Tamarack River Ghost: A Novel

36. Opening Day

211 Opening Day 36 Two days on the Wisconsin calendar take on near religious significance: in November, the opening day of deer season, and in May, the opening day of fishing season. Wisconsin sportsmen and sportswomen mark these dates on their new calendars every January. Absolutely nothing takes precedence over them—no clear-headed person would ever schedule a wedding, a birthday party, or even a funeral on these days—that is, if anyone were expected to attend. These were sacred days, revered year after year. Opening day of fishing season took on circus proportions on the Willow River Millpond each year. Fishermen from as far away as Milwaukee and Madison gathered to try their luck at catching a native brook trout. They fished from shore, they fished from the dam that created the millpond , they fished from boats small and large (no motors of any kind were allowed, however). They drank beer, told stories, and partied as they waited for first light. They fished with fly rods and spinning rods, with cane rods and old-fashioned casting rods. They fished with fancy home-tied flies. They fished with spinners and assorted lures. They fished with earthworms and minnows, little-finger-length, silver bait minnows, that for most fishermen worked best to lure a spring-hungry brook trout. Some built campfires on the shore, where they huddled to keep warm on a chilly early May morning. They laughed and hooted—they woke up the neighbors, but nobody complained. These loud and rowdy fishermen brought much-needed money into Willow River. On this particular opening day, Natalie was on duty, of course. She had invited Josh to accompany her; they had arrived at the millpond about 212 Opening Day midnight, and the parties were already in full swing. She didn’t think much of the shenanigans that were a part of opening day. For her, trout-fishing meant sneaking along a quiet little stream with a fly rod, allowing a fishing fly to float over a likely hole where a trout lay dozing, and then, when the fish took the bait, set the hook and pull it in, all the while respecting the fish and its fight for survival. Once the fish was in your net, you admire it, perhaps take a photo of it, and then let it go. The folks on the Willow River Millpond today were fish eaters—nothing wrong with that, of course. It was their right. But the way they went about it galled Natalie. Her job was to check fishing licenses and make sure nobody was taking home more than their limit—which was unlikely of course, because fishing competition was so heavy that anyone was lucky to catch one or two fish. Natalie and Josh sat in her truck, watching the goings on and waiting for first light, when she would begin checking licenses and fish numbers. She had a big thermos of coffee, which the two of them shared as they talked. It was a cold morning, right around freezing, so she started the truck every half hour or so to take off some of the chill. “How’s the new job going?” Natalie asked. Josh hadn’t talked much about it. “I haven’t gotten used to it; it’s a new approach to journalism, I must say.” “People pay to have their news published?” “That’s right. You have a story you want published, say you want to report on some recent arrests, the DNR would have to pay to have it published.” “So what about the story that needs telling and nobody has money to pay to see it in print?” “Well, according to my boss, the assistant editor and I are in charge of writing those stories.” “Sounds a little weird to me.” “My boss says it’s the future, that it’s the new model for the publishing industry that will both make money and get the news out. Online news does have some advantages; we can link to video; we can provide up-to-theminute market reports. Even link to social networks.” 213 Opening Day “So do you think you’ll keep reporting on the big hog operation that’s coming into the valley?” Natalie asked. “I hope so. That’s the biggest story to come along in a while. Right now it looks like a done deal—I thought for a time that public...