake was empty of boats and replaced with an abundance of lily pads and pussy willows. Anybody entering the lake now would be rife with swimmer’s itch for days The campground was deserted and even the trucks that stocked the firewood piles had stopped coming. The remaining pile of lumber had now turned waterlogged and rotten. At least the trout were plentiful.

Oliver reeled in his line and checked the hook. The orange Powerbait remained, and he cast out again away from the lily pads where he knew there was a drop off and it got deep. He settled into the seat of the canoe reaching for another warm beer. PSHHKK. A deep swig and an exhale. The smell of malted barley filled the air mixing with the musky scent of skunk cabbage. A mosquito lands on his forearm and Oliver watches it allowing the tiny vampire to feed off him for a moment before smacking it with his palm. He looked at his palm and noticed a tiny amount of his own blood that had exploded from the insect’s stomach when he mashed it with his large and leathery hands.

The forest was alive with the sounds of insects making their music. A squeaking bat swooped down along the water for a meal, ending that particular bug’s performance. But the show must go own, the music never stopped. Oliver pictured for a moment the stereotypical act of removing a performer from the stage by hooking their necks with a large white cane and yanking them offstage. The Loony Toons curtain call. He swiped at another mosquito circling his face but missed it. Again, he sipped on the suds that seemed to get warmer with every passing moment. The warm beer just didn’t have the same bite that a fresh cold one had.

The best thing about midnight fishing was the stars. Oliver’s bewildered eyes scanned the sky in all its dominating vastness. This was the real reason Oliver and Curtis’ Dad brought them out at midnight every Summer. Teaching his sons appreciation for the cosmos. To begin an understanding of the sheer size and scope the of the Universe. To grasp the surreal truth that we are a speck of dust hurdling through infinity. Oliver remembered.

“Think of every beach you’ve ever been on.” Dad suggested to his sons. “Now think of every beach in the World and every grain of sand that exists. There are still more stars out there than grains of sand!”

Oliver and Curtis remained star struck with jaws gaped open as they looked on into the limitlessness of space. More stars seemed to appear the instant their father told them that fact. He told them about the constellations and how to find the North star by first finding the big dipper. Dad told them about meteors and comets just as a shooting star flashed through the north-east quadrant of their field of view.

“WHOA!!” Curtis and Oliver both exclaimed. Dad just chuckled.

The same feeling of wonder came to them every Summer for 16 years out on that lake together. After Dad’s accident, Curtis and Oliver kept the tradition alive for another decade until their falling out. Now for the last 8 years Oliver had come alone. But the same feeling of insignificance combined with godlike power came over him on the lake. In the craftsman canoe, drinking beer, admiring the stars and midnight fishing.

Oliver stirred from the pleasant memory with the sensation of tugging and tension in his hands. He had a bite! He jerked the rod sharply and began reeling against the fish’s resistance. It didn’t take long until Oliver pulled a nice looking 12-inch rainbow trout into the canoe. The brightness of the stars reflected off the beautiful red and silver coloring of the fish as Oliver removed the hook and the fish wriggled lose from his grip. It landed in the filthy canoe and flopped around for a moment before Oliver whacked it on the head with his paddle. It lay there motionless and limp.

Every time. Oliver thought truly astonished with his luck and reaching for the rusty tackle box. At this rate he could have half a dozen trout on the table for Suzie to fry up for tomorrow’s lunch. He opened the tackle box and began to fumble for the Powerbait but something caught his eye. He shot his eyes upward hoping to catch a shooting star but just the sparkling yet stationary grains of sand looked back. He looked back down at the dark lake and somewhere towards its center there seemed to be a glow.

There was a strange glowing light coming from deep within the lake’s waters. Oliver held his breath, and he felt an unnerving sense of unbridled fear. The skin on his arms broke out in goose flesh and Oliver felt compelled to investigate. He grabbed the paddle and slowly dunked it into the lake and propelled the canoe forwards through the lilies and towards the lake’s epicenter. As he drew closer the glow began to grow both larger and brighter taking on a shade of green. He was close now and the green light seemed to be concentrating into a smaller almost orb-like shape. It now looked as if a glowing nuclear basketball was slowly rising from the depths below. As it ascended the fear continued to grip Oliver, but he remained vigilant. The green light rose and rose towards the surface and Oliver looked on at the optical illusion, the image confusing and deceiving him. As it breached the surface of the lake the green light was not the size of a basketball at all but the size of a small car. It silently rose from the water causing no disturbance to the fresh water’s surface, not a splash or so much as a ripple. Oliver held his breath, the hairs on his neck raising like the glow raising from beneath him. He was suddenly aware of the silence; the crickets had gone mute. The squeaking of the bats and the buzzing of the mosquitos disappeared, and Oliver wondered if he had lost his sense of hearing the silence was so sharp. He snapped his fingers next to his head and heard the soft snap. The green light continued to rise slowly, now fully emerged from the lake and it rested there in the air hovering now just above his eyeline. Oliver stared at it, and he felt it staring back at him.

*****

The sun was rising now. Oliver blinking realized he must’ve fallen asleep. He mashed the heel of his leathery palms into his eyes with so much pressure it hurt and wiped away the sleep. He scanned his surroundings and the landscape. The mountains surrounding the lake with their distinct peaks and ranges always served as landmarks to remind him which side of the lake he parked on. He had drifted to the entire opposite side during the night. He sighed; it would take at least an hour of hard paddling to make it back. His head hurt and he decided a little hair of the dog would serve as remedy. Oliver pulled the last beer off its plastic ring; the can was ice-cold. PSHHKK. Oliver sipped. It was the coldest and sweetest beer he had ever tasted.