Our reality TV show goes on location
My rod tip bowed, and the line hummed as the crappie below fought the hook. I raised the tip to land the fish.
"Cut!" the British director shouted. "Cut! Don't land that fish yet."
At the other end of the boat, Wrong Willie sighed loud and long. "They're biting," he said. "We need to catch fish while they're biting."
"I need a different angle," the director said.
"Why don't you hire another boat and a second or even third cameraman and do this right?" I asked, feeling the fish tangle the line far below. "You're supposed to pull the fish into the boat when you're fishing. That's why we're fishing."
"Not in the budget," he said. "Now, let's take it from the cut, and you may now raise the fish. Say that fishing thing again about why we're here, too."
"He tangled up in those limbs down there," I said, pulling on the rod to illustrate my point. "It might break off."
"Fantastic!" the director shouted in my face. I was only three feet away. "Now say that again with frustration and conviction, so that our audience can understand that fishing is exciting and suspenseful at the same time."
"It wouldn't have gotten tangled if you'd just let me land this one."
A crappie landed in the boat behind us. It flopped for a moment while Wrong Willie held it with his foot to remove the hook.
"You should be filming him," I said, pointing toward the stern where Willie was bending over to grab the hook.
"We can only film one individual at a time," the director said. "Mr. Willie, you should alert us by giving a sharp shout such as 'Fish!' each time you feel a tug. That way we can ready ourselves."
"Is there any reality in reality television?" I asked the scriptwriter, who was sitting on my cooler with a laptop on his knees.
"Only what we create."
I pulled upward, and the line snapped.
"Cut! At that point what were you feeling?" the director asked.
"Limp line," I said.
"No. What were you feeling emotionally? You should have expressed yourself, or turned to your fishing associate and initiated a snappy dialogue."
"Fishing associate?"
"Him." The director pointed at Wrong Willie, who was stepping rather heavily on the crappie in an effort to stretch it out an extra eighth of an inch to make it legal.
"Don't film that," I said.
"Fine, then let's take it from the moment your line separated. Action!"
I stared downward at the water, then the offending line. I said nothing.
"Cut! What are you doing?"
"Saying bad words."
"But I can't hear you."
"I don't want to say them on camera."
"But that's not what we need. Turn and express yourself to Woodrow there."
"That's Willie."
"Who cares? Just say something to him."
"Willie, you have any more of these jigs?"
"You should have brought enough of your own."
"You should give me one of yours."
"I suppose you want me to tie it on for you."
"Naw, I can do that. Besides ...."
"Cut!" the director shouted. "This is boring. I'll wait until you catch a fish."
"You'll wait a long time," Willie said, snickering.
"Missed that one," the sound man said. "I turned the camera off."
"It doesn't matter," the director said and sat heavily on the cooler.
I tied on another lure and jigged it up and down. The rod bowed again, but I knew it wasn't a crappie on the other end. "Fish on!" I shouted.
The boat's occupants came to life. I tried to ignore them, because the gear I was using was too light for the monster on the other end. I swept the rod tip to the right, away from the submerged brush in an effort to pull the bass out before he could tangle the line.
"Don't lose that fish!" Willie shouted, giving me the same advice he's given for nearly 30 years. It's as if I was trying to lose the fish, and I'd probably break it off if he didn't offer that same lame order.
"Shut up!"
The largemouth went underneath the boat and headed for the stern. I couldn't let the light line and drag handle such a fish, so I followed it through the confusion of reality television people trying to shoot the action and get out of my way at the same time.
Jumping. Shouting. Thrashing about. It was what we called back in the 1960s A Bad Scene.
"Out of the way!" I shouted, and the bass took that moment to leap from the water.
It was a monster, clearly the largest bass I'd ever hooked in my life.
"Don't boat it yet!" the director shouted. "I need one more jump! When the fish is drawn close to the boat, you should lean to your left side because the light is better ...."
"Out of the way!" I shouted again, stepping on a rod and snapping it like a toothpick. Feet tangled, I raised the rod tip to miss the director, and just for a moment, the bass gained a little slack.
And then he was gone.
I sat down and stared at the water. I'd lost the biggest fish of my life.
"What do you feel?" the director asked. "Don't you want to say something?"
"Better not," Willie said.
The director got what he wanted, but he lost it all almost as quickly as he'd gotten it.
I used their camera as an anchor.
• Reavis Wortham's e-mail address is r.wortham@tx.rr.com.
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