Chaos (ka’os), n. This noun, according to the Random House Dictionary, means either, 1. “utter confusion or disorder.” Or, 2. “the formless matter supposed to have preceded the existence of the ordered universe.” Its most common use is to describe a pantyhose sale at Walmart.
Why the definition lesson you ask? Well, it was the only term that I could use to explain what happened a couple of days ago when I went along with Turk and Wild Willie to the Spit’s Fishing Hole. Big mistake.
I knew that getting those two near each other was a gamble, but it had been months since their last argument, so I felt things might have mellowed a bit. Yeah, right.
It all started off rather quietly. It was about 4 a.m. and both Turk and Willie were trying to keep their eyes focused while baiting up. Turk did OK, although his herring was upside down and looked like it was swimming backstroke. W.W. somehow managed to attach his bait below his bobber and flung it halfway across the pond. This instantly drew the attention of a patrolling seagull that swooped in to snatch up the herring and the fight was on.
Now, when Willie gets seriously pissed, he tends to bellow some very adult-rated words that cause seasoned cage fighters to blush. This time around, he stunned every early riser fishing the lagoon including a recently retired Marine drill instructor. Things finally calmed down when the gull glanced back and spotted a foamed mouth fiend frantically hauling it toward shore and screeched, dropping W.’s gear.
During W’s tantrum, Turk just stood there in stunned disbelief and then bolted for higher ground. I opted to return to my truck and rummage through an old tackle box, until the tirade was over.
When we decided that it was safe to return, Willie was still fuming and had, literally, sworn off the use of herring. This was not good. The ole boy abhorred using spinning lures because he figured that he would be obligated to report himself to the unemployment authorities as actually doing some work during the week. So, he was setting up to do the one thing that Turk despised the most. Yep, W.W. was rigging for “floss snagging” and Turk went looking for a large rock. I wasn’t sure if he was going to throw it at Willie or his tackle box, but I figured that I’d better do something quick.
I suggested that Willie try some herring or mackerel first and, if the fish weren’t interested, a blue #5 Vibrax.
Turk just mumbled and returned to starring at his bobber. W.W. decided to bait up with a bright red mess of his super-secret “glowin’-goo” eggs that turned the water into something resembling a toxic red tide and left his hands looking like they belonged to a serial killer.
Things quieted down and they now had the south end of The Hole to themselves, until, “Fuzz” showed up. The hound had a huge head attached a bear body and wouldn’t stay out of the water.
According to his half-hosed owner who stumbled down from the camp ground, he was a mixed breed mutt whose “mommy” was a purebred St. Bernard. Turk took one look and proclaimed that “mommy” must have passed too close to a nuclear dump after having casual affair with a midget hippo.
Ole Fuzz wasn’t on a leash and had been jumping into the lagoon toward fish breaching the surface while it’s brew belching master laughed.
Just as the dim-witted duo passed by, Turk tagged into a large silver. W. also felt a tug and became engrossed in trying to land a small, panicked, “jack” salmon that was probably stuck in his eggs. The two fish started churning things up while Turk and Willie yelled at each other to get the hell out the way. Fuzz decided that the pandemonium looked like great fun and did a doggie half gainer into the pond to help Turk land his fish. Unfortunately, he went through Willie’s line to get to Turk’s.
I won’t say any more unless subpoenaed, especially about Fuzz’s owner, Turk, Willie and a fish bat.
Hey, if you ever need an excellent example of chaos, come fishing with me. Just bring enough money for bail.
