The miscreant behavior of fishermen has been documented for millennia. One of the prerequisites of the job is to prevaricate wittingly, mis-measure and over weigh everything pertinent that may have come to the board, deny any facts that diminish the truth as we wish it to be, bribe witnesses, suborn Game Wardens and black mail judges.

This may not be the sport of Kings but it is the congress of liars and practical jokers. McKenzie was an associate liar and one hell of an outdoorsman when he could find the time. He had mounts over crowding the den representing every species of critter to be found from Texas to the Carolinas.

His other hobby which he shared with his wife was at first collecting, and later breeding all kinds of rare and persnikity hard-to-raise fish–Angelfish, piranhas, Japanese fighting fish, etc. They had it going on. Them fish were producing and the Angels were worth $20 a pop.

However, one of the trophies old Mac had accumulated was an albino bass about 8 inches long caught locally at old Town Lake. This fish was brought home and given personal quarters in a 120 gallon aquarium positioned about two feet above the den floor. He grew, over the next two years, into a trophy sized Monster Cannibal Predator. We used to threaten to steal and cook it, but it never happened. However, one afternoon Mac’s wife returned home and proceeded to the den to feed the fish (by this time the entire 30-ft. west wall was covered with various and specialized tanks).

The hatcheries and the nurse tanks had the higher elevation and the evil old wicked carnivore had the low ground. Nonetheless, he was missing. The 120 gallon tank was bassless.

You can’t imagine the language (unprintable), rewards posted, threats issued, tears shed. About four hours later the fugitive was located in a neighboring aquarium located 40 inches above where the bass tank sat.

The 40 Japanese fighting hatchlings had been consumed along with their father, mother and any other ancestors that may have stuck around too long.

For the next week we worked out the crime scene reenactment and came up within  proximity of the truth.

It seems that one of the more ambitions fingerlings went airborne and landed in the Bass Pit. That was all it took to send that bass upstream to the Hatchin’ tank. He made a tight landing in the money tank and leaped right into the “gravy bowl” and pigged out on a $500 breakfast.

I was later informed that an albino large mouth bass was indistinguishable from any other member of the bass family when battered and fried in a well seasoned cast iron skillet and sprinkled with lemon juice.

As for the Japanese fighting fish population, remember Nagosaki.
Peeling spuds,

Ricky Harpole

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