The Hungry Barbarian

Really I can’t repeat it enough.  Oh sure its great to go out with a couple buddies, with some beer, sandwiches and kick back for the day.  That’s all fine and dandy, a great saturday really with catching anything just an afterthought.  But when you’re pretty damn hungry and sick of eating mussels (so sick in fact you refuse to chew them, but just swallow them whole), some fresh fish can dramatically change your outlook on life.

That is if you catch any.

The worst part is I’m convinced the family curse lives on.  Oh what you didn’t know?  My family is cursed when it comes to catching fish.  My father has been on boats with people who swear they can catch fish under any condition, and the conditions would be perfect, only to find the sea devoid of life.  

Most famously in my family lore is the time my cousin, uncle, father and I went fishing on a Great Lake.  Fishing in order, the first two members of the boat caught fish in rapid succession.  My father was up third.  For the next 6 hours we trolled back and forth at 3 miles an hour trying to get even a hint of a nibble.  Finally the exasperated crew, and family, gave up deciding to pack it in for the day.  

However when the line was being reeled in, someone felt something on it.  ”A fish?” everyone wondered.  My father grabbed the line, but kept asking if anything was really on the hook.  ”There’s nothing fighting or anything, what gives?”  My father reeled it in quickly, quicker than normal, until there was 10 feet of line left.  It was then we saw what had happened.

My father had hogtied the fish.

The line was wrapped around the fish’s neck and gills until its eyes were bulging out.  The thing was either already dead or praying to be put out of its misery, yet it was the best catch my father had likely every gotten.  The filets came home with us.

It would be great if this sort of thing skipped a generation and my kids were the suckers, but its not meant to be.  On a recent fishing trip I sat from 8 until 1 in the morning.  While others around me caught something.  The only thing on my line however was my cousin’s or people on the opposite side of the boat.  The threatened to murder me for the constant distraction.  Like I had any control over where my line went.

My most infamous fishing experience occured when I went for fluke with my best friend Danny (who fishes all the time; his voicemail for years announced he couldn’t answer his phone because he was at the beach) and instead hooked his mother’s nose.  No joke.

So pardon me if I was a little bent out of shape when the curse continued and it was back to damn mussels:

Sure I’m a bit repetitive on the issue, but I think I made my point.  

Oh and here’s a second video, just for Danny.  I know he’s sure to chime in due to me bashing his beloved hobby:

No, seriously, how do you sit and perform that excercise in boredom?  I sure can’t figure it out.

While my 3 mothers might be alternately babying and reprimanding me on my stupidity, my father’s reaction has been a bit different.  

“You don’t have anything better to do?” “You have too much time on your hands!”  

I bring this up now, because tomorrow my family shows up, initiating the wildcard phase of this adventure. 

I’m looking forward to have some company to talk to.  I don’t actually talk to Czar (formerly Timmy the turtle), instead we eye each other up throughout the day.  I had hoped we would be friends, but its turned out to be more of an uneasy acceptance of each other than anything else.  I don’t touch his corpse, and he doesn’t move.  I’ll keep working on it though.   

But real people will be nice to have around.  I’ve come into a system of sorts for my day, and talking to people isn’t one of them.  My routine keeps me focused, in the zone, and on track and is pretty much what gets me through the day.  Having people around will change that routine, but that’s ok.  

The flip side though is they’ll be BBQing and my dad will be leading the pack.  He bet on this whole adventure hoping and praying I made it this far so that he could taunt and torture me with the scent of hot dogs, ribs and burgers while I spend most of the day drying out seaweed and boiling mussels.  It was well worth a hundred bucks for him to sleep in a bed with a roof over his head, while I continue on in the backyard with the upcoming threat of rain.  

Needless to say the hardest part is indeed ahead of me; only one whiff of BBQ ribs might cause me to freak out and lose it all.  

I’m preparing myself for 3 days of pure hell.  

So apparently the ruling body has decided a harpoon is off limits.  This comes as a surprise to me because I’m been talking about killing one of the little buggers Moby Dick style for quite some time.  Well apparently I don’t get a choice in the matter, I just get a faceless message from the great beyond, sent by burning bush no less, giving me their decree.  There is no appeal.

With this in mind I decided that I still needed a spear of some sort, so being the resourceful chap that I am, I decided to make one.   

So I started with a semi straight (or best that I could manage) tree limb:

There’s a bunch of branches in the way of my squirrel killing machine, so it’s time to trim, chop and shape:

You can see that my buddy, “The Basher” helped out on this one.  I used a method of chopping at one angle then the other.  It really does work!  Thanks to ESPN 8, the Ocho and Timbersports for that handy little tip.

Onward to the most important part of the spear, the tip:

One of the reasons I chose this baby was for its dual pointed head.  I figured if I actually did manage to lodge it into some critters side (not likely), then two points were going to better at knocking it out.  Either way its pretty badass, in that Lord of the Flies kinda way.  

So I sat around shaping it for an hour or two, trying to get a good tip.  It was a lot more work than I expected, but I have time on my hands.

After 2 hours, a dull knife and only one cut hand, I finally had a finished product:

While it may not look like much, it’s sharp and will do the trick.  Maybe tomorrow i’ll smooth out the rest of it.  In the meantime I call it “Squirrelbane.”  

Come on, what else what I going to name it?

So I just had to shoo the gardener off.  Apparently he’s set to cut the grass every Wednesday.  We both decided that he should just come back next week.  He probably thought I didn’t want him bothering me; I imagine much of his clientele does indeed feel that way.  I didn’t feel like going into the fact that his cutting the lawn would essentially displace my home.     

God I feel like such an ass right now.

UPDATE: So apparently the gardner called my mom to let her know a random guy was living in a tent in the backyard.  He thought I was some squatter who took over her property.  I can’t imagine they get many campers around here.  

Brilliant, simply brilliant. 

UPDATE 2: Here is the gardener’s exact quote: ”there’s a guy in the yard who told us not to cut the grass, but he’s back there in a tent with some other stuff.  It seems kinda weird.  I didn’t know if you knew, so I thought I’d give you a call.” 

Don’t worry my little friend, you’ll soon be my precious:

I saw one in the backyard today; those buggers are wayyyy faster than I thought.

I have my squirrel hunting gear all ready to go though:

That’s a throwing stick (Bear Grylls style) and a harpoon.  I was going to add a net to the kit, but I have no chance of getting close enough to use it.  I might set up a snare here though, we’ll see.  

So either today or tomorrow I’ll be cruising the neighborhood squirrel hunting.  The neighbors should love that.