It's happy Hump Day! So, this is a story from my teenage years. Yes, I had them and survived them...barely. As you all should know, I am an avid fisherman. What that has to do with this story is anyone's guess, but I thought I'd throw that out there. Anyway, until I got my drivers license, I was stuck fishing ponds that I could either walk to, bike to, or that my dad drove me to. Thus, my experience in fishing until I was 16 was limited to about a 5 mile radius. The problem with this was that the largest pond within 5 miles was in the middle of a pasture with one of the meanest bulls I have ever had the pleasure of running from. Let me correct that, it should read displeasure since it is kind of hard to be happy about trying to outrun 2 tons of angry beef while carrying 40 pounds of fishing tackle and poles. This probably explains why the fishing was so darn good. The good thing about the pond was that, once you got there, it was protected. There was a fence around it and the cattle weren't allowed near it. The pond was visible from the highway and we could see the fence around it. That was the reason we were determined to fish it.
I remember the first time we were actually able to fish it. It took us 3 days of trying before we were actually able to reach the pond. The first day was spent learning the speed of an angry bull. Fast, darn fast. From that data, we were able to determine just how far away the bull had to be for us to reach the fence before the bull could use us as horn ornaments. We figured that if we added on a few yards as a "safety" margin we'd be fine. The problem? All of our calculations were done while we were unladen. Turns out, we couldn't run near as fast when loaded down with the proper fishing gear. We managed to forget this until we were 100 yards into the field on the second day.
"Does he seem to be gaining on us a bit quicker than yesterday?" John managed to ask between wheezes.
"Yup," was my reply as I did a U-turn and headed back to the highway.
I still remember the how glad I was when I was finally clear of the fence and couldn't smell the stench of chewn grass. I never realized just how bad bull breath could be. I was also unaware just how easy it could be to clear a 5 foot tall barbwire fence with 40 pounds of fishing gear at full speed. When I finally caught up with John a mile down the road, we decided we had to throw out the previous days data and recalculate. Thus we spent the better part of the day on research. We were later accused of teasing the bull, in our defense, neither of us were that stupid.
Our final conclusion was that we would just have to wait until the bull was at the far side of the pasture before we attempted the crossing. That moment finally arrived about mid morning. We decided that rather than starting at an all out sprint we would make our way in a controlled fashion until the bull decided to move toward us. Thus we were halfway to the pond when we noticed the freight train en route. Within 2 steps we were at top speed and we managed to clear the fence quite quickly. We were elated, we were finally going to be able to fish this beautiful pond.
Only 2 things ruined that day of fishing. First off, after about an hour and 10 fish later, we realized the bull wasn't leaving the fence and we had no way to get back to the highway and our bikes. The second thing occurred when we were finally able to get the farmers attention and have him save us. As he was driving us out of the field, he taught us both a valuable lesson.
"You know, if you'd of asked," he said calmly, "I'd have moved ol' Brutus into the north pasture for the week. Next time just call me before you head out there."
At least we got our exercise.
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