A weekend on granger Lake where old jokes, new boats, and fried catfish reminded me that the best stories are usually the ones closest to home.
Around 10pm I turned down Tyler’s gravel drive and saw through the headlights the greatest sight a friend could see: a new boat parked in the driveway. We cracked open a beer on the back porch and he said, “I’m going to prove to you I catch fish tomorrow.” See, the running joke all our friends have had with Tyler over the last 15 years is that Tyler goes fishing, he just never catches the fish.
“We are going to Granger Lake, and we are going to reel in a monster!” He proudly explains to me after crushing his Coors light can. “After we finish these beers better hit the sack and get some shut eye” I looked down and saw he had about 25 beers iced down in his cooler. I knew I wasn’t getting any sleep.
At 5am I get woken up to the sound of a truck starting up in the driveway. This is Tyler’s typical wake up call. He’ll start the truck and sit there for about 10 minutes before he breaks into your room and says, “you comin or what?!” I rolled out of bed smacking my tongue against the roof of my mouth trying to break the cotton mouth and quickly brushed my teeth and grabbed my camera.
We stopped at the gas station in town where all the old men drink their coffee. “Going to show your buddy a good time today?” One shouted from the corner as I bought us a bag of ice, 6 waters, and an energy drink. He must’ve told his buddies how much shit we talk because they seemed to all know Tyler’s motive for the day. We filled the truck up and were off. One fisherman and his extremely hungover friend.
It was still dark when Tyler backed the boat in. You could tell the morning wanted to fog but, the slight breeze wouldn’t let it. I parked the truck and trailer up the hill and sauntered down what seemed like 18 flights of stairs, and we were off. “Get up there and throw the cast net” Tyler demanded of me. Now I hadn’t thrown a cast net in about 18 years but, I like to think I held my own. While they weren’t all perfect circular casts, they were mostly ovular minus one or two figure eight shapes. I think that’s pretty good for a man still sweating out the night before who hadn’t touched a cast net since before he could drink. Once we had the live well sufficiently full, we tore across the lake on what looked like glass. One might describe this boat ride like blasting through the darkness of space at light speed.
Tyler shut the engine off, we tied off to a tree stump, cut up bait, and cast out 6 rods 180 degrees out the back of the boat. Once the last line hit the water, we were immediately greeted to the first pole doubling over. Tyler ripped it from the rod holder and beaded down in it. “Grab the net and don’t fuck this up!” He quietly demanded to me as not to draw any attention from nearby fishermen in fear of them discovering his secret spot. Once I saw the belly, I knew why he was getting feisty. I dropped the net in the water and swung it around the largest catfish I had ever seen in real life. He gripped it out of the net and pulled it in the boat, grinning from ear to ear. “I told you; I catch fish. “Now grab my phone I got to send some pictures to everyone” we snagged a couple pictures of a 35lb behemoth blue catfish and dropped it gently back into the lake to live another day. Big fish after all, do make big fish.
After that, the action came to a swift halt. We gave it about 30 minutes and the fish whisperer pulled the anchor and gunned it to the next spot. Once again, within 10 minutes he shoots up as a pole doubles over. I grabbed the net (didn’t fuck it up) and he landed his fish. Another whopper weighing in around 25lbs. “You going to catch anything today, ole son?!” He proclaimed through hysterical laughter. I’m sure I had some smart-ass remark about how he gave me defective bait or how he knew which side of the boat to fish off of. I was after all, just happy to be there. Then at that moment the bite turned on. By the time I cut up a new shad and threw it in the water a fish was on the other line. It was getting to the point where I was debating on just using one rod because I could barely keep up. We continued our circus performance going for about an hour keeping the ones that were perfect “eaters” as Tyler calls them and throwing back the rest. Eventually, we had our fill of fun and wanted to leave some for the rest of the fisherman on the lake and just sat there drinking a beer like we had just finished a hard day of digging ditches. After FaceTiming our college buddies to brag about our haul we took the boat back to the ramp, loaded up, and headed home.
Once back at the house, Tyler really showed how good of a friend he was. “Grab that table and the feed tub we gotta clean these fish”. I swear, by the time I would grab another fish and put it on the table he would be standing there waiting for me. If he were my grandpa he would’ve said, “working with you is like working alone, just slower.” He cleaned all the fish as I stood there like I was watching a samurai tear through his enemies on the battlefield. Partly impressed, partly mortified at what this man could do with a knife.
I helped the best way I could from there on out, considering I’m a cook, by cleaning up the filets of their red meat and prepping the grease. By the time I had stepped back outside there were a dozen of Tyler’s family members there ready for the fish fry. I’m not sure if he called them or if they just all happened to drive by and smell the gut bucket, but I was glad to see them there. There was no way we were going to eat all this fish. We heated the oil and started going to town. It is down to a science with Tyler, grease at the perfect temperature, the right blend of flour and corn meal in the batter, he listens to the filets to know when they are done. We got all the fish cooked and started in on the fries and hush puppies (we stayed true to my white trash roots and used premade options from the grocery). We had enough food to feed 30 people. But, wouldn’t you know, we ate it all.
Somewhere around my second plate of fried indulgence I realized that Tyler never really had anything to prove. He had just been spending 15 years trying to let us in on something that he genuinely loved, this was his thing. I’m not talking about catching fish. I’m talking about spending time with your buddy, drinking beer on the porch, a Saturday on the lake that turned into 15 people standing around a fryer laughing and swapping stories. Looking back, I don’t remember the exact number of fish we caught. But I do remember the look on Tyler’s face every time that rod bent.
