by Kurt Zuelsdorf
  We arrived at the boat ramp of Lake Emily on the eve of another fishing season. Anglers scrambled to re-spool their fishing reels and prepare their boats for what was predicted to be another “good” year. We unloaded the camping gear from a 1969 Scout and removed a small boat from the top carrier. On this trip our craft was propelled by manpower – a set of oars that we pulled out of the trash just one week earlier.

  I rigged a Coleman stove on a branch of a gigantic oak while Peter built a small fire. We sipped a few cocktails and talked about last year’s catch and this year’s plans for a top water assault. We played show and tell with lures and teased each other about the secret lure that would  land the big one. 

  We chuckled about knuckle-headed jokes and listened to John Cougar Melancamp until  around midnight when we were drawn to the water’s edge.  The surface of the lake  was lit up and alive in the full moon light. The Mayfly  hatch was in full swing and they were  tickling  the lake  with their dainty legs  causing  giggling ripples that lured the fish into a feeding frenzy…they were everywhere!.

 
  Within minutes our boat was in the water and loaded down with gear.   The 12′ John-boat drooped low in the water, it had the feeling of trying to hold a beach ball under water…you know the wiggles… this left  no room for shenanigans or horseplay. I rowed toward the center of the lake through a huge swarm  of bugs while Peter rigged a Hoola Popper, his favorite plug. Forever so eager  to throw the first cast he carelessly snagged his collar on the back swing. Frustration mounted for both of us and it got worse when I suggested that he turn on the lantern so he could see. Honestly I didn’t think he‘d bite at such a simple lure but he did.  When he moved the lantern close to his face and flipped the switch a  swarm of flies decended upon him like Moses himself conjured it up!  Peter’s head and face were completely covered with the crawling creatures and he panicked. His arms thrashed wildly and he dropped the light into the bottom of the boat.   He shifted,  we tipped and water poured in.  The flies kept coming! Mouth and nose clogged with tiny tickling wings. Screams-n-coughs, cursing-n-cussing…..he hit the switch and all went dark. I suppose laughing didn’t help, but  I didn’t think he’d take it personally. I was wrong.

  “Let’s move to a different spot.” he demanded.  I grabbed the oars and worked  the calm surface of the lake  into heavy lather, but oddly made very little progress.  Peter barked out the proper technique of rowing and insisted I move faster, so I did. Ten minutes later  I was completely exhausted and we only went a hundred yards! Peter’s belly busted with laughter as  he retrieved the weed-covered anchor that I’d been dragging around the lake – score settled! 

  We threw a few baits and even tried  a Mayfly to catch fish, but nothing  could compete with Mother Nature, so we  called it a night.  We stretched out in the  Scout and just when I was beginning to doze  Peter sat up and freaked out. “There’s someone out there!”
“Shut up and go to sleep. There’s no one out here but us.” I argued
“I saw someone! He ran across the parking lot. He was wearing a white suit.” He was clearly startled, which startled me. I sat up to take a look just as  a big feral cat jumped up onto the hood!  His yellow eyes and shiney teeth glowed in the moonlight as he hissed at us through the windshield. I jerked the covers over my head and tried to ignore it all, but he was relentless! So I told him that if he gathered all the gear we’d leave.  The  door flung open in a flash I was being pelted by fishing rods, oars, tackle boxes, a stove and the live nightcrawlers that spilled  on my legs. “OK. Screw the boat! Let’s get out of here fast.” I said.
  

  Peter was visibly shaken up as he continued to check his rear view mirror and chew his fingernails like a woodchuck.  We headed for Fox Lake, a small town about 7 miles away when a news flash interrupted the radio. Warning residents to be on the lookout for a dangerous convict that escaped from the local prison. Our hearts leapt into our throats as he described the man’s prison issue clothing and the position that he was last seen. The DJ scornfully added that he was considered armed and dangerous and no one should try to apprehend him.

  Daylight broke about an hour later and we headed back to the lake to get the boat. When we turned down the narrow drive  to the lake we were met by a barrage of police cars all heading in the opposite direction.
The radio updated the report with a capture. They said he was apprehended while trying to make his get away in a small boat on Lake Emily! We stared at each other slack-jawed, and then looked into the back seat and discovered…we had the oars!  Silence in the truck was deafening. Then a Mayfly circled Peter’s head and came in for a soft landing on the bridge of his nose.

When the Mayfly’s dance on the ponds in the full moon light I  can still hear Peter’s  laughter in the buzz of  tiny wings!