My Tax Return
“Do you see how the bobber is laying down on it’s side? When you see it stand up straight, I want you to begin reeling quickly. When you feel the weight of the fish, then set the hook. If you set the hook as soon as you get a bite, you’re going to miss ‘em every time.”
The morning is gray, very gray. The clouds are low and have been spitting mist, and there’s not enough wind to suggest they’ll be going anywhere. Mr Hilario and his children are well prepared for the conditions. They are an able bunch that doesn’t strike me as the complaining type. They’ve already told me several stories of their spring break hunting adventures, earlier today as we idled our way through stump filled spawning grounds.
“Has the fishing been good lately? I figure this week being spring break, ya’ll have been really busy.” Thinking momentarily, I answer with frankness. “Sir, this has arguably been the toughest week in my five year career as a guide. A week ago we had a mixture of sleet and snow that dropped our lake nine degrees, we then had rain and snow melt that caused our lake to rise over three feet in just a few days. We are so absolutely blessed to get the water, but that kind of change does things to the fishing. February and March are known for their weather, which is just one reason we call this time of year Tax Season.
Turning around with a smile on his face, Mr Hilario asks, “What do you mean, Tax Season?” The mist turning to a sprinkle. “We call it Tax Season because this is the time of year full time guides pay their dues. Their is so much stress and emotional turmoil that takes place between February and early March. It’s what makes a full timer, a full timer. It’s also what makes you thank Jesus when everything comes to fruition.”
“Take this week for example. Last Friday, we worked hybrids under birds, landing two fish over ten pounds, not to mention the other twenty or so fish we caught ranging from four to eight pounds. Truly an incredible experience. Now comes Monday, after raining all weekend and the lake rising two feet, it takes me five hours just to land six white bass. Tuesday, we had two keepers in four hours. Wednesday, we caught one undersized fish in three hours before I finally called it quits. I worked for free all three of those days. We cancelled all of our Wednesday afternoon trips, and all four of us guides went scouting in different directions. We’re paying our taxes.”
Hannah, who is apparently a very skilled shooter, tries her luck at pin-pointing a cast to where I suggested. The wind catches the minnow and bobber pushing it off course, but with the current, she is still going to be in good territory. Immediately, she reels down on a nice black crappie, darkly colored around the throat, with turquoise and purple fleck along the back. Mr Hilario and I continue to talk as he pitches his bobber. “So did ya’ll find fish?” Making my first cast, I reply: “Yessir, that’s what has brought us here today.” I get a quick return on my first pitch, landing another dark male black crappie.
For the first two fish to have come so quickly, the next bunch takes a few minutes. “We pulled thirty seven crappie out of this hole yesterday afternoon, many of which were solid fish. The pattern was similar to what we’re experiencing now, catch a bunch real quick, then wait a few minutes until more come through. Us having a full day trip with these dark skies, I imagine we should put a few in the box before it’s all said and done.”
A few more minutes go by. Our orange cigar floats are slowly drifting in the current, a very bright contrast to the surrounding dark water and skies. Brevin’s bobber stands to attention. “Reel! Reel! Reel!” He reels, but not in time. A sigh brought on by failure comes from my right. I know that feeling. “Hey don’t worry about it, the little ones aren’t fun to reel in anyways.”
Brevin, who is eleven years old but very mature for his age, casts back out, apparently hitting the fish in the face. The bobber didn’t even have time to float before it was yanked under by a really nice white crappie. A healthy female in the thirteen inch class. “That’s what I’m talking about right there! I want you to do that exact same thing all over again.” Brevin casts back out, only to quickly tag up again. “Nice man!” Hannah, not to be outdone, catches her second fish which is an eleven inch football of a black crappie. The fish looks funny being so chubby but so short at the same time. She did have some nice shoulders on her though...
We get a good volley going and in no time we have ten to twelve keepers. Speaking of volley, what was just a light sprinkle is starting to pick up, making me think that the “three hundredths of an inch” forecast is about to be a joke. Oh well, we’re slinging in the rain.
Besides the occasional wind gust that blows us off our spot, we primarily stay in the exact same area for the entire day. The fish are coming from anywhere in three to five foot, and the variety of species is making for some fun. Channel cat, drum, white bass, yellow bass, black bass, gar, white crappie and black crappie all make up a mixture that is allowing for one heck of an afternoon.
The skies are absolutely pouring down on us by the time we take a snack break. We’ve got 30-40 keepers in the box, and they don’t seem to be slowing down. Looking around at a buffet of pickles, ham and chips, everyone still seems to be in good spirits. The human body can go through a lot when the fish are biting. “I’m going to reset our anchor while ya’ll finish up eating. No hurry.”
After lunch, the fishing actually seems to pick up a bit. I don’t know if it’s the slowly warming day, or the continually dark skies, but the bite is getting good. All morning long, Mr Hilario has been keeping count of each kid’s fish, because as he explained it, they are both very competitive. Apparently, I really hadn’t been paying attention, because now he is hollering out “twenty-three to sixteen.” Hmm. Well that makes thirty-nine right there. I’ve probably caught twelve to fifteen, and Mr Hilario has been reeling them in pretty steady himself. “Hey ya’ll keep fishing. If you need anything, I’m going to be up here at the front counting fish to make sure we don’t go over.”
I open up the ice chest and start counting. I get to twenty something when Brevin asks a question, I nod “yes” trying not to lose count. Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty- nine... The boat shifts when somebody sets the hook, and Mr Hilario starts asking for the net. Notice I said he’s asking for the net, not screaming for the net. The water is very muddy, and up to this point, nobody has any idea how big the crappie is on the end of the line.
The net is right beside me, and I hand it to Brevin to go help his dad. Nobody is acting any different, so I just assume Brevin will net this fish to help his dad out, just like he has before, right? For all we know, this is just another good eleven to twelve inch fish, like we’ve been netting all day. No big deal.
My afternoon changed dramatically when Brevin spoke up. “Lane, would you please help me with the net? It’s heavy!” In my mind, I’m thinking what does he mean ‘heavy?’ He’s been helping with the net all day. I turn around, and for the first time in my life, I know instantly that we have just caught a three pound crappie. I get much, much more excited when I put the fish on the tape measure. “16.5 inches! That’s a half inch longer than the record we pulled two years ago!”
We land at the dock, and I say land because we were flying. We get an empty ice chest out of the truck, fill it with water and gently lower the fish in with hopes to resuscitate her. She immediately begins swimming, putting me at ease because I do not want to kill this fish. While this is going on, a bass boat pulls up and I ask the gentlemen if they happened to have a good digital scale on board. They did. “3.2 pounds! That’s a new record if this scale is accurate.” I thank the gentlemen for letting me use their scale. After some congratulations, he told me that if it made me feel any better, he owned a scales and measures company. “Yes sir, that actually makes does make me feel better.”
At the Athen’s Freshwater Fisheries, we learned that our fish weighed in on their scales at 3.105, and since it wasn’t enough difference, they couldn’t count it as a new lake record. “Hey man, you just did something most people will truly never do. You caught a sixteen and a half inch black crappie that weighed over three pounds.” After some quick pictures and some more congrats from the staff, we left the building to take our fish back to Cedar Creek.
Mr Hilario is holding the most beautiful crappie I’ve ever seen at the surface of the water, trying to be gentle with her as she regains her strength. Eventually, she feels ready, and shakes her head loose from his hands. The fish dives down then jumps, splashing like she should. The equivalent of a “thank you” in my book. Mr Hilario standing up, wiping off his hands, looks as if he’s still trying to believe it all really happened. “For Friday the 13th, we sure were lucky.” Laughing and shaking his hand, I respond: “We weren’t lucky, we were blessed.”
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