Two yokels were sitting on the bank of the river one day, lines
in the water and beers in hand. Until he spoke, they were unaware
that the local Department of Fish and Wildlife agent had crept up
behind them. Suspecting that the two were fishing illegally, he
made his customary request as he took his citation book out of his
pocket: "I'd like to see your terminal tackle, please."
The two hicks reeled in and flipped their lures toward him. "We
ain't doin' nuthin' wrong, man," one said. The rigs plopped at the
agent's feet.
The officer was clearly nonplused when he saw on the ends of the
lines nothing more than two large magnets. "Magnets?" he thought,
puzzled by the turn of events. There were no hooks, nothing to
indicate that the men had been attempting to snag fish, nothing for
which he could issue a citation or even a warning. He folded his
book, returned it to his pocket, then walked slowly back to his
truck and drove away in a fog of disappointment.
When he was out of earshot, the second fisherman remarked to the
first, "Stupid Fish Cop! Don't he know there's steelhead in this
river?"
Now let me tell you a true story.
Many years ago, I was fishing the Tilton for salmon and had
unintentionally snagged an immense king in the tail. Since I was
using a lure, I did not want to cut my line as I would have done if
I'd been using something cheaper like a corkie, and had been
fighting to bring the fish to land for several minutes when a tall
man came down the bank and stood behind me, watching. The fish kept
making for the riffle, then running downstream in a powerful rush
which gained line on my attempts to reel it in.
At last I got it near the shore and was able to step into the
water to unhook the lure from its tail. The fish was exhausted, so
I cradled it in my hands and moved it back and forth in the river
to move water through its gills, the fishy equivalent of
resuscitation. When it revived and began wriggling, I took it into
deeper water and release it to swim downstream. The fellow on the
bank turned and walked away without a word.
Some years later, I saw the same skyscraper of a man standing in
my neighbor's yard chatting with him. By then, I knew who he was,
so I went over to introduce myself. Standing beside him, I came up
barely to his elbow. Oh, he remembered me and the day I had
released that massive king as he stood by, ready to write a ticket
for what he had expected would be a severe infraction of
regulations!
Over the years which followed, we spoke on the phone many times
regarding the problems of illegal fishing in the area. He gave me
directions to some prime fishing spots as well: my reward for being
an honest fisherman.
This cache is dedicated to that same man. He served with the
Department of Fish and Wildlife in this area for many years, as
well as on the Morton Police Force. He passed away recently, and
fishermen like myself will long mourn the loss of Jon Jeschke. This
one's for you, Jon!
Many thanks to Mark and Richard for permission to
hide this cache at the WDFW office.