Torsdag 27 Januar 2022

 

Tilbake ned i hullet du går!

Back Down The Hole You go! 

 

   “I know a couple guys at work who’d wanna punch you right in the nose, “ Sven said to Mac Furlong, a lending officer at the Uptown Bank, from whom Sven was requesting a short-term loan. Mac had just admitted he had returned an eleven and a half pound walleye he had caught ice fishing that weekend, to the lake.

   “You let it go????”, Sven asked incredulously, looking at the thirty one inch chance-of-a-lifetime monster fish in the photograph he held. “Are you nuts??”

   “Well, it was sort of an impulsive decision, “Mac started to explain. “The fish couldn’t be out of the water very long or it’d die, and I was thinkin’ of what it would cost to have it mounted versus the trollin’ motor I wanted to buy this summer that I really needed--and I was thinkin’ about how I should set a good example for all my lendin’ customers, such as yourself Sven, and act fiscally responsible and not give-in to frivolous expenditure on impulse -- so I dumped him back down the hole just-like-that. In retrospect, it might’ve been a little hasty...”

   “That wasn’t a little hasty, Mac -- that was stupid!! Fine example. You’ll maybe never catch a fish like that again in your life. I can’t believe you let it go!!!!” Sven continued. “Now about that loan...”

   “ 'ey, Mac me boy!” burst in Ole Olson. “I vant to show Frank your big fish.” Ole was The Bank’s newsletter editor and had taken the big fish’s photo out on the lake that day, saying,
 “Yah shure, dis vun vill make da front page.”

   Sven listened to Ole expound on the lengthy creature to Frank, whom he had cornered against a partition outside Mac’s office. “Hmmm, nice fish...” Sven heard Frank say dreamily as he admired the photograph while Ole eyed him like a hungry owl would a fat field mouse.
    

   “Where’s he going to have it mounted?” Frank asked Ole as he glanced into Mac’s office where Sven sat.

   “Uh, 'e’s not going to ‘ave it mounted Frank,” Ole said slowly for emphasis awaiting Frank’s reaction with a peculiar glee. “Mac ... t’rew ... it ... back ...”
 
   “HE THREW IT BACK?????” the man fairly wheezed out, gripping his chest theatrically as though stricken with heart failure. “I should have known Furlong would do something stupid like that! That does it! I’m taking my account to the west-northwest side bank!! Surely no one there would be so crazy to throw a fish like that back!!”

   “Vait! Vait! Don’t be ‘asty!” Ole gulped, quickly computing the implications a withdrawal of this proportion would have on the bank staff’s future ice fishing trips.

   “Do vat you vant vit your millions, Frank, but no vun at da vest-nort’vest side bank can catch a fish like dis. ‘eard tell dat not a vun of dem at dat bank fishes or ‘unts at all. You vant your ‘ard-earned cash in a bank like dat vere no vun fishes, no vun ‘unts, no vun drowns a dozen minnows all year? Or a place like dis vere we appreciate all of nature we ‘ave been given to ‘unt, fish, and trap, vere we admit to our mistakes-- on occasion-- and ‘ave patience even vit nincompoops like Mac dere who t’row record-sized fish back down an eight-inch ‘ole in da ice? T’ink about it, Frank. Yah, please, please ... reconsider.”

   Therein a long silence of several seconds occurred. Instinctively, everyone including Sven, held their breath awaiting Frank’s answer. “Tick, tick, tick” went Mac’s Sponge Bob Square Pants© desk clock and pen holder.

   Breaking the stalemate, Ole stammered, “Mac! Apologize to Frank, now eh. ‘e ‘as never caught a fish like dat in 'is entire life of 80+ years an’ --- an’ you, callously t’row vun back like you can alvays catch anudder. ‘ave you no feelings for da less fortunate?

   “Dis man ‘as ice-fished for 60 years an’ da biggest fish 'e ever caught vas--vat, Frank? A measely nine an’ a half pounder!!” Ole inquired of flustered Frank whom he had fairly riveted to the wall outside Mac’s newly refurbished office.

    “Mac! Apologize to our valued customer ‘ere,” Ole demanded authoritatively, jerking his head back toward Frank while giving him a quick fraternizing hug across the shoulders.

   “We don’t vant to lose ‘im simply because of some totally irrational be’avior on your part.”
 
    Out of sight of Frank and Ole, Mac looked at Sven with his classic, “Duh, what?” one-eye-up and one-eye-down look he reserved for unbelievably stupid requests for loans that Sven was quite used to getting during his 20+ year tenure as a Uptown Bank customer; then turned to face Frank and Ole with an apologetic eye and his well-publicized Customer Care smile, and said,
 
   “Frank, as you know, I’ve done some pretty stupid things in my life, this, throwing such a truly remarkable once-in-a-lifetime-fish like this back down the hole, obviously being one of them. I sincerely apologize if my senseless actions have, in any way, offended you. I must have lost my head.”

   “Lost your head? Like the time two years ago at my deer camp,” Frank retorted, his face reddening with every word. “When that state record 14 point non-typical came out on the trail not 25 yards away from your deer stand and you emptied your gun into the ground, not once--but twice, unbelievably!!  

   “The same trophy buck your wife had to shoot for you?” Frank said tersely, shrugging off Ole’s arm like a big fish would do a small net. “With a single shot, from her hip, at over 200 yards!”

   “Oh, you remember that do you, Frank?... Yes, the record buck my wife shot ... her very first deer,” Mac slowly replied, his whole physical demeanor shrinking before their very eyes; his shoulders drooping. Suddenly regaining his stride, Mac glanced upwards to the huge whitetail buck on the north wall of his office where the ceiling was cut-out above its antlers, and said “That would’ve surely got lesser man down Frank, but looking at it this way,” Mac said.  “It would’ve cost me a pretty penny to have had big ol’ fish mounted and preserved with all its integrity intact.

   “You’re on the Board, you know what I earn here at the bank. W-why with a wife and these three little mouths to feed,” Mac said, turning aside to draw attention to the framed pictures of his family situated on the cabinet behind him. “I just couldn’t justify such an expense in my heart. It just wasn’t the financially prudent thing to do.”

   “Cut the bullshit Furlong,” Frank answered, looking at the photograph of Mac holding his gigantic one-in-a-million walleye, its eyes reflecting white in the flash from the camera. “It’s obvious your wife is capable of feeding herself -- you, and your kids. And, had she been along on this fishing trip, this beauty too would be on your office wall in a few weeks. At least she knows the value of a real trophy judging by the looks of things. Giving Mac’s walls a quick once over, he added, “I like the way she’s decorated your office.”

   “He threw it back, Ole ...” Frank lamented. “It’s the most preposterous thing I have ever heard of. That guy’s a nut case!!”

   Changing the subject, Frank turned out of Mac’s office door. Taking Ole’s arm, he started down the aisle, saying, “Ole, I just came in here to get one of your free yearly calendars and what I get is a poor return on the investment of my time and effort.”
 
   A cattail frond tickled Sven’s ear. He carefully pushed it aside as he watched Mac slowly sit down into his camouflaged high back chair before he said, “You never told me that version of the story...”

   One thing could be said about Mac’s office, is that it was not like some others at the Uptown Bank with their favorite football team memorabilia on their desk; collector editions of old sports magazines in cellophane wrappers up and away on a high shelf safe from public inspection--pictures of family outings on the lake, or a row of varnished deer antlers on one wall depicting past glories, and a large framed art print of a big whitetail buck and doe, frozen in stride, on the other.

   It was straight out of ‘Normie’s on Main,’ sporting goods & hardware store in Reed River. It had everything including a full-sized robotic bow hunter hidden in the northwest corner of the office that appeared chameleon-like from within leafy camouflage at full-draw, aiming a razor-edged broad point at the two customer chairs near his desk (Mac claimed ‘Larry’ provoked customers to internalize the validity of their loan requests ... and thus save the customer serious financial error.)

   Northern and walleye pike; crappie, burbot, tullibee, sunfish, catfish, and saugers, their gills moving; their fins rippling, appear golden in the water of the huge fish tank; bubbles from the aerator float to the surface from a tangle of tree roots and rock below the width and length of Mac’s desk. (Mac claimed it made customers think twice about floating another loan.)

   Ringneck roosters explode from cover on one of Mac’s pheasant hunting trips in South Dakota; Mac and his party all wear N.O.M. caps and hunting jackets. Against a beautifully blue autumn sky, three ducks take the long fall after a one-two shot from Mac’s double-barrel at Thief Lake Refuge; a N.O.M. decal plainly visible on its butt plate.

   “Wannabe hunters from southwest of Wannaska, Minnesota learn some important lessons about hunting mule deer out West from hunting veteran Mac Furlong in 2004,” intoned this often played video showing the four of them looking at topo maps, camping equipment, and rifles purchased at Normie’s On Main.

   Videos were projected on the side of a large rock in a magnificent woodland diorama; timber wolves howl plaintively, and ruffed grouse drum. The acoustics of Mac’s office approached that of the show hall down the street. Whippoorwills repeat their name as evening comes on in the northwoods. A wind comes up through the treetops. The fragrances of cedar boughs, spruce needles, and baum-of-gilead branches burning in a crackling campfire waft past the customers noses as they await approval of their loan applications.

   Frogs trill, bullfrogs croak and groan from a wetland of cattails, water lilies, and sago pond weed. Two blue wing teal and their trail of ducklings wind their way through standing cattails; a muskrat swims by, dives under the water, and disappears within the customer’s reach. (Mac took the water snake out because too many men and women alike fled his office in fear.)

    A gaggle of full-body mount Canadian and snow geese hang from invisible wires in awe-inspiring suspension above Mac’s desk. Their huge wings, set to land, span the width of his office, make an wheezing sound as they slow their rapid descent, their ‘hronking’ calls reverberating in the background. Their black webbed feet splayed for impact; their shiny eyes wide open; some, their heads cocked for danger almost alight, all the while Mac is whispering,
“Steady... steady...wait now....” the excitement barely contained in his voice as he counted down their surprise attack of this flock...

      Making time for his family first, as the rule of the day, Mac bow hunted whitetail deer in Minnesota beginning in late August. He hunted ducks, geese, pheasants, and  ‘partridge’  in the fall. Then firearm-hunted elk and mule deer out west for trophy animals with some local boys in late November. Then continued bow hunting for deer through December. After Christmas, he and the boys at the Uptown Bank began ice fishing. Between his afternoons and evenings he coached basketball and girls hockey.

   Mac fished from his boat on opening day in May, then fished from his ice house up to the last day in March as long as the ice would allow. He regularly practiced Catch ‘n Release to insure his children’s future fishing days; this being as much an investment, to him, as to putting money in the bank. Always pro-active, he served on a number of community service committees, the chamber of commerce, the county school board, and church, all of which Sven told him was going to make one helluva long obituary when his time came. Sven was observant like that...

   Nonetheless, the matter of Mac Furlong releasing a monster walleye to the deep from whence he drew it through an eight inch hole in Lake ‘o the Woods ice seemed, to most fishermen, an outstandingly dumb thing to do. The possibility of catching a gigantic fish like that is the whole reason--other than having fun, being with friends, smoking a few cigars, catching a little to eat, getting out of the house, drinking a few beers (or sodas, in Mac’s case) --of being out there in the elements in the first place.

   Maybe, just maybe, successfully catching a monster fish would give you bragging rights to last a lifetime and beyond; and something your grandchildren could point to on the wall with all their friends in tow and say,

   “My grandpa (or grandma) caught that big fish! It weighed more ‘n me when I was born!”

   And all the kids would go, “Oooooooooo!”

   However, Mac’s grandkids will trail a group out to the garage and he or she will lift an oily tarp from something clamped to a 2x4 on the wall and say,
 
   “My grandpa caught a huge walleye that weighed nearly 12 lbs., when he was ice fishin’ in 2003. Then acting fiscally responsible -- he let the fish go, instead of mounting it on the wall, so he could buy this here trolling motor.”

   And all the kids are going’ to say, “He threw it back???”