Update: Since this post went live, the article referred to has been published. You can find it here.
Every hunter wants to hunt on TV. Me, not so much.
Don’t think I’m comparing myself to any TV professional who has a show. The story I’m about to tell is like a record needle sliding over hardened steel. I don’t even scratch the surface of the level those guys are at.
I penned an article about bowfishing for the Missouri Conservationist last year. They contacted me in August to coordinate a photo shoot to go along with the text…which I was ecstatic about, until I realized that I’d have to stick a fish with the added pressure of a camera guy waiting and watching with his unblinking lens.
The photographer would come to me, so it was my responsibility to find a high potential (and legal – more on that some other time) location to go. I scouted a spot on the Meramec River where the stream squeezed deeply between a forested bank on one side, and an expansive gravel bar on the other. Just downstream, a small sliver of an island split the river between a bouldery riffle and a swift channel. This was the same stretch of Meramec referenced in “An International Incident”. The location was solid and I was seeing fish there, so I coordinated with MDC photographer David Stonner to meet me the following day at 6pm for the shoot.
The weeks prior I had been killing a fair number of fish and the point on my arrow was growing dull from bashing into rocks. So dull that the day of the photo shoot, I drove to the river around 3 pm to hopefully “bank” a few fish in case I couldn’t connect in front of the camera, but the arrow would glance off the fish instead of piercing them. As the minutes to six ticked away my desperation grew. Who would want to read an instructional article written by someone who can’t?
I didn’t want to downplay my abilities, nor did I want to sound as though I were making excuses for not being able to harvest a fish, but when David pulled up at six, and I was empty handed, I told him about my “equipment challenge”. He took it in stride and said they could try to find some stock photos, but it would be best if we could get a picture with an actual fish.
We walked down to the water together and immediately there was a disturbance near some submerged shoreline vegetation. I went into full stalk mode and could hear David’s shutter rapid firing. I quickly correlated shutter snaps with compelling photography. Soon I was within ten yards of a foraging sheep head. I drew, released, and jolted a silvery subsurface roll while my arrow sank to the bottom. This graphically documented failure expedition continued for 30 uncomfortable minutes and concluded with me grazing a large grass carp.
“I’m going to go back to the truck to get another lens. I’ll be right back.”
‘You should probably just leave now. I would.’ I thought but instead answered, “Alright, I’ll be here.”
The trailhead was about a quarter mile away. While David was gone, I had a few more opportunities, but just couldn’t connect. Water and disturbed sand coursed over my feet as I stood in the river’s edge desperately scanning for moving shadows. A sense of futility gnawed inside knowing that even if I got into position and made a good shot, I still wouldn’t be able to recover the fish.
Suddenly, a great thrashing sound erupted 100 yards down river and on the other side near the bank. I looked over in time for my eyes to witness something I’d never before seen; a mature grass carp hefting itself free of the river and up onto dry land!
Time slowed to allow the following thought sequence:
1. I’m not too proud to go claim that fish.
2. I wonder if Abraham felt this way when he saw the ram stuck in the bush?
3. That fish ain’t gonna lay there forever. It’s one flop away from going back into the river.
4. Run!
The old guy sitting on a white five gallon bucket catfishing downriver from me had to be confused. I tore off down the bank towards him with the bow in my left hand and my right arm pumping asymmetrically for speed. I hit the thigh-deep water high stepping and hopping, all the while in a constant state of almost falling forward. The fish remained on the sandy gravel just inches from swift current, its gills opened and closed, its body waited for an arbitrary moment to seize into a spasm and flip back into the river.
During my few seconds of running I had determined to do whatever it took to capture that fish, so when I was close enough, I lunged to tackle it…not a standard nor widely practiced bowfishing strategy.
Some images are indelibly written into our minds. What I relay here I’ll never forget. As I fell atop the fish, I noticed a gaping slash at a 45 degree angle just behind its pectoral fin that exposed the carp’s chest cavity.
A wave of elation overtook me as I realized I wouldn’t have to pretend I shot this fish for the photo shoot. This was the big grass carp I recently deflected the arrow off of just before David went back to his truck!
I rolled off the fish, and slid him further up on the bank, too far to get back into the river. On my back looking up at the sky and clouds, I pumped my fists and shouted, “This is my fish! This is my fish!”
The older guy catfishing across the river hollered to see if I was okay. I was. This was my fish.
David returned as I waded back across with my fish in tow. We got some beautiful pictures and had a great time. I was beyond relieved. The shoot was a success and David was really cool about the whole process.
That day I got a new appreciation for people who hunt and fish on TV for a living. There’s more pressure than most realize, especially if your paycheck depends on it. I’m happier to simply write about my adventures/misadventures. I have a little more control over the end product that way.
When the article is published this coming summer and you see me hauling my grass carp back across the river you’ll know exactly why I’m smiling so big. That was my fish.
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