Swell Pool

The light helped him sort through his tackle. He mumbled to himself as he tied a line of hooks. "What was I thinking when I decided to do this? I'd almost rather go to work tomorrow than be out here. I'm freezing my ass off. If it wasn't for that bitch, I wouldn't be out here to begin with."

Will Adkins had always fantasized about night fishing for huge catfish, but he lacked the stamina and commitment to actually stay up that late. Probably because he drank too much scotch before dinner. From the comfort of his family room armchair, he dreamed of having his picture in the paper standing next to a 100 pound catch. With his feet up on the ottoman, swigging his cheap whisky, it had seemed like a fine adventure.

For the wrong reasons, Will finally found himself fulfilling his daydream. Like most fantasies, though, Will was finding out it was a lot more fun while still in his head. Here he sat in a 14-foot long aluminum bass boat in the dead of winter, on a moonless night.

The skiff was void of any creature comforts. He had only a hard fiberglass seat to rest on, which left his corpulent behind to provide any warmth or comfort. Around his neck Will had wrapped a SnakeLightä so he could keep both hands free to bait hooks in the dark. He was proud of thinking of this idea. It sure made things a lot easier than trying to hold a conventional flashlight.

Still, he struggled to hook the pieces of liver he used for bait. He’d read in a fishing magazine that catfish loved rancid liver. For the last couple of days he had kept a piece behind the garage, in one of his wife’s good kitchen bowls. The cut-up chunks could now definitely be called ripe. They squished and slipped between his gloved fingers. Out of frustration, he finally pulled one glove off with his teeth and grabbed the evasive meat barehanded. "God, I hate the way this makes my fingers smell!" He growled through the liver-coated neoprene dangling from his mouth.

Will stopped and shined the light onto the horizon but couldn’t see anything. He didn’t like how quiet it was out there all alone. He shook off an unpleasant thought that crept up on him. Once again, he bent over and continued his task. He talked out loud to give himself some company. "If this gets on my jacket, I'm stuck smelling like it ‘til I get home, and I know Edna will pitch a fit. She's not going to stand having this smell up her washing machine, and I'm not going to let her throw it away. Why can’t I afford warm gloves thin enough so I can bait my hooks without taking them off?