one of my favorites

A River Runs Through It was recommended to me today. So I have it on reserve at the library because I trust this particular recommender. I've seen the movie but we all know movies and books are different and it's been years since I've seen it. Anyway, ever since I saw the film, it has become associated with my good friend Empy. He once told me a story (via email) that I have saved for these types of moments. It is from awhile back but I was reminded of it today. I love it and wish it was my own, but I live vicariously and tell it to others on his behalf. This really is one of my favorites.

Ah, my young friend, you have heard yet another of my pike stories, but not the greatest one.

Let me introduce the characters. Me, Empy. Fetz. Ball. Jack. Jack's real name was John, but I decided to call him Jack.

Where are we? Saranac. Young Life property in the Adirondacks, NY, on Upper Saranac Lake. It's late May--still chilly at the 'nac.

We had a beat up yellow pick-up that you could shift without pushing in the clutch. Our job was to use tools, specifically, pitchforks, to shovel up pine needles in the wading beach. Not ones that washed up on the beach, mind you. Ones that were under water. You have to trust me on this, pitchforks are the only way to get those things out. Not very efficient, but better than shovel/hands/anything else you can think of.

The four of us spent the better part of our day in the water (with waders/wetsuits on), getting small amounts of pine needles on our pitchforks and hauling them onto the beach where we dumped them in the back of the pickup.

At this time of year in the 'nac the shallow water is just starting to warm up--but it's still butt-cold. But the warm(er) water attracts schools of yellow perch--literally hundreds of them would be swimming around us.

Now, you don't have to be a rocket scientist to figure out my math. Pitchfork + Schools of perch = Fun. We all would just jab our pitchfork at the perch, and inevitably one (or two) would get stuck on the tines, which you would lift out of the water in triumph. A few fish got impaled on sticks and were left on the beach as a warning to...I don't remember who it was a warning to. It was probably just to show how cool we were because we could stab fish, and got to do it while other people were scrubbing toilets with toothbrushes, weeding, etc.

Well, by the end of the day we had made some good progress with the pine needles, and had a full truck load that we needed to go dump. We were all pretty damn proud of ourselves. Since the pick-up only had room for two people in the cab, I hopped up on the back...

And that's when I saw him. Not 30 feet from shore was the shadow of a great fish--a Great Northern Pike. And it was a big one. Apparently warm water attracted perch, which attracted NOT ONLY boys with pitchforks but also giant pike, who evidently liked to eat the perch. Perhaps this one was attracted by the carnage that had taken place earlier.

It was one of those times that I was incredibly excited and yet incredibly frustrated. I pointed the pike out to all of the guys, and we all stared in amazement, but what were we going to do? I decided that, out of desperation, I was going to fling my pitchfork at the pike, knowing deep in my heart that I would miss, the fish would swim away, and our glorious day filled with massacre and amazement would leave a bittersweet taste in all of our respective mouth's.

That's when Ball spoke. "DON'T", he yelled as I raised the pitchfork in the air. Shocked, I watched Ball grab his own pitchfork and begin wading into the water after the beast, like a man trudging off to war. Stunned, I watched on, knowing in my heart that the only thing less likely to work than me flinging the pitchfork like a javelin was trying to sneak up the animal.

But the animal didn't move. Ball is 10 feet away. Still hasn't moved. 5 feet away. Still hasn't moved. Finally he sidles right up next to the great pike. In retrospect, we all decided that the fish didn't move because it was planning on eating Ball. It was that big.

Ball raised his weapon in the air, and then used the force of gravity combined with all the strength in his arms to impale the fish. The great contest of man versus beast had been decided at last. Man had won.

Or so we thought. Leave it to man to have the quarry in his grasp, and then allow something--pride, forgetfulness, fear--to let it get away. For as quickly as Ball had speared the leviathan, he raised his pitchfork in triumph, as we had all afternoon during the Perch Massacre. During the early battles the perch had emerged, unmoving, stuck on the tool. But the weight of this new species caused it slide off the tines, back into the water. The fish, understandably stunned, paused for a brief moment. Ball froze. We all froze. But, like all eternal moments, this one thawed, and the angry beast violently thrashed its tail and swam at terrifying speeds, with the orientation of a drunk driver, away from the beach at out into the depths.

I wish I could provide a poetic conclusion to what had happened, but I can't. The four men and one fish that were there that day know what happened, but that doesn't mean they can understand it. We finished up our work, loaded ourselves into the truck, and drove away, back into the world where fish and men don't interact, let alone wage war. We had to turn on the windshield wipers, as it was starting to rain.

Epilogue: A few days later I was making small-talk with the checkout lady at a nearby store, a purveyor of soda, smokes, and porn, as well as a place you can get your fish weighed. I brought up pike fishing. She said that the other day someone had brought in a 40-incher. I wanted to ask if it had puncture wounds in its side.