Fish Tales: The Legend of the Golden Fishes

Chapter 1

The juvenile fish chased its target, breaking the calm of the still water. The hungry animal’s aim veered off-center, and his intended breakfast snack escaped With sunrise still several minutes away, the early morning light had yet fully penetrated the depths of the deep lake. The lucky survivor had benefitted from the dim light.

The fish immediately braked to an abrupt stop. He looked to both sides and shortly spotted another target ahead. Similar to his first explosive swim, the small animal thrust himself forward through the fluid space. He again missed the anticipated meal, although barely this time.

Undeterred, the sleek fish continued the same routine a third time. This time, the determined hunter overtook his elusive quarry and seized the small crustacean with his powerful jaws. The juvenile fish had snared a freshwater shrimp for his first meal of the early day.

The fish’s elongate body had gold-colored scales that covered his body. The dazzling color resembled the flames of the hottest part of a raging campfire. The intense color would make the everyday, pet-store goldfish look boring. Stretched along each side at the fish’s midpoint was a thin black stripe outlining the animal’s sensory lateral line. The fish had a large mouth with a protruding lower jaw for quickly grabbing his prey. Single rows of razor-sharp teeth lining lined both upper and lower jaws. A broad and powerful tail or caudal fin finished the trim body shape.

Barely had the fish swallowed the tasty snack when he launched his next search. Lake shrimp were his favorite food, and the irresistible flavor had activated his appetite to start the day. The fish continued his morning hunt, scanning the lake bottom for signs of burrowing shrimp.

The little fish represented the newest generation of golden fishes dwelling in the large, oval-shaped lake. The lake was named Lake Flores was nestled in the rolling foothills at the base of a steep mountain range. The foothills were pleated with small rises and valleys like creases in a wool blanket thoughtlessly flung on the floor. While a thick layer of annual winter weeds painted the hills green, yellow blossoms of sprouting wild mustard plants signaled the beginning of spring. A vibrant swath of blooming golden poppies, blue lupine, and purple radish lined the margins of the lake.

The juvenile fish lived with the other family members at the bottom of the lake. Their home was a mound of basaltic rocks, formed from ancient volcanic activity. The rocks lay at a depth of one hundred feet and rose just over five feet above the adjacent, sandy lake bottom. The boulder pile was almost round in shape with a diameter of about fifteen feet.

The family of golden fishes had remained undisturbed for centuries in their deepwater abode from the daily events and activities occurring on the land above. Their habitat supplied everything needed to sustain the population. The boulder pile provided a perfect dwelling where they sheltered at night and exited during the day to feed on the abundant shrimp living adjacent sand. The result of this ideal setting was that the golden fishes never needed to venture far from the boulder shelter to locate their favorite prey, at least not until this day.

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Chapter 2

Each day began the same for the fish, not quite a year old. Once the sunrise light rays reached the deepest portions of Lake Flores, the fish stirred from his evening slumber. Careful not to disturb the other sleeping fishes, the fish gently fluttered his fins and exited the rock pile. Once outside, he began his feeding ritual of consuming shrimp. The fish needed to daily eat many of the tasty crustaceans to support his rapid growth rate.

On this day, the golden fish had caught one shrimp but missed two. That was not unusual during the early stages of the day when the evening black water was slowly transforming into turquoise blue. The fish’s hunting accuracy always improved as the sun’s light rays penetrated the deepest parts of the lake.

After his first meal, the fish continued to move along the base of the rock pile and surrounding sand bottom. Shrimp always congregated near this rock-sand interface. Usually, only a few moments would pass before the juvenile fish encountered his next meal. Today was different. After the first three encounters, no other shrimp were seen. Instinctively, he circled the boulder pile.

With no shrimp to be seen, the fish continued to circle the rock pile. But with each revolution, his path widened, moving him further and further from away from the rocks. Soon, the boulders were no longer visible. The fish was now swimming in wider circles over the vast emptiness of the lake’s sand bottom.

Despite losing sight of the familiar rock pile, the hungry fish remained undeterred to locate more food. Nothing mattered except finding more shrimp. The urge to consume the tasty crustaceans overrode any instincts to stay within sight of his home.

As the fish moved further from the shelter, he ventured into the shallower waters of the lake. Shortly, the fish detected a change in water temperature. His food-seeking journey was taking him from the cold waters of the deep lake to the shallower, surface waters warmed by the sun. The fish had just crossed the lake’s thermocline, the transition zone dividing the cold and warm layers of lake water. The golden fish was now entering an area of the lake that only his ancestors had inhabited centuries earlier. The change in water temperature and unfamiliar surroundings did not interfere with his quest—a quest destined for special surprises and dangerous experiences.

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Chapter 3

Fred Sanders set his coffee cup into the holder and tightly grasped the steering wheel of his pickup truck. He was approaching a hairpin turn on the narrow, two-lane road leading up to Lake Flores. The tall, slightly graying gentleman owned Sanders’ Pet Store in the town below. Today was Friday, the day he set aside each week to catch small fish at the lake. He’d then sell them at his pet store.

Fred Sanders loved the weekly ritual at the lake. His preference would have been to visit the peaceful setting every day. But the responsibilities of running his pet shop kept the routine to a single day of the week. Maybe I can spend more time at the lake when I retire, he thought. At the very least, his Friday venture to the lake was always a good way to start the weekend.

Mr. Sanders pushed down on the accelerator pedal to maintain his speed on the last stretch of the winding road. He wanted to arrive at the lake before the sun rose over the mountain peaks hovering above the lake. He always seemed to catch more fish if he started just before sunrise.

Reaching the lake’s parking lot, he backed his well-used truck into the lane nearest the trailhead leading to the lake. He liked the idea of being the first vehicle of the day so he’d get the best parking spot. He set his parking brake and turned off the engine. As he rolled up his window, the only sound he heard was the hooting call of a great horned owl. Mr. Sanders noticed the hoot rose in pitch at the end. Definitely a female, he thought, pleased with himself for distinguishing the gender.

The storeowner climbed out of the truck with the day’s newspaper folded under his right arm. His well-used thermos filled with hot coffee was in his left hand. Stepping around to the rear of the black truck, he reached over into the bed and grabbed his fish net, an empty five-gallon bucket, and his neoprene waders. Clutching everything in both arms, he followed the trail down to the lake. The storeowner gazed at the sights of the red bark manzanita, the coastal live oaks, and sniffed the sweet aromas coming from the thickets of coastal sagebrush and deerweed. An almost detectable skip in his walk revealed his cheerfulness.

Mr. Sanders had been catching fish at the lake every Friday morning for the past thirteen years. The Friday trip to Lake Flores usually provided a sufficient inventory of small fish to last the week. He concentrated on the small fishes living in the shallow parts of the lake. Lake Flores was home to healthy populations of mosquitofish, and bluegills. Sometimes a young catfish or largemouth bass would show up in his net, but that was rare. The mosquitofish and bluegills were always in high demand by his customers.

Many of his clients were families starting their first aquariums. Other customers were serious aquarium hobbyists that liked adding lake fish to diversify their collection of exotic species. Some hobbyists even bought the lake fish as live food for their hungry aquarium fish like ferocious Oscars. Providing one species of fish as prey for another species was not something Mr. Sanders enjoyed. However, this was the reality of how Mother Nature operated. He did not intend to interfere with her business.

As was his custom, Mr. Sanders set everything down on top of one of the picnic tables and proceeded to slip on his chest-high waders. The old waders had developed periodic leaks over the years, but nothing a few patches could not fix. He had been up late the night before making a few repairs to the latest series of punctures. He was confident that he had found all the holes and would remain dry this day. He then picked up the collapsed fyke net and started wading into the shallow water. He did not notice the water’s temperature. A sign that his repair work was sufficient

Once Mr. Sanders was waist-deep, he stretched out the net, anchoring the corners firmly in place with small stakes. The net was old but remained reliable in catching at least a couple dozen fish on each set.

The fyke net consisted of two wings that would lead unsuspecting fish the net’s opening. Once past the entrance, the net design funneled fish into the last portion of the net, the cod end. Once in the cod end, captured fish seldom escaped.

With his thirteen years of fish-catching experience, Mr. Sanders had a dependable routine. He would set the net in the lake. Then, wade back to the shore and read the first three sections of the morning paper at the picnic table. He’d do this while sipping the strong black coffee that Mrs. Sanders prepared for him. By the time he finished reading the sports pages, the cod end would be full of fish. After collecting the fish, he would head for his store and ready for another day of business.

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Chapter 4

While Mr. Sanders finished setting his net, the golden fish continued searching for his next shrimp meal. Although his morning hunger pangs had been temporarily relieved by the first meal, the relief was short-lived. The fish’s appetite was especially ravenous after the long swim into the shallow waters of the lake.

As he continued his swim, the fish encountered unusual sights never seen before. The first was a school of small mosquito fish. The dull-grey colored fish, closely resembling tropical guppies, were still grouped tightly together from their evening slumber. The golden fish had no interest in their presence and avoided them.

He then came across a swarm of round-shaped, bluegill sunfishes. The bluegills were busily feeding on insect larvae, and that looked unappealing. He continued onward. Unbeknownst, he was moving closer and closer to the lake’s shoreline.

Just ahead in the distance, he saw a cloud of stirred-up sediment. Instinctively, the fish equated the sediment plume to the digging motions of shrimp. The little fish rapidly fluttered his caudal fin and moved closer for a better view. Finally, he sensed the makings of his second meal of the day.

It was not to be. The fish had come across a crayfish busily digging into the sand. The curious fish moved over to a dense patch of freshwater plants, watching the burrowing crayfish work for his breakfast. Even though the size of the crayfish dwarfed lake shrimp, the close resemblance in body shape was sufficient to trigger its hunting instincts. The hungry fish decided he would make a meal out of this new kind of prey.

At the same time, a largemouth bass lay hidden in an adjacent patch of plants. The bass, well camouflaged by the freshwater vegetation, was waiting to ambush the unsuspecting crayfish. But once the golden fish came into view, the bass lost all interest in the crayfish. He then locked his sights on the motionless fish visiting from the deep. Bass prefer to forage on fish rather than crayfish. This particular largemouth bass was no exception.

As the little fish readied to ambush the crayfish, the bass was preparing his sneak attack. With a mighty thrust of his broad caudal fin, the bass darted directly towards the golden fish. As the bass sprinted forward, he extended his lower jaw far beyond its upper jaw. The bass was ready to feed on his first meal of the day.

Just as the sprinting bass was about to strike, the little fish lunged at the crayfish’s plump tail. His motion moved him beyond the trajectory of the bass’s gaping mouth. The bass speedily whirled past his unsuspecting target, missing the golden fish by the sheer length of a fish scale. Immediately, the bass extended both pectoral fins and stopped his forward motion. As he slowed, he pivoted his streamline body; then with several fin beats, raced off for a second pass at the golden fish.

The turbulent wake created by the passing bass spun the golden fish around like a whirling frisbee. Once he regained his orientation, he looked ahead and saw the largemouth bass moving towards him. The golden fish wasted no time. He turned around and stretched both pectoral fins forward and hastily pulled them back in a single motion, like skilled rowers on a college-racing scull. At the same time, he slashed his forked caudal fin back and forth like an excited dog wagging his tail. The combined motion of all of his fins moving in unison thrust him forward. He had never swum as fast.

The golden fish fluttered his fins as fast as his body allowed, but the bass was more massive and a much faster swimmer. The ferocious bass gained quickly on the fleeing golden fish. At the same time the bass lurched forward to clench his prey, the little fish saw the panel of Mr. Sanders’ net ahead. Instantaneously, the golden fish made a sharp turn to avoid the net. The quick, ninety-degree turn moved him out of the lunging bass’s path.

The surging bass could not react quickly enough and collided head-on into the net. He hit the wing panel with such tremendous impact that the net panel stretched several feet forward. It then rebounded with reverse and equal force. The spring-like action propelled the bass backward like a tennis ball bouncing off a tightly strung racket. The bass somersaulted head over tails several times before he was able to control his momentum. Once he regained his normal swimming position, he saw the golden fish off in the distance. The bass immediately resumed his chase.

As the golden fish sprinted along the net panel, he caught up with a school of mosquitofish and bluegills. They were all about to enter the cod-end portion of the net together. Just before entering the cod-end, the golden fish looked behind. There was the approaching bass, barreling down like a charging shark. The golden fish hurtled ahead of the other fishes. Again, the bass opened his humongous mouth and readied to clamp his jaws shut. Just then, the golden fish passed through the small throat opening of the cod end.

Once inside, the golden quickly reached the far end of the net and rammed headfirst into the small mesh netting. Quickly turning around, he expected to see the predatory bass once again charging towards him. The bass was nowhere in sight. The little fish retraced his path and approached the small entrance to the cod end. There he saw the snout of the bass protruding through the small opening. He was too large to fit through the hole. All the fish were now safe from the hungry bass.

The burst in his swimming speed had completely fatigued the golden fish. For several minutes, he hovered in the center of the net, beating his gill flaps as quickly as he could. That forced extra water over his gills. The action allowed more oxygen molecules to pass across his gill membranes. Within minutes, he was back to normal.

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Chapter 5

On this particular Friday, Mr. Sanders was overwhelmed by the lake’s scenery. A layer of clouds lined the sky, forming a wispy backdrop to the lake. The clouds, reflecting the red hues of the rising sun, were creating a brilliant sunrise. Complementing the dawn sky was the colorful array of spring flowers surrounding the lake. The sun’s first rays acted like a spotlight on the flowers, highlighting their dazzling colors. To top everything off was the near-perfect air temperature that overruled any need to wear a jacket. What a spectacular way to start the day, he thought. He was utterly preoccupied with the beautiful vista and had forgotten all about his net.

After a lengthy time of daydreaming, Mr. Sanders glanced at the buoys marking the net’s position in the water. He then looked at his watch. The time jolted him out of his stupor. He thrust down the newspaper and leaped to his feet all in one swift motion. Oh my gosh, he said aloud, The net! I forgot all about the net.

He waded out to the net in a hurry. He needed to collect the fish, put them in a bucket of water, and drive down the hill to open his store on time. Mr. Sanders insisted on opening promptly every morning come rain or shine. Punctuality was a dependable trait he had learned from his father. In his thirteen years of owning the store, he had never opened late, a record he intended to keep.

Mr. Sanders reached for a corner of the net and started walking the fishing gear back to the beach. Once he reached the shoreline, he hoisted the contraption out of the water. All the fishes, including the golden fish, were now bunched together in one corner of the net.

The storeowner grasped the end of the net. He then shook the contents vigorously over his bucket filled with lake water. He knew how important it was to get the fish back into water as soon as possible, and looking at his catch would