Ray

Ray

         Rays father had introduced him to fishing and hunting as a youngster. He was four years old when he caught his first crappie fishing with his father in a small pond just a couple of miles from the farm where he lived. He received his first shotgun; a 410-gauge Winchester single shot model on his eighth birthday. By the time he reached the age of 12 he had a duck blind on the Platte River and was running trotlines in the river and at Midway Lake. Living the outdoor life of hunting and fishing, was something that he intended to practice forever. He had no idea that his passion to perfect this lifestyle might eventually be his undoing.

         He had many boyhood friends but as his friends grew older and saw opportunities for new and exiting things they spent less time with Ray. It seemed that they all wanted to leave Dazoc for unknown big-city challenges and rewards. Most of them married by the time they were 22 years old. To the contrary, Ray had decided that his future was right there in the town where he was raised, doing the same things he had enjoyed doing, seemingly since birth. He never married. He had been through the regimentation of the U.S. Military after being drafted at age 18. This convinced him that he didn’t want a regular job with regular hours and a boss who kept him in tow. So, he worked on the farm and took jobs in town while attending community college. This went on until he had enough schooling to do accounting for local businesses and prepare tax returns for those businesses and local farmers. Except during income tax season he had time to hunt and fish, and he got very good at both. He had a small home, a small motorboat, a nice 12-guage Winchester pump-action shotgun, and an old car… all that he ever wanted. There was a nearby lake with shaded coves and a deep channel ideally suited for channel cats. A tree-lined river on the central flyway attracted migrating ducks every year. There were plentiful cornfields, ponds and creeks, making Dazoc a paradise for ring necked pheasant and quail populations. Small game, rabbits and squirrels were in abundance. His friends and clients were kept well fed by Ray’s gifts of fresh fish and game all year around. People used to jokingly say that Ray’s harvesting was responsible for the fall-off in catches. It had become hard, even for Ray, to bring home a good string. He was adept at fly fishing, throwing lures, both top and bottom types, and at creating a successful bait for about any type of fish in the lake.

         As he set at the breakfast table on his 45th birthday, he was contemplating the future and what else he wanted to experience before his time was up. Many times in the past he had considered learning to SCUBA dive. At this moment he had an epiphany… combine diving and fishing. Learning to dive would let him see Midway Lake from a fish’s point of view. If there were places for fish to hide and feed he wanted to find them and bag a big one. He started searching for bargains in SCUBA gear but soon found that the equipment was far too expensive. A friend, Tom, suggested that his quest might still be possible by simply snorkeling. “ I am telling you this with some trepidation because you have nearly wiped out the Midway Lake fish population already,” Tom said. Then he added, “Things seem to level out in life, do you believe in Karma?” Ray didn’t answer; thinking it was just a rhetorical question. He bought the snorkel, a mask and swim fins. After a brief demonstration on how to don the gear and use it safely he was all set to go diving.

         The first time he was at the lake with his snorkeling apparatus he practiced submerging and allowing water to enter the snorkel, then rising above the surface and clearing the snorkel of water with a blast of air from his lungs. Except for tasting the dirty lake water he had fun with the process. It was time to explore the lake.

         He began by working near the shoreline where the water was only slightly deeper than he was tall. It was the area of the lake with the most vegetation, providing cover for small fish. It was there that his fishing had been the most successful over the years. He was disappointed by the poor visibility due to murky water. He moved to water deeper than his head, hoping for better viewing. Suddenly, his leg got tangled in an abandoned fisherman’s net. The net had been there a long time and plants were growing up through the holes in the weave. He twisted and pulled hard against the net but the harder he twisted the more entangled he got. His mind filled with panic, he had to breathe. In desperation he gathered all his might and stretched for the surface. He was almost there, his snorkel within inches. His arms and free leg flailing, he blasted the oxygen-depleted air out through the snorkel and gasped for more… he got water instead. What light there was in the water seemed to dim as he fought for his life. Finally it was pitch dark….

         Just as all hope had left him the water seemed to light up again. It became as clear as a mountain stream. He looked around… there were fish everywhere… beautiful, exotic fish like none he had ever seen. They were swimming curiously up to him, then turning away. A garden of aquatic plants thriving in the sunlight provided a safe haven for the smaller fish. Then he spotted people staring and pointing at him. Their images weren’t sharp like those of the fish. It was like looking at them through a dirty window. He tried to wave at them but couldn’t; it was as though he was wearing a straight jacket. A tall person, carrying something, moved closer. By the time he saw the dip net it was too late….