Sucker Season

 

By SirWilho

 

“Okay Mit, on the count of three let’s spear ’em,”  said the very excited me to my spearing companion.  “One….  Two….. andda tree…,”

So clear, concise, communication has not always been my strongpoint and what I failed to say explicitly to Mit was that he was supposed to give me a little extra time before he launched his spear.

Mit was on the top of the bank behind me and had his arm cocked with spear loaded and when he heard ‘andda treee…’, he hurled the spear.

‘Doink’ is the sound a spear makes as it penetrates skin and hits arm bone.  He got a sucker all right and it was me.

To the untrained eye my sucker spear scars  looks as tho I was bit by a cobra and this is what I tell people since its way more cool to be bit by a cobra that speared by the neighbor kid.

My neighbor, Skeeter’s wife, fixed me up since she was a doctor.  (She really wasn’t but did work at the hospitals cafeteria and this gave her doctoring credence)  Yeah, I know, that association doesn’t make sense, kinda like when we were growing up and anyone who visited from downstate, my brothers and I would say they were from Detroit.  We honestly didn’t know the difference either.  People would say they live in Gaylord, we would say ‘nope, Detroit.’  Dumb trolls anyway.

Limping home from Skeeter’s house my arm throbbed and the one bandaid strewn across the two spear holes was falling off.  Hmmm, decision time for me.  “Do I tell my ma that Mit speared me?”  A possible arse whoppin’ might be in store but I went ahead and told her.

The story went something like this:  “I was down by da lake pickin’ pritty rocks fer ya since I know how much ya luv doze pritty rocks Ma and den dat no good Mit comes strollin ’round and ‘trew his spear at me while I was pickin’ doze pritty rocks fer ya.  He’s a bad kid I tell ya, probably shouldn’t hang out wit him no more.”  “Uhhunhhh,”  says my loving mother.  “Get in the car, we gotta get you to da doctors.”

The real doctor poked Mecuricome saturated swabs in my sucker holes while I whimpered away.  He finished up by using two bandaids then said I was ‘good as new’ to my Mom.  (Pretty sure she did a huge eye roll at that comment..)

Sucker spearing season was the absolute best time of year for us boys.  All night long we would run the wore out paths near the lakes edge.  On a clear, calm night we would sit and listen.  The sucker spawning romance included a lot of splashing around so when we heard that, we went ‘a runnin to catch them ‘in the act’ and spear while they were distracted.

What does one use to spear suckers?  Well, if you saved up your nightcrawler picking money we would buy a spear and cut a small tree down to use as a handle.  Pitchforks worked okay, manure forks were a little thick but would do in a pinch and the neighbor kid Ike even used a sharpened up garden rake.  Yep, savages we were but boy did we have fun.

One time our gang of wayward boys hiked in to a secret sucker spot located on private property.  Voices were hushed since we didn’t want to ‘get caught’ as we ran the creek looking for suckers.  Pretty sure the owner wouldn’t have minded anyway, and why would he?  Eight guys jumping up and down on the banks, through the mud and in the clear stream would have probably made the owner happy to be sure.  Yep.

Butchy Chreest and I broke away from the pack and started walking over a beavers dam to see if there were any suckers in the pond that the friendly beaver made for us.

Flashlights were optional since they required batteries that cost money so moonlight was our only beacon of guidance.

Beaver was home that night and frolicking in his pond but for some reason wasn’t feeling friendly towards Butchy and I.  “Dis durn beaver is chasing all da suckers away,” says Butchy.  “It’s making weird hissing and teeth chomping noises at us too,” says the meek me.

“I know what to do,” says Butchy.    “I’ll be right behind ya,” says me as we crept closer to the swirling beaver.  Now the wood rodent is real mad at us and then really flipped out when Butchy playfully doinked it on the head with his spear.

INSTANT CHAOS!!!!!  The dang beaver took on super human/animal qualities, shook the spear off and went in for the kill of us.  “EEEEEEEEEEE,” we petrifiedly shreeked.

Ut Oh, Butchy tripped while backpedaling and the beaver hones into Butchy’s boot.  “MAN DOWN, MAN DOWN,” I scream while quickly distancing myself from psycho beaver and the squirming Butchy.

“Every man for himself,” was my cowardly mantra that night.  Why should both of us get beaver bit?  Right?  Never mind and don’t judge.

All’s well that ends well and although we didn’t get any suckers that night it sure turned out to be exciting.  Mighta been a tooth cut from psycho beaver in Butchy’s waders and maybe a little broken skin but psycho beaver surely wasn’t rabid?

What I wouldn’t give to go back and relive those times with my brothers and friends, instead, I just did in my mind and my day is better because of it.

 

da end