Fishing stories: The legend of Spike

My mother insisted a fishing experience wasn’t complete without a little time in a boat. Not a big boat, however. A row boat. I was terrified. Dark water and unknown creatures below have always freaked me out, and the thought of going out on the water was not appealing. After all, a safety vest wouldn’t save me from the unknown.

“Shut up and get in the boat,” she demanded. She was holding an oar, so I listened. After two failed attempts, I sort of…dropped into the seat. Fishing was less fun now.

Mom rowed out towards the west side of the lake. The water was dark, and overhead tree branches blocked out the sun. It seemed like a good spot. After the boat stopped, I checked to make sure my water vest was tight, and then baited my hook.

The water was quiet for about ten minutes or so. My line bobbed a couple of times, but I was more concerned with the dark water. A soft scrape across the bottom of the boat drew the attention of both of us. It was harsh sounding, but Mom ignored it after a moment, so I went back to worrying about tipping.

Another minute passed when something caught my eye in the water. A ripple hit the side of the boat, and a rather large object in the water disappeared under it. I dropped my fishing pole and yelped. Mom asked what was wrong, and I said that something big was in the water.

“Umm…a fish,” she sighed, and then tossed my pole at me.

Her fishing line was suddenly tugged hard, and she nearly lost it. Another tug, and her line snapped. The boat rocked lightly, and the water went back to being still. She looked surprised at the broken line. A moment later, the pole in my hands jerked and my line snapped, too.

We were both left in the boat, staring at the water. Nothing moved for several minutes. I wanted to go back to shore, but Mom insisted that we weren’t going back without a decent fish. She started repairing her pole and instructed me to do the same.

Before we could restring our poles, the bottom the small boat was assaulted with a volley of bangs, scrapes, and shoves. It started to rock violently, and we both dropped our poles to hold on. Water was splashed into the boat, and the banging was loud enough to draw attention from the shore.

We were thoroughly confused about what could be in this small, harmless freshwater lake. Mom grabbed the oars and started paddling. The banging stopped momentarily, and resumed on the right oar. Glimpses of silver were visible around the waves. Mom beat at the creature while paddling. It took us nearly ten minutes to get out of that section of the lake, away from the trees and the dark water.

We returned to shore wet, with broken poles and no bait. Flipping the boat over, we saw several long scratches in the metal, as if a knife had been run across it.

Later that night, when we returned the boat, Mom mentioned the incident to the rental clerk. He didn’t look surprised.

“Yeah, we’ve known that there’s something over there for a few years now. Never bothers anyone unless they go to that spot. No one has seen it, but it always breaks the lines. We’ve named him Spike. He’s sort of a legend around here.”

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