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The Complete Angler
The Minnesota sky was cloudless and
blue and the sun reflected brightly on the smooth surface of the water.
A man, bareheaded and wearing a
T-shirt and madras shorts, was fishing from the small dock on the far side of
the inlet. He was sitting on a folding chair and there was a portable radio
beside him on the dock tuned to loud rock music and a cooler and several empty
beer cans. Two men in sunglasses and shorts sat on a bench at the rear of the
dock. I was sitting in the shade at the end of the condominiums on the near
side of the inlet.
The fisherman stood up suddenly and
started reeling in the line. There was strong drag on the line and the top of
the pole bent forward and it took him several minutes to bring in his catch. The
fish thrashed frantically on the surface of the water and the fisherman swung
the pole over his head and jerked it out of the water and it landed behind him
on the dock. It was a large skate. The flat, ugly fish writhed and flopped
on the hot planking. The two men in sunglasses and shorts walked over to look
at it.
"What is it?" one of them
asked.
"Damn if I know," said
the fisherman, squatting to get a better look.
"It's hideous!" said the
other man in sunglasses and shorts.
The fisherman tried to remove the
hook from the fish's mouth. He was reluctant to put his hand on the fish to
hold it and he didn’t know how to get the hook free. He tried holding it by the
tip of the tail, but it was slippery and moved constantly and he was unable to
remove the hook. Finally, he put his foot on the skate. The fish continued to
squirm and he pressed down with his foot until it lay still. He was still
unable to remove the hook. He swore angrily. He searched through his pockets
and found his small penknife and cut savagely at the skate until the hook was
free.
The skate lay bleeding and
motionless. One of the men in sunglasses and shorts nudged it with his toe. The
skate moved feebly. When it lay still, he nudged it again. He nudged it several
times until it no longer moved. Then he and his companion lost interest and
walked off the dock toward the high-rise apartments in the distance
The fisherman re-baited his hook
and cast it into the water. He leaned the pole against his chair and went over
and looked at the skate again. It was motionless and shriveled in the strong
sun. He picked it up gingerly by the tail and let it fall on the deck. It
landed with a lifeless plop. He picked it up and dropped it again. Then he
kicked it to the edge of the dock and into the water. He looked down at
it floating motionless on the surface. Then he opened a can of beer from the
cooler and took a long drink. Belching loudly, he picked up his pole and sat
down. Within minutes he had another strike and he stood up and started reeling
in.
I didn't wait to see what it was he
caught this time. I had seen enough. He was the complete angler, complete with
every bad habit in the sport of angling.
Hugo De Sarro is a former college English instructor. He has published
poetry, essays and short stories in a variety of journals, including Snowy Egret, Colorado
Review' Sparrow: Yearbook of
the Sonnet, Christian Science Monitor, FreExpression, PDQ, Pulsar,
Black Bear Review, Eureka Lit.Mag.
Email: Hugo De Sarro
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