Fishing Buddys (standard:fairy tales, 2544 words)
Author: Alpha43	Added: May 06 2005	Views/Reads: 3718/2506	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
To have a somebody show a fisherman the key to guaranteed fishing success would be wonderful, wouldn't it?

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

marker. Go to 86.” The kid said confidently. 

“Ya, sure, I’ll keep that in mind.” 

The kid must hang around here a lot, he’s picking up on the lingo, but
what’s this ‘86’ business? Look at that squirt, those tennis shoes 
aren’t even a matched pair, his toes are busting through the left one. 
That T-shirt wouldn’t make a good deck rag. 

“Here’s your dollar, shouldn’t you be in school? How old are you?” 

“Thanks!” Said the kid, quickly pocketing the change. 

He’s not too talkative after I brought up school. 

I guess I’ll run this thing back on the trailer. What a waste! I have no
idea when I can get out again, but you can bet it will be raining. I’m 
gonna forget how to fish if I don’t get out one of these days. 

“Son, what’s your name?” 

“Buzz.” 

“Is ‘Buzz’ your real name?” 

The boy just shrugged, staring down into the clear aqua water. 

“OK Buzz, would you mind checking one more time before I load this thing
back on the trailer?” 

“You’re not going fishing?” The boy said, looking surprised. 

“Please, just check for me, OK?” 

Buzz slowly turned and headed for the parking area, looking dejected. He
was soon back, shaking his head no, looking sad, like he had just 
watched his pet dog get run over. 

“What are you so sad about, I’m the one that got stood up. I’ve been
waiting three weeks to go fishing and so far all I have is some dead 
stinky shrimp and sweat stains,” I growled. 

“Well then Lenny, go fishing! You got the boat, bait, gear, and me.” The
lad was smiling again. “And of course, we have 86!” 

“Well, I don’t know... Do you know how to fish? Are your folks going to
pitch a fit if you’re gone for four or five hours?” 

“Yes.” Short pause “and No.” This time, he had a really big grin on his
face. 

“Untie that line and – wait, you got to pee or anything?” 

You got an empty beer can, don’t ya mister?” 

“Lets go!” 

That’s how I got hooked up with Buzz and it is also the beginning of the
end of my fishing! Buzz fought me verbally about wearing a life jacket, 
especially since I wasn’t wearing one. Once we were out of the marina, 
I opened the engines up and I let the GPS guide us out, running a 
heading of 248 degrees on the compass. Talking was impossible unless 
you yelled in each other’s ear; the engine was tach’d out and the 
ADAN’s hull was spanking the light chop. Buzz and I were both grinning, 
but he kept jabbing his finger, pointing more to the south. Finally he 
waved his arms and I slowed the boat. Mistake! 

“If you got to pee already, I’m gonna throw you overboard” I shouted as
the ‘ADAN’ settled into the wash. 

Buzz looked concerned as he said, “You’re not going to 86!” 

“Just what the hell are you talking about?” I quizzed. 

“You can’t be set on 86, it’s usually more to the south.” 

“If you mean 86 degrees on the compass, we would have to force the
‘ADAN’ overland towards Brooksville. Eighty-six degrees on a compass is 
damn near due East. What’s this 86?” 

Buzz looked stunned. His eyes could not have been any bigger if he
witnessed me peeing my pants. 

“Well Lenny, I can’t believe you don’t know about 86?” 

Now I got a six year-old kid teaching me navigation on my boat? Wait a
minute, I never told this kid my name. 

“OK, make this fast, and it better be good. I would still like to get
over some grouper sometime today. Go ahead, tell me about this 86” 

Now he had that ‘You got to be kidding me’ expression on his face,
smiling a sheepish grin, saying, “Lenny, Set your marine radio to 86, 
then slowly make a circle until you...” 

“Wait,” I interrupted. I don’t have a channel 86 on my radio.” 

“Set the knob to channel, then manually enter 86. As you turn in a
circle, you will pick up a low hum. As you get closer to the exact 86 
heading, the hum will get louder. Follow the hum, staying on that 
heading. When the hum turns to a beep, you’re there. Start fishing. 
Simple!” He looked confident, like the cat who swallowed the canary ! 

We wasted another fifteen minutes arguing about the merits of Buzz’s
fishing finding method, but I finally set the radio and started to make 
a wide sweep. We hit a SSW heading and the radio picked up a slight 
noise, and that became a solid, strong vibration at a compass reading 
of 197 degrees. Buzz was smiling again and we started off in that 
direction. If I varied slightly off that course, the signal would start 
to fade, and I would make my correction. 

About eight miles farther out, the hum went up an octave and started a
rhythmic pulsation and when I looked up, Buzz was waving his arms and 
giving me the finger across the throat signal to cut the engine. 

Buzz never cast a line; he threw out the front anchor and the chum bag.
Then he just leaned against the transom, with his arms folded and a 
huge smile on his dirty face. I baited two poles, but he said he would 
not have time to fish as I would need his assistance shortly. The 
entire day had not made a lot of sense, and I just said fine, have it 
your way, as I cast off to the west, directly at the late afternoon 
sun. Little did I know how much crazier things were about to get. 

The rear of the boat was swinging, but I was going to wait and see if we
got any hits before I secured the rear anchor. That rear anchor stayed 
dry that day. Not from lack of fish, but because we were too busy 
hauling in some of the biggest grouper and snapper I had ever seen. In 
just under an hour, the floor of the ‘ADAN’ was covered with huge fish. 
We were out of bait, I had broken two rods on fish that got away, and I 
had smoked a $400.00 Penn reel on something down there that I never got 
a glimpse of. My arms and back ached. 

Buzz moved like a skilled surgeon while I was catching fish. While I
grabbed the rod that Buzz had previously baited, he would club the 
landed fish, remove the hook, look for nicked leader and replace it if 
need be, and bait the rod in anticipation of the next fish. I was 
adrift in ‘Fisherman’s Paradise’ as Buzz worked. 

I thought I had died and went to heaven. I had 800 pounds of fish on the
deck and in the cooler. One grouper weighed well over 45 pounds alone, 
with numerous 30-pound snappers as well. Buzz started cleaning the fish 
as we slapped our way back into Bayport. He wanted to know if I was 
keeping the heads for chum grinding. Sharp young boy! World’s greatest 
deck hand! I was as happy as a teenager passing his first drivers test! 


We must have been fourteen miles out, and during the ride in, reality
started to set in. Fishing success like this just doesn’t happen, but 
it did today. What was I going to do with all these fish? How did this 
kid know about 86? Hell, who was this kid? My arms really started to 
throb. 

When Buzz and I pulled into the Bayport Marina, he held the bowline,
while I went up to get my Ford van and trailer, to winch the boat out 
of the ramp. After backing the trailer in, I found the bowline tied 
off, and Buzz was nowhere to be found. I never saw him again. Puzzled, 
I loaded up, bought some ice, and packaged up a lot of fish, and 
literally gave away 300 pounds of record size fish to anybody who would 
take them. 

I stopped by my buddy Stan’s house and the place was empty. A neighbor
told me that Stan had moved out the week before, stating that Stan had 
mentioned going back to Wyoming. Had I lost my mind? I have spent many 
restless hours trying to make any sense out of that whole “Stan” thing. 


Now imagine, if you played baseball, and you hit a home run every time
you were at the plate, it would be great fun, and certainly newsworthy 
for a while, but eventually it would be commonplace, boring, no fun, 
routine. So it is for fishing and 86. Hell, I hold five Florida Open 
Water State records! 

There you have it. I will never forget those great moments of catching
record-breaking fish, and I suppose some day I could go back one more 
time. Oh, I went back out fishing after that wonderful day, and the 
only thing that changed was that 86 does not take you to the same spot 
every time. It takes you to where the fish are that day. All the fish 
you could possibly want, every single time! 

I tried not using 86 and the boredom is unbelievable, especially knowing
that anywhere from a few hundred feet to 10 miles away are record 
breaking trophies, waiting for you. It’s a mind thing. I have thought 
and dreamt of 86 and that young man hundreds of times. 

I live on a golf course in Brooksville, and I had never given golf my
full attention. I play a lot now. I haven’t fished in over a year. I 
sold the boat last fall and bought the best set of golf clubs money can 
buy. My game is getting better but I have a long way to go. 

Today, the High Point Men’s League is sponsoring a “Take A Kid Golfing
Day” where each two-man team has one set of clubs. The kid carries the 
clubs the first hole and the member plays, and then they swap and the 
boy plays the second hole and the member carries the clubs. It‘s mostly 
Father/Son teams, but the local Cub Scout troop is sponsoring some 
underprivileged kids for those of us who don’t have children in the 
area. 

I was lacing up my golf shoes when I heard a knock on the back door. It
was my neighbor Joe DePoole and his grandson Cliff, part of my 
foursome. They were looking good in matching embroidered shirts and 
Bermuda shorts. Joe told me that he checked with the tournament 
starter, Al Thackerson, we tee off in twenty minutes, and he turned to 
ask Cliff if he remembered which Cub Scout I was paired with. 

That mornings acidic coffee and orange juice nearly made it’s way back
up my throat as I listened Cliff’s answer. 

“I don’t think I know this boy, he’s a little guy. The entry sheet
didn’t list a last name, it just said ‘Buzz’.” 


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