NOTE: This story is a piece of flash fiction, written in a limited time with a limited wordcount.
This piece is closer to an exercise than my usual, but I felt perhaps it might be fun to read! I hope you enjoy!
I would like to say a special thanks to
for his fabulous weekly Flash Fiction Friday prompts that jogged some ideas loose for this exercise, as well as his good-humored request that I write about someone renewing their fishing license. 😂Regular readers will recognize the much-beloved narrator of this story, but if you’re new around here and want to see some of his other short tales, explore here:
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Howdy there. Geez, sure is busy in town today. One glimpse of spring sunshine and folks around here lose their minds. Saw some crazed kid out there wearing shorts. Shorts! It ain’t even above fifty degrees yet!
Anyway, yep, I’d like to renew my fishing license, please. I ain’t immune to the sunny weather in my own way, though you’d never catch me dead in shorts in early March.
Name’s Hank Hollister. Sure, here’s my ID.
Senior discount? Now, what’s that supposed to mean?
A joke, son. I never turn down a senior discount. Half the fun of gettin’ old is taking the perks where you can get ‘em.
Endorsements? Nope. No Dungeness or two-pole for me, thank you. I’m a single-minded fella. I leave the open-water fishing to the younger folks these days. Too many eerie tales for my liking, saltwater fishing around Ferris Island. I didn’t get to be eighty-five years wise takin’ stupid gambles. The halibut and salmon and crab at Hoodman’s is fresh enough every day and I don’t have to risk my neck for it.
But trout, now that’s a different story. You ever see that trout in Lake Damascus? It’s damn near perfect. Sleek and shiny, big bright eyes, plenty of four-pounders and I’ve seen even bigger some years. And the meat! Next time someone tells you that they think trout tastes like mud, you give ‘em some Damascus-caught trout. You watch ‘em eat it, see their eyes light up. It’s sweet and flaky and…ah, stop me, I’ll talk about it all day long if you let me—
Oh. Yes, Discovery Pass too, please.
It’s even better smoked. The trout meat, I mean. Smoked Damascus trout on good toasted bread with a slather of butter, maybe a little sprig of rocket if you’re feelin’ fancy, or parsley. Squeeze of lemon.
Dammit, I knew I should have eaten lunch before I left the house. I’m always gettin’ myself into trouble that way.
You know why those trout taste so good, don’tcha? It’s the water in that lake.
Funny thing about lakes on islands; they’re usually filled up with rainwater that runs down into the lowest point and collects. And sure, that’s true of Damascus, too. But there’s also a really big hole in the bottom of that lake. An aquifer, the smart folks call it, but really it’s just a big hole. It’s tough to say exactly where it is or how big it is, but you can feel it when you pass over it, even in a boat. Out in the middle of the water like a cold-spot in a haunted house. The wind shifts when you cross it, and when you put your hand in the water it’s icy cold, no matter the season. Even when the sun shines directly on it the depths over that hole are dark, strange dark, like it’s eatin’ up the light.
How deep is it? Impossible to know for sure unless someone’s crazy enough to dive it, and no one’s tried that I know of. I’ve heard some folks say two hundred feet, but that sounds pretty implausible to me, especially on an island like this. Even so…it’s deep. I threw a weighted line down there once, when I was a younger man, just to see if I could get a vague idea of the depth. That was an eighty-foot cord and it never hit bottom, never even hit a snag or a slope.
And while sure it’s a little spooky, it’s worth it, because those are the healthiest fish you ever saw and the lake is an active home for all kinds of critters thanks to the water that comes up from underneath. Trout, of course, but I’ve even seen bass in that lake and other little panfish and minnows. Plenty of otters and herons, waterfowl and such.
I sometimes wonder what’s down there, deeper down. What kinds of critters prefer the shadows and the deathly chill, close to the floor.
If there even is a floor.
The secret to fishing Lake Damascus is just to stay awake and aware and stick to the shallows. That’s the trick. You can find plenty of good trout around the edges with no problems at all.
What kind of problems? Well…it’s easy enough when you’re fishing to get kinda sleepy, kinda lazy. Sit back in your boat with a cooler of beer and let the twitch of the pole tell you when you’ve got a fish-on. But you can’t do that in the middle, out there, over the aquifer. Not the same as you can other places, other lakes.
Son, you can give me that look all you like, but I’ve heard enough stories. Folks out there fishing, drifting along on a sunny day, line in the water, just trawling slowly right over that big hole like an open throat, a low mist risin’ around them while they snooze…and some folks disappear out there, without a sign. Boat and all. Doesn’t happen often, but it’s happened enough over the years to make the savvier folks cautious.
Whether they go down into the dark or away into the mist, who can say? No one’s come back to tell us all what happened. They just vanish.
But listen…if you stick to the shallows you’ll be alright. And let me tell you, that damn trout is worth it.
What? Oh. I got to talkin’ again. Never do learn.
Here, let me write you a check.
You still take checks, don’tcha?
I could buy Hank a coffee and listen to him for hours. Now I want to go fishing with him too.
And investigate that lake!
This is really funny -- the nonstop talk. Bet that guy's eyes were glazing over. Some interesting geographical information while you were at it.