Rawhide - Part 2
Fishing hasn't been the same for Rawhide since the concussion he
sustained at the weigh-in of that big striper tournament a few years ago. You
may recall that he won the tourney with an eighty pound striper. After the
accident, he couldn't remember where he had caught the big fish.

He spent many fishing trips trying to relocate the spot his ancestors referred
to as the "Happy Fishing Grounds".  He didn't earn a single top ten finish in
thirty-four tournaments.  Most days, he didn't even catch a legal size fish.  
Once the proudest of all fishermen, his reputation gradually faded, and he
was fast becoming a broken man.  He began to think long and hard about
moving to the other side of the mountains where stripers were rumored to be
big and much easier to catch.

Finally one day, he and wife, Fran, jumped in the white family pickup truck
and headed across the mountain range to take a look.  What they saw was a
new beginning; a chance for Rawhide to re-establish himself as a formidable
striper fisherman.

On the return trip, they stopped at an Indian reservation where they met the
tribe's Grand Chief. Rawhide and the Grand Chief hit it off from the start.  
Both had ancestors who had hunted wild buffalo on the open plains of the
old west.

Seated crossed legged at the campfire that evening, Rawhide confided in
the Grand Chief.  He explained what he could remember about his secret
striper honey hole. The old Indian offered him a puff from a ceremonial
cigar.  It might have been the aroma of the cigar's tobacco, but for whatever
the reason, Rawhide began to feel better than he had in many moons. The
chief promised to meditate over Rawhide's memory loss. He vowed to offer a
solution by the time the sun rose over the mountain tops the next morning.

Rawhide couldn't sleep. Visions of trophy stripers danced through his head
all night.  When morning finally came, the Grand Chief offered his advice
and disappeared into his gift shop. Rawhide pondered the meaning of the
Indian's words, "Look to the sky".

The following day found Rawhide on his home lake at dawn. Instead of
watching his depth finder, he spent hours staring into the Carolina blue sky.  
Day after day he looked to the sky, but saw nothing.  He was now without a
win in thirty seven tournament events. His thoughts again turned to
Tennessee, where stripers were big and easy to catch.  After months of
indecision, he and Fran decided to make their move. The lake house went
on the market and they were going to move to the Volunteer State.

Before leaving, Rawhide had one final tournament to redeem himself.  He
awakened early on that day to find the lake covered by a heavy blanket of
fog. He despondently thought to himself that if he couldn't catch fish on a
clear day, how the heck would he find them in the fog?

He was launching the boat, when he heard a shrill sound coming from the
foggy sky above.  He quickly lowered his electric trolling motor and followed
the noise.  It seemed that hours had passed, when something crashed into
the water. The fog had lifted barely enough to see a huge eagle fly away
with a twenty pound striper.

Rawhide hit the way-point button on his new GPS unit to mark the exact
spot.  Immediately, he began to fish, all the while thinking that the Grand
Chief's prophecy had just come true. Before his bait reached the bottom, his
rod doubled over and then shattered into several pieces.  Whatever it was,
hit with the force of a spaceship moving at warp speed.

The fog lifted before Rawhide could lower another bait.  Much to his
amazement, he realized that he was on his secret striper honey hole in the
middle of the "Happy Fishing Grounds".  He recognized the spot by the
bubbles that rose from the bottom and the by the sight of the many stripers
flashing just below the surface.  He was so happy that he actually threw his
best fishing rod into the water and did a one legged fish dance!   He then
proceeded to light the unused portion of his ceremonial cigar, a gift from the
Grand Chief.

As he puffed away, a striper of monstrous proportions hit his bait. While he
reeled in the huge fish, he happily hummed the words, "Glory, glory,
Hallelujah!"  He skillfully fought and netted the giant fish on the first pass. It
was larger than any he had ever seen or heard about.

At the weigh-in, Rawhide was the sentimental favorite. Everybody was
rooting for him to win his last tournament.  When it came his turn to weigh his
catch, a shrill noise came from the sky and shattered the silence of the
moment. The crowd peered upward to see a bald eagle tip its wings.

As they cheered, Rawhide took his big fish to the scales. The people were
overjoyed. Mothers threw their babies into the air and grown men did back
flips. They knew that the tournament winner would not be moving to
Tennessee anytime soon.

While giving his victory speech, Rawhide saw the Grand Chief standing on a
nearby hill with the eagle perched on his shoulder.  When asked where he
caught the big striped bass, Rawhide smiled, puffed on his cigar and said, "M -11".

............ Be reminded that small fish have large tales.



Captain Gus Gustafson of Lake Norman Ventures, Inc. is a member of the Southeastern Outdoor Press Association and a full time
Professional Fishing Guide on Lake Norman, NC. Visit his web site, Fishin' with Gus! at http://www.fishingwithgus.com/ or call 704 617
6812. For additional information, e-mail him at Gus@LakeNorman.com.
October 2005