Cooperative Living March/April 2019 - 42

Rural Living | by Margo Oxendine, Contributing Columnist
Flying Trout Lead
to Happy Eagles
I
t's that time of year when folks look forward to going fishing.
I've only been fishing once. My father took me along when I
was a kid. We went to a pond, and we did not stay long. That's
because he deemed me " way too noisy. " Oh well.
I did " help " spearfish while living by the sea. We'd all dive into
the Gulf. The guys would spear snapper and grouper and
yellowtail. My job was to swim the speared fish back to the boat.
I developed a tactic: I'd swim just under the surface, holding
the speared fish aloft, above the water. I'd always laugh to myself
that it must have looked as if a speared fish was making its own
swift, merry way along. I'd often be surrounded by barracuda, but
I learned early that barracuda aren't that dangerous. They're like a
pack of hungry dogs. Their jaws never stop moving. But, if you
turn around and shout at them underwater, they back off.
When I'd get back to the boat, I'd heave the speared fish
aboard, and then hop over the transom as quickly as I could.
That encompassed my fishing experience, until one day recently.
I'd wheedled my way into a ride-along with a female game
warden in Highland County. She said that we'd help stock trout in
the Potomac River. I tugged on my Muck boots and was excited
to tramp along.
seem to be raining fish. Fun!
Then someone (maybe it was I?) suggested I should toss a net
of fish. All righty, then!
Here's what I learned right off: A net full of writhing live fish is
heavy and unwieldy. The pole is much longer than I imagined.
I stomped through snowy fields of frozen cow dung toward the
river. " Throw the net in a backward 'J', " the warden shouted.
" Then, flip them out. "
I raised the net high and gave it a go. Just a single trout flew out,
very high in the air. It sailed toward the river but thudded onto a
rock. The fish managed to fling itself off the rock and swim away,
glaring at me over its shoulder. I hollered, " Sorry! "
I gave it another try, lifting the net high, then down into a curve,
then giving it a mighty toss. Again, just one trout made it out of the
net. It soared even higher into the air and then - splat! - landed
in a pile of snow, flapping around. A warden ran over, grabbed it
in his bare hand, and tossed it into the river. I hastily handed the
net ― still flapping with fish ― back, and bowed out of the exercise.
I couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor trout, while I was also
laughing at the weird humor of the havoc I'd caused. These fish were
raised in a hatchery, safe and well fed and cared for. Then, they
Here's what I learned right off: A net full
of writhing live fish is heavy and unwieldy.
The pole is much longer than I imagined.
Our party consisted of two game wardens, two fellows driving
a big truck with three tanks of live trout, and me. I was surprised
to learn we had 800 trout to release into the South Branch of the
river. And we were doing it with a big net on a long pole. I'd
figured we'd back up to the river, open a chute, and the fish
would pour out. But no. This was a " hands-on " operation.
One guy on the back of the truck would scoop up a net full of
trout, and toss 'em high and wide. They'd invariably splash into
the river. Or, he would fill the net and hand it to a warden, who'd
tromp through the snow to the river's edge and toss. There were no
mishaps whatsoever when these professionals were doing their job.
It was delightful to see the silver fish sparkling high in the sky
on their way from the net to the river. Then, it would suddenly
40 | Cooperative Living | March-April 2019
were scooped out, loaded into a smelly diesel truck, and driven
dozens of miles on winding roads, before being jostled through
snow-filled farm fields, scooped up in a net with some of their pals,
and sent on a flying adventure before splashing into the place
nature intended them to be.
When we were finally finished with our task, I learned two more
things: People who fish had seen us stocking, and were grabbing
their rods and reels. And, as someone pointed out, " The eagles are
sure going to have some fun today! " 
To order Margo's book, " A Party of One, " call 540-468-2147
Monday-Thursday 9-5, or email: TheRecorderOffice@gmail.com.
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Cooperative Living March/April 2019

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