Buck opened the little notebook from his shirt pocket and read the name of the person who signed his freezer book, the one who brought in the tagged walleye last Tuesday and asked him to keep it frozen. It was Cody’s brother-in-law, Travis, a derby regular, who had done it so Cole could cheat.
My son-in-law did not out-fish me, he had a relative bring a frozen, tagged research fish to the bait shop days before the derby so he could claim a prize he never earned, and then he stood up and said I couldnt find the lake.
Kendra had already caught it. Folks, look at the gill plate on this fish, that yellow tag is a DNR research tag, number 4471, now look at Arnies picture. Same fish, same tag, in a plastic bag in Bucks freezer, the phone said 8:52 p.m. the night before the derby. Rule four, fish must be caught between 6 a.m. and 3 p.m. on derby day and brought in alive, this fish was frozen solid twelve hours before the start. She checked the weigh-in sheet, tag 4471, weighed in by Cole. Thats a different fish, Cole said. Walleye dont share tag numbers, son, Kendra said, and took back the trophy and the check.
Then Buck stood up by the coffee pot and said Cole did not bring that fish into his shop, somebody else did, last Tuesday, and signed the freezer book, and he read the name.
I am Arnie, seventy-two. I guided fishermen on Lake Bemidji for forty-four years, out of the dock at 5 a.m., home after dark, and I could tell you where the walleye were by the color of the sky. My daughter married Cole six years ago. Cole sells boats and has a seventy-thousand-dollar rig, and every Sunday dinner it was hey Arnie, still using that paper map, you still own a boat or did it sink. This summer he signed up for the big derby to show the old man how its done.
The night before, I stopped at Bucks for leeches, and Buck was in the back, so I walked around the counter and saw the tagged fish in the freezer, and I opened my flip phone and took one picture and said nothing. The next afternoon Cole brought in an eleven-pound walleye, biggest of the day, and found me by the bait tanks and said go home, old man, youre washed up.
A DNR research tag is a number that belongs to exactly one fish, and a picture of that same tagged fish frozen in a bait-shop freezer twelve hours before the start is proof no excuse survives. The fish was not caught on derby day. It was planted.
And Bucks freezer book named the man who planted it, Codys own brother-in-law Travis, who brought it in Tuesday and signed for the freezer space, which turned a cheaters trick into a scheme with more than one name on it. Cole was disqualified, the trophy and the five-thousand-dollar check pulled, and the derby banned them both.
My grandkids were not laughing anymore. They had watched their dad call his wifes father washed up, and then watched a flip-phone photo and a bait-shop notebook show who really could not catch a fish.
Now he cant find the lake, Cole said about me. I found the lake for forty-four years, and I found his frozen fish in Bucks freezer the night before the derby. A man who has to plant a tagged walleye to beat a seventy-two-year-old guide was never the better fisherman. I still read the sky. He still needs two screens and a brother-in-law.