Duck Warner (on shore) |
Duck's on
the Pond
by Roger Atkinson
Hang around singer/bandleader/brassman
Lester "Duck" Warner long enough and the conversation will
eventually turn to scales and school.
No, not those scales and schools. I mean the fishing kind.
"Crappie -- one after
another -- bigger than the pan!" he says. "I have a whole
freezer full of them now. And sweet as can be, I'm telling you!"
I can never resist a good fishing story, so I always ask Duck if he's
been fishing lately. His typical reply: "Catfish were biting
good this morning, man; 20 inches, a good two pounds. There's no better
eating than that."
Having never had a single outing as good as any Duck has described,
I finally asked if we could go fishing together someday. "Absolutely,"
he said. "Just give me a call; I'm always going." And so,
on what had to be the prettiest Friday afternoon ever, we began at
Duck's KCK home with his forever friend Butch (the 14-foot aluminum
boat was on the trailer and hitched when I arrived), made a quick
stop for my daily license at the bait and tackle shop on Minnesota
Avenue, and off we went to Leavenworth's State Fishing Lake.
"When I'm on the banks, Butch is always with me," Duck said.
And like a 30-year rhythm section, the two worked wordlessly when
we arrived at the lake. Each knew who picked up what from the van,
Butch hopped in the boat, Duck backed it down the ramp... and, in
half a chorus, there we were, in the water. They knew exactly where
to go next, anchors went down in a shady area across the lake, and...
let's fish!
What you see in Duck Warner the musician is precisely what he is like
on the water. Direct, simple, straightahead, no wasted motion.
"There are these guys out here with $20,000 bass boats,"
he said. "But watch who leaves with the fish.
"I use minnows and worms. Put a slip bobber on there about six
feet up, have a little weight eight inches from the hook. Now, cast
it close to the bank, and it won't take long."
I thought I'd do some jigging with a white crappie plug.
"You should try a worm on that, Roger," Duck said.
And after a few casts I agreed.
"There, look at that; see that bobber go down? He's nibbling.
There, he's taking it. Bam!"
Duck pulled hard to set the hook, and Fish #1 was being reeled in.
It was a little bass, and Duck became Dr. Warner, carefully removing
the hook and returning the fish to the lake.
I inquired where Duck's horns have been lately.
Sweet!
|
The author reels in
The Big One |
"They're coming back.
I had a little oral surgery, and had to put them down. I'm starting
to play the trombone some; it's easier on the embouchure than the
trumpet. But that'll come back, too."
Bam! Butch catches the first redhead, a Leavenworth hybrid species.
It's a keeper. Now Duck has one, a catfish that goes back to the lake
after some Dr. Warner-administered oral surgery. It's starting to
get busy.
There was more music talk between casts. For example, I heard about
the night Duck played with Curtis Mayfield ("a poetic genius").
And Duck talked about his band, the Duck Warner Project ("...we
might be the most versatile band in town: we can play jazz, blues,
R&B, country, anything..."). Fishin' and reminiscin'.
Uh-oh, there goes my bobber. Yank it, pull it in! How could a fish
that small hit that hook? It looked like it was from Waldo Pets.
But I got it and some others, too; we all did. Catfish, redhead, bluegill,
bass. Most went back, but a few went to the freezer. Best night of
fishing, ever.
Of course, Duck and Butch were just dying for me to nail a big catfish.
"I want to see your eyes get big and you get real quiet when
that big one hits," laughed Butch. "That'll make my night!"
"Another time, guys," I said.
And back to shore we went.
The rhythm section packed up, still wordless, each knowing their parts
by heart.
"You'll sleep like a rock tonight," said Duck Warner.
"The fresh air out here does it every time."
