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Casey set up his ladder at the base of it, and I ran three hundred feet of extension cords to an outlet in the picnic area. The idea was to see if they’d be more inclined to travel through the tube if it seemed like an alternative to the main flow providing passage beyond the obstruction. Plus, if the ladder worked, we’d catch some as well.
We sat down and waited for the sun to drop. A few fishermen were casting nearby, and a guy came over.
“Whatchya fishin’ for?” was the question.
Eels.
…
Anyway, it was getting late, so we let that eel go and began packing up.
“Whatchy’all fishin’ for?” a woman’s voice asked, hardly audible above the rumble of her pickup truck, which sounded like a pack of Harleys.
“Eels,” Casey answered, sauntering over to say hello. She was idling in the parking lot with her two teenage daughters beside her in the cab. They were texting away and seemed annoyed at their mother for talking to random strangers.
“Eeeeels?” she replied. “I hate those things! Caught one last week five feet long! Thick around as my arm! Whatchy’all want with those disgusting things?”
“We’re collecting data,” Casey said, “for US Fish and Wildlife.” …
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