The Big Bender: by Charles E. Sankey
It was finally Friday night. Tomorrow morning, Todd and I will head out early to go fishing in the pond near the Bender’s old farm house. We had forged our friendship four years earlier when we were both eight years of age, at the very pond we had decidedly planned to attack the next morning. Todd and I have been as thick as thieves since that day. That morning I had walked to the pond from my house with my trusty flashlight guiding my way through the early morning mist.
I arrived at Bender’s Pond with my less than adequate fishing gear and set my tin coffee can on the ground near the water’s edge. The can was old and beginning to show signs of wear as it had been my trusty worm container since the beginning of spring. I lodged my fishing pole against the ground and a log resting nearby and carefully unlatched the worn hook from the eye hole on the pole so as to not catch my thumb or finger on its razor sharp point.
Just as I grabbed for the hook I heard a “kerplunk” from the other side of the pond. There stood the shadow of a figure about my size. I could see the outline of his fishing pole stretched out before him.
“How’s the fishing this morning?” I called across the pond.
“Shhhhh”, came in reply.
“Shhhhh?” I repeated to myself. What kind of salutation is that to extend to a fellow fisherman?
I continued my preparations as I peeled the top off the coffee can. I stuck my index finger into the dirt and sifted around for a worm. As my finger slid across the slimy body of a worm, I quickly pinched in with my thumb and pulled out a nice sized nightcrawler. “This one is sure to catch the biggest bass this pond has to offer” I said quietly to myself as I proudly admired my offering to the lunker that awaited the prize from somewhere in the shadows of the pond.
Splashing and thrashing broke the silence of the morning as Todd had hooked a good sized bass. The water was splashing every where when the bass broke the surface of the water lunging upward toward the sky. The bass’ tail was dancing inches away from the water as he fought to release himself from the grips of certain death. I noticed an unusual notch in the tail of the bass, possibly from a recent battle with another fish or fisherman. Todd reeled back and gripped his pole with all he could muster and just as he leaned his weight into perfectly balanced form, the bass escaped the tragedy of being filleted, buttered, breaded and fried in a pan over an open fire, most likely in Todd’s backyard.
“WOW! You almost had him.” I shouted across the pond.
“I don’t believe it,” said Todd, “this is the second time he’s gotten away from me, that’s one smart fish.”
“You’ve almost caught him before?” I asked.
“Yup, that’s Bender, the biggest bass in this pond. I could tell it was him by the notch in his tail” Todd explained.
Since that day, Todd and I have fished together for Bender, summer after summer. That old fish teased us unrelentingly for days upon days, year after anguishing year. We’ve both had plenty of opportunities to land Big Bender several times, but to no avail. Bender took on a reputation of legendary status.
We’ll spend the night in a tent, in Todd’s backyard. In the country, it gets very dark at night even when the Moon is high and shining brightly. Without a flashlight, you can easily get lost in only a few steps. We had our flashlights, with new batteries, at the ready. As soon as the Sun sets, we’ll switch them on until we’re ready to go to sleep or the batteries die out, which ever comes first.
The crickets began to sing their evening song and they grew louder as the Sun started its daily waltz down behind the trees that surrounded Todd’s yard. The cricket’s serenade brought the Moon out in all its brilliance. Firefly’s flashed their love messages all across the yard. Bats dashed in an out of the smorgasbord of insects with sonar precision. Todd and I were mesmerized by the intense scene.
We both laid stomach down in the tent with our heads towards the opening. As we lay watching natures evening production of life in all its beauty, a slight breeze began tapping the cardboard sign against the tent. We made the sign after school as a sort of commencement ceremony to begin our weekend of fishing.
The sign was on a piece of cardboard, cut from the box that Todd’s mother’s new washer arrived in, a few days earlier. The sign read: “TODD & CHUCK’S FISHING CAMP”.
The Sun had finished its prologue to the Moon and it was quite dark now. I had such high hopes for the next morning’s fishing expedition. I closed my eyes for only a moment and began to drift off into a dream.
I’m standing along the grassy shoreline overlooking the small pond near Bender’s old farm house. I can see across to the other side and the reflection of the horizon is crystal clear on the smooth glass-like surface of the water. The air is permeated with the smell of apple blossoms from the orchard down the road.
Small ripples dance on the water’s edge as small insects seemingly trampoline up and down off the water. Suddenly, a splash across from me startles and excites me at the same time. My heart pounds and my breathing is rapid. I know it has to be a Large Mouth Bass exhibiting his might as he exercises his right to extract breakfast from the water’s surface.
The outstretched jaws of the mighty Large Mouth Bass envelopes the large insect that had been innocently and unwittingly dancing its last turn in a majestic waltz carefully choreographed by Mother Nature. The crime committed did not seem to deter any of the remaining insects as they went about their trancelike recital.
I dove deeper into my dream and imagined myself to be the bass. I’m holding steady near my bunker at the edge of a drop to deeper waters and not far from the overgrowth at the waters edge. I look up toward the barrier between water and air and I can see the insects zooming in and out as if to say “catch me if you can”. I become hungrier and more impatient as time ticks away.
The sun will soon be high and I’ll need to slumber the afternoon away in an effort to save my energy for the evening turf battles with the other bass inhabiting the pond. I need sustenance before I can comfortably hover over my territory while carefully scanning for any intruders.
I watch as the insects instigate without prejudice. Something off in the distance catches my attention; it’s another fish of a familiarly delectable looking species. I hover as still as I can, trying not to move, becoming invisible to the lesser species heading in my direction.
My predatory instincts take over. I back slowly into a shadow as the prey approaches. The fish is unaware of its fate that lurks in the shadows if it turns left toward the shoreline instead of right or back the way it came. All things in the universe align for one brief moment and the fish’s fate is sealed as he turns towards the shoreline. Instinctively, I lunge and in a lightening flash of strength I inherit the smaller fish as my large gaping jaws open and suck it in. Satisfied for the moment, I look towards the barrier once again. I begin my predatory scan for the biggest and juiciest bug that dares to temp its own fate.
As I open my eyes, Todd and I switch on our flashlights and begin to shine them around the yard. I reach my hand out of the tent to touch the grass. The grass is a little damp, another twenty minutes and the ground would become alive with worms.
We made our final preparations in the tent before heading out on our quest. We moved our sleeping bags into position and fluffed our pillows. We were ready for the first phase of our weekend, bait fulfillment.
As we stepped out of the tent into the chilly night air, we immediately dashed back inside the tent. It was very chilly. I put on my blue sweatshirt that was emblazoned on the front with “BIG BASS” in big, yellow block letters. Todd applied his black sweatshirt that read, “A bad day of fishing is better than a good day at work!” a hand-me-down from his father.
We shook off the chill and stepped back out into the crisp evening air. Large nightcrawlers were good bait for Large Mouth Bass, and you didn’t have to use an entire worm on your hook if they were of good size. It was essential to have a worm longer than three inches in length.
We walked slowly and half bent in our stature, carefully scanning the wet grass for the slightest movement. Large worms will glisten in the beam of a flashlight and move slowly towards their hole, unless you touch it, then it’s gone in a second.
You have to be quick with your fingers to catch them before they can squirm back into their tunnel. Once you have one in your fingers, you have to slowly and ever so gently pull them out of the hole. Worms are covered in slime and with tiny hairs called “setae” which help the worm’s movement and gives them some grip when they don’t want to go in the direction you want them to.
There were so many worms in the grass and we had only ventured a few feet. We both had our own five gallon buckets of dirt to hold our prized worms. Stopping occasionally to share our current count of worms with each other, we began to realize we already had more than we needed. We continued picking worms until the sun began to peak above the horizon the next morning. We had lost count somewhere around 4 a.m. at 15 dozen each.
Yawning and stretching, we both decided to skip fishing that morning and see what we could do with all of the worms we had accumulated. I grabbed the sign off the tent and turned it over. Todd handed me the black marker and I wrote, “Nightcrawlers – $1.00 a dozen”.
Todd went into the house and returned with half a pack of Styrofoam coffee cups, a bunch of rubber bands and a box of plastic wrap. We began counting out dozens of worms, dropping them into the cups, a bit of dirt on top and a small piece of plastic wrap affixed to the top of the cup with a rubber band. Todd took the pen and punched a few holes in the top of the plastic to give the worms some much needed air.
We sat by the sign at the edge of the road for no more than 20 minutes, when a car pulled up. A man got out of the car asked to see the quality of the worms before he made a purchase. He shook one of the cups to bring the worms to the top and grinned. “I’ll take two boys” he said with his grin wider. He handed us a five and we both looked at each other. Todd looked at the man and said, “Sorry mister, we can’t make the sale.” “Why not?” asked the man. “Did you change your mind?” he questioned. “No sir, we don’t have change for a five dollar bill.” answered Todd.
The man stood there and scratched his head for a moment and looked back over his shoulder to the car. His young son was peering out at him from the rear passenger window. The man turned back towards us and said “Give me three dozen and keep the change, these worms are worth it, you boys did a mighty fine job.”
“Thank you!” we both said in unison, our voices clearly excited. “Have a nice day and good luck to you both”, I said.
By the end of the morning, Todd and I had amassed $12.00 each. Not a bad day we thought, unfortunately no fishing, but no real work and money in our pockets. As we sat near the tent, Todd and I decided that this would be our new weekend venture from now until the fishing season ended. Just like that, we were in the fishing bait business. Our clientele would grow exponentially weekend by weekend. New fishing gear was on the horizon for both Todd and me. We decided with new equipment, Big Bender didn’t stand a chance against our advances that were soon to come. It was now nap time, since we had stretched one day into two. We would both dream of landing the grand prize.
Our afternoon nap was interrupted by the sound of a distant blaring automobile horn. As Todd and I stretched and shook off the affects of an afternoon nap, we exited the tent into the warm June sun. We immediately had to salute the sun in an effort to shade our eyes not yet adjusted for the bright light of day.
The horn grew louder and was honking non-stop. Todd and I made a quick dash to the edge of the road near our sign. The same dusty blue 1970’s Chevy Impala, four doors, with a white top, lead a cloud of dust and dirt down the road towards us. The front end of the car edged out in front of the dust storm and finally came to a stop in front of us on the road. The dust did not get the signal as it kept on rolling down the road and blanketed both Todd and me. We coughed with our eyes tightly closed in vice grip fashion, in an effort to keep out the dirt. We waived our hands frantically trying to clear the air so we could breathe again and hopefully open our eyes without consequence.
As the air relieved itself of dust and dirt, the same man that was our first customer emerged from the Chevy. The man was carrying the weight of a wider than average smile that was cast from ear to ear. He stretched out one of his mammoth hands in our direction and took both of our hands and shook them wildly.
“Boys, these must have been some magic worms you sold us” he said with exuberance as he continued to shake Todd and me nearly out of our shoes. “My boy Chase here has caught one of the biggest bass I’ve ever laid eyes on. I used to fish that pond down the road when my family used to own the house and the surrounding farm”, he said. “The names John and you are?” he asked.
“I’m Chuck and this is my best friend Todd”, I answered.
“Well, Chuck and Todd, this here is Chase Bender” he said as he opened the rear passenger door of the Chevy. “Say hello Chase”, he said with his eyes wide and the smile still plastered across his face.
A very polite “Hello” came from the rear of the vehicle as we peered in. “Hey, that’s Big Bender…” Todd started as I nudged him with my elbow. Todd looked up and saw Chase sitting on the back seat, his legs straightened by two braces and a pair of crutches leaning against the opposite door.
“Hello Chase, very pleased to make your acquaintance”, I said as I extended my right hand. We shook hands and as Todd and I leaned in, we both looked down on the floor in front of Chase, and there, on a bunch of old Apple Creek Gazette newspapers, lay the finest Large Mouth Bass we have ever laid eyes on, complete with the tell tale notch in the fin. It was Big Bender alright and there was no mistaking it.
Todd and I stood with our arms around each others shoulders as if we were subconsciously consoling each other on the loss of an old friend. The blue Chevy drove away with a father tickled pink, a son happy to have been fishing with his father and a legendary bass finally retired.
“That’s one smart fish”, I said.
“How do you figure that?” Todd asked sarcastically.
“He eluded us for years and years just waiting for a family member to come and get him and he picked the right one to wait for”, I said, “I’m proud to have known him.”
“Me too,” Todd replied and both of us began to laugh.
We learned many years later that Chase Bender conquered his disability and went on to champion Bass Fishing Tournaments all across the country, affording him the ability to become a leading advocate for people with handicaps.
