| Kentucky Stumble |
Kentucky Lake Stumble, a Fish Story
By Kathleen M. Brosius
“Oh how lovely this is,” I sighed as I leaned back on the
soft boat seat. George smiled and cast his lure across the
smooth water. We were fishing on Kentucky Lake. I wasn’t
fishing though; I was enjoying the beautiful day.
The hours passed. George was catching fish—big fish.
All of a sudden the water exploded before us. A fifteen pound
bass broke the surface. (well, that’s what George supposed it
weighed). George sprang to his feet holding on, fighting the
fish. His reel screamed as the fish fought for freedom. “Get
over here with the net,” he roared. I obeyed.
We were under an old tree with sprawling branches. The
commotion startled a slumbering snake. The reptile lost its
bearings and tumbled down on top of George. “Eeyow!” he
shrieked and his fishing pole went sailing across the water. I
grabbed the snake by the tail and sent it flying.
“The fish is getting away,” my hubby shrieked. With no
time to waste, I dove into the abyss frantically reaching for the
pole’s hand carved ebony handle. Catching it, I swam toward
shore. The bass resisted, pulling me toward the depths of
darkness.
Exhausting moments passed and I finally reached the
rocky beach. As I staggered to my feet, the fish gave a final
attempt and charged into the inky depths. Weak from the
battle, I lost my balance and fell. I was able to hold onto the
rod until George could bring the boat close enough to net his
prize catch. Drained of all of strength, I tried to stand. “Did we
get it? Did we save the fish?” I cried, and then yelped in pain.
George saw that I was hurt and forgot about his record-
breaking catch. He let the fish go, leaped from the boat and
scrambled to my side. Gathering me into his strong arms, he
carefully deposited me onto the soft cushions of his boat.
No, that is not how it happened, although I really did hurt
my ankle. George's boat has everything but a ladies' room and
I needed to find one, or the next best thing. Because it was
only three o'clock (we had been afloat for seven hours), it was
way too early to quit fishing. I agreed to be let off under a
bridge.
As I leaped from the boat, my concerned husband asked
a favor. “Hon, could you push the boat away from the rocks as
you jump?” Heaven forbid the boat touch the rocks. I did my
best. The rock that I landed on moved, I lost my balance and
went flying.
“Kathleen, don‘t tell me that you‘re hurt!” My husband
growled, glaring at me.
“No, no, I’m okay.” I squeaked. “Really, I’m fine,” tears
beginning to flow. I couldn’t stand. (Later, at the emergency
ward we learned that I tore the Achilles tendon in my right
ankle). You should have been there to see us get me back into
the boat without the boat touching those
rocks.
By Kathleen M. Brosius
“Oh how lovely this is,” I sighed as I leaned back on the
soft boat seat. George smiled and cast his lure across the
smooth water. We were fishing on Kentucky Lake. I wasn’t
fishing though; I was enjoying the beautiful day.
The hours passed. George was catching fish—big fish.
All of a sudden the water exploded before us. A fifteen pound
bass broke the surface. (well, that’s what George supposed it
weighed). George sprang to his feet holding on, fighting the
fish. His reel screamed as the fish fought for freedom. “Get
over here with the net,” he roared. I obeyed.
We were under an old tree with sprawling branches. The
commotion startled a slumbering snake. The reptile lost its
bearings and tumbled down on top of George. “Eeyow!” he
shrieked and his fishing pole went sailing across the water. I
grabbed the snake by the tail and sent it flying.
“The fish is getting away,” my hubby shrieked. With no
time to waste, I dove into the abyss frantically reaching for the
pole’s hand carved ebony handle. Catching it, I swam toward
shore. The bass resisted, pulling me toward the depths of
darkness.
Exhausting moments passed and I finally reached the
rocky beach. As I staggered to my feet, the fish gave a final
attempt and charged into the inky depths. Weak from the
battle, I lost my balance and fell. I was able to hold onto the
rod until George could bring the boat close enough to net his
prize catch. Drained of all of strength, I tried to stand. “Did we
get it? Did we save the fish?” I cried, and then yelped in pain.
George saw that I was hurt and forgot about his record-
breaking catch. He let the fish go, leaped from the boat and
scrambled to my side. Gathering me into his strong arms, he
carefully deposited me onto the soft cushions of his boat.
No, that is not how it happened, although I really did hurt
my ankle. George's boat has everything but a ladies' room and
I needed to find one, or the next best thing. Because it was
only three o'clock (we had been afloat for seven hours), it was
way too early to quit fishing. I agreed to be let off under a
bridge.
As I leaped from the boat, my concerned husband asked
a favor. “Hon, could you push the boat away from the rocks as
you jump?” Heaven forbid the boat touch the rocks. I did my
best. The rock that I landed on moved, I lost my balance and
went flying.
“Kathleen, don‘t tell me that you‘re hurt!” My husband
growled, glaring at me.
“No, no, I’m okay.” I squeaked. “Really, I’m fine,” tears
beginning to flow. I couldn’t stand. (Later, at the emergency
ward we learned that I tore the Achilles tendon in my right
ankle). You should have been there to see us get me back into
the boat without the boat touching those
rocks.