Charlie The Singing Catfish

I must have the strangest group of friends in the world.  Among my best friends are talking and singing critters including Jiminy Cricket, Billy the Bullfrog, Cindy Cicada (who plays the blues), and a pacifist spider who just wants to buy his kids shoes and teach them how to dance.  This past summer, I made a new acquaintance; a talking and singing Catfish named Charlie.  All of them have helped me out with various songs that I write, but I really think Charlie has more personality than the rest of them combined.  On top of that, he has a heart for kids, which I really admire in a fish.

I met Charlie over the summer during a fishing trip with my buddy Egor from Ukraine.  Egor was eight years old at the time and wanted to go fishing in the worst way.  Maybe I should clarify that.  He wanted to go fishing and actually catch something.  Boy, do I know what that feels like.

Egor spent a few weeks in Minnesota this summer, vacationing on a lake full of fish, who evidently were quite shy when it came to biting his hook.  He tried and tried to catch a fish, but there was no cooperation, so he came back to Roanoke fishless and frustrated.  I’ve been there a few times too.  But I knew I had to try to change his luck, so I asked his mom Jenya if I could kidnap him for a day.  She said OK, and we planned a certain day in early August. It was supposed to be a secret, just in case the weather was bad or I had to cancel.  

The day before the fishing trip, we had several inches of rain. That meant all of my usual fishing holes on Smith Mountain Lake would be a muddy and debris filled mess - not the best for fishing.  I went to pick up Egor across town and he was ready for action.  We drove down to the far southern end of the lake, where the water would be clear.  I didn’t know any good honey holes, with big fish to catch, on that end of the lake.  On the way out to the lake, Egor and I sang “bug songs” - the ones I like to write.  He knows all the words and loves to sing.  That boy has good taste in music.

I own a little red, old school fishing boat, possibly the ugliest thing on the lake (if you don’t count my truck).  Egor didn’t mind a bit, so we launched it off a public boat ramp at the crack of 11 AM.  The sky was robin's egg blue, the sun was hot and the steady breeze was kicking up some pretty big surface waves. In other words, perfect conditions for a fishless afternoon.  Undeterred, we started the motor and took off.  There wasn’t a bit of shade to be found and the wind was blowing us off every spot I tried.  I needed a plan.  My plan was to pray. 

I prayed - “Lord, please let Egor catch a fish.  Any fish will do, even tiny Bluegill.”  With the boat rocking wildly from huge waves, I looked at Egor and said “we need to try fishing off a dock”.  There was a little set of docks at the State Park.  It’s totally illegal to fish off them and I knew it.  Sometimes, you have to ignore the law and put all of your faith in God.  We tied up the boat and cast our bait into the only patch of shade on the lake that day.  And just like that, God served up a miracle.  

Myself with Egor and Charlie the Catfish
Summer 2023, Smith Mountain Lake, Virginia

That was the day we first met Charlie the Catfish.  He was the second fish of the day and, at about 4 pounds, the largest.  Charlie pulled so hard that Egor thought he’d rip the fishing pole right out of his hands!  We fought that fish with all of our strength and it took at least 5 minutes to pull him in.  That’s when God served up another miracle - my wife Denise and her iPhone.  She just happened to be at the park, heard all the commotion and raced over to get most of it on video (click here to watch).  As Charlie finally came up to the top, I told Egor “That’s Charlie The Catfish!”  The name stuck and Charlie and Egor got to meet.  After we exchanged greetings, I put Charlie back in the water to swim away and perhaps come back someday.  No one could ever have had more fun than Egor and I that day, and that’s no fish story!

Egor and Jenya went back to live in Ukraine a few weeks after that, to rejoin their family and defend their country.  I hope that the war soon ends and they can rebuild their lives and country.  I hope Egor and I get a chance to go fishing again.  He turned nine years old a few weeks ago and, as a present, Charlie and I got together and wrote him a birthday song.  You can listen to it here.  As it turns out, old Charlie really knows how to sing and dance.  He’s quite a fish.

If you’ve hung with me this far, thanks.  Please consider liking or sharing this post and hitting the blue FOLLOW button to receive new posts, typically one per month.  If you have a similar experience, or other thoughts, please leave a comment for Jenya, Egor or myself.  I’ll be sure to let you know I’ve seen it.  One last thing - please pray for Ukraine.  There’s a lot of good people just like Jenya and Egor and they deserve our prayers and support. 

Best Roadtrip Ever

I’ve traveled a lot over my career, both in the Air Force and as a defense contractor. I’ve had many memorable trips all over the U.S. and a number of foreign countries in places like Belgium, Germany, Finland, Israel, Saudi Arabia and a few others. But of all the trips I’ve taken, the best one was a road trip from Mesa, Arizona to Joliet with my sister Dorothy around Thanksgiving of 1976.

Dorothy is six years and six months older than me.   She had moved to Mesa, Arizona, about the time I got to high school. I saw her only on her infrequent visits home and the occasional letter or long-distance call. Mesa was far away and slightly exotic, especially for someone who grew up in the land of ice and snow. I’d heard you could go swimming all year around in Arizona. In any case, she was there and I was in Joliet, Illinois – far apart.

One day Dorothy called.   She said she was going to move back to Joliet and – this was the best part – she wanted me to fly out and drive back to Illinois with her. I was 19 years old and quite ready to see what lay on the other side of the Mississippi River, so I made flight reservations and waited for the time to pass until the big trip.

The big day came, I got on the plane, and headed west.  I landed at Sky Harbor airport in Phoenix about three hours after takeoff. Dorothy picked me up at the airport and we drove back to the house where she was living. When we arrived, she explained there was a slight change of plan. She wasn’t going to move back to the land of ice and snow. Instead, she was going to stay there and get married to her boyfriend, Steve. We were still going to drive back to Illinois together, but now it was just for her to share the good news with Ma & Dad and introduce Steve (who would be flying up). I was cool with that.

We loaded up the car and hit the road the next day, headed north through the desert and into the high country (Flagstaff and beyond). Arizona has about as much great scenery as any place I’ve ever been. From the desert to the mountains in the north, everywhere you look is postcard pretty. We were driving her relatively new Ford Maverick; not exactly a Mustang or Camaro, but a fun ride nonetheless. We’d carefully mapped out the trip on a Road Atlas, which is how you got to places before GPS was invented. Major roads were easy to locate, but secondary roads were not always easy to see.

While driving, we talked a lot about life, love and everything else. It was the most time we’d spent together, probably ever, but for sure since she’d moved to Arizona. By late afternoon, even though we were scooting along about 80 mph, it was looking like we were behind schedule and wouldn’t hit our planned destination until about 3 am. But I looked at the map and saw a shortcut. I showed Dorothy that there was a tiny line on the map that looked like a state route, that would cut about 50 miles off of the trip and take us to Moab, Utah. She was reluctant, but my enthusiasm and expert salesmanship convinced her to give it a try. We found the road and took it. It didn’t take long to figure out we had driven right into no-man’s land.  You know the old saying about how fools rush in. And rush we did, headlong into the quickly fading sunlight (I was driving).

Road tripping with my sister in Colorado

Northern Arizona never fails to impress me

It was a tiny 2 lane road that ran beside the Colorado River and, so help me, there wasn’t a sign, no road lights, no nothing - except steep canyon walls and a million stars above. There were no other cars and no place to turn around, all curves and hills to climb and speed over, wheels barely touching the ground. I drove her Maverick like a Maserati at Monte Carlo. I thought Dorothy had her eyes closed in fear (as she rightfully should have). We raced over one hill and, as soon as the headlights found the other side, we both saw it at the same time – a stream had crested the pavement and the road was submerged! She screamed and I hit the gas, reasoning that if I hit the brakes, we’d stop in the stream and get washed away. We hit the water about 50 mph and the water splashed about ten feet high on both sides of the car. We sailed on through the stream like a speed boat and got to the other side.  The whole time, Dorothy was screaming and cussing me out. Somehow, the engine didn’t die and we kept on cruising through the night. I think Dorothy peed her pants, but other than that, we were fine and I congratulated myself on my driving skills. We finally got to Moab, found a hotel and decided not to take any more shortcuts.

The next day, we headed out and saw the amazing beauty of the area and spent the day crossing into and across the Rockies.  We were both laughing and getting to know each other as young adults instead of kids. It was stupendous. Neither of us had ever been to Colorado and were both mesmerized by the beauty. It was beautiful weather and you could see for miles in any direction. Way too soon, we got past the Rockies and headed east into the flatlands and prairies. The skies turned gray and the temperatures dropped. It was late November and we were headed into the land of ice and snow. By the time we got to Illinois, the snow was flying and the temperature was in the teens. It was dark and freakin’ cold. We were home, our relationship firmly bonded in the three-day adventure.

Steve… remember him? He had flown up to O’Hare to meet our parents and drive Dorothy back to Arizona. I don’t think he had ever been to Chicago as he didn’t own a stitch of winter clothing. He arrived in a sport coat and froze his tail off. I thought he was going to get frostbite, but he survived and went on to become fast friends with Dad (who loved going to Arizona). I hated to see Dorothy go, but I’ll never forget how much fun we had on that trip. It was the best trip ever.

Dorothy and Steve on their wedding day

Postscript - Steve Gillespie passed away a couple days before Christmas last year (2022) after a tough fight with colon cancer.  This post is dedicated to his memory.  

If you’ve hung with me this far, thanks.  Please consider liking or sharing this post and subscribing to receive new posts, typically one per month.  If you have a similar experience, or other thoughts, please leave a comment.  I’ll be sure to let you know I’ve seen it.