Appropriate co-conspirators necessary

This is the third of a four-part series about fun and harmless pranks.

Michele Walsh and Alice Little were my helpers in providing a platform for my two friends, Larry Little and John Walsh, to meet and enjoy time together during a guided fishing trip on Lake Lanier, Georgia. 

Setting up a long distance prank can be a complicated affair. Co-conspirators are necessary and two of the best, Michele and Alice, helped me with my best prank ever.

The pickup point for the prearranged guided fishing trip was determined to be the northeast end of Lake Lanier instead of the southwest end, as is the normal place of contact.

Michelle's predicament was to get John, well ... here is how she tells the story:

I had to come up with something reasonable to convince John to run the boat 30 minutes up the lake to another marina where the fish are not hanging out at this time of year.

On top of everything the weather report for the day of the trip was going from bad to worse. John wanted to postpone and I had to convince him this was the only way it was going to happen.

The setup from Larry point of view: Another good deed goes unpunished

Someone once said that life is what happens when we least expect it. As such, I recently had an opportunity to savor a most unexpected moment in mine. It began a few months back when my wife, Alice, totally shocked me when she casually inquired if I might be interested in going with her on a half-day guided fishing outing on Lake Lanier.

You see, there were a couple of reasons for my dismay. First, she does not swim well, plus, years ago, she had a very unnerving experience while sailing on the lake. The sail boat she was on capsized and sank. Second, in the 40 something years we've lived in the vicinity of the lake here, you could count on one-hand the number of times I have actually been out on the big water fishing.

So out of normal male-control befuddlement, I had to ask what in the world had brought on this totally unexpected question.

"Well, an old friend called and offered us an invitation to go on a free half-day fishing trip on the lake with a fishing guide and I just thought it might be something different that we might enjoy," she said.

Having no reason not to want to go and not wanting to dispel the obvious enthusiasm being shown by my wife to do something totally outside the box for her, I said, "Sure, let's do this thing."

Back to Michele: Finally, on the appointed day, amid appropriate grumbling from John, we headed up the lake. The small marina Alice described was actually huge, so it took even more time to find someplace to tie up and get them to the right spot. I went to the parking lot to hail them down, which was interesting since I had never seen Alice.

At last, a car pulled in with two possible passengers and fortunately, Larry emerged first. "Larry?" I asked. When Alice got out we hugged like we were the dearest of friends. In fact, having been co-conspirators for some weeks now, I guess we were.

The day, as predicted, was cold and windy. We had to find sheltered coves and places out of the wind to even have a chance to fish. I had brought my backpack with the unopened package from Dennis as per his instructions. John immediately asked what was in the backpack, as anything out of the routine gets his attention. I also had an extra jacket in it for my excuse.

The plan was to get the two men talking about their Vietnam experiences and hopefully they would hit on their mutual friend Dennis by themselves. No such luck. They got to the part where they realized they were there at the same time, in the same division but somehow just missed the Dennis part.

Two hours went by; no fish, no Dennis. Alice and I were getting desperate. Larry asked if John kept in touch with any of his old Army friends. Was this the moment? Nope.

So I jumped into the conversation and said that John had been to his class reunion. That was when John gave me one of those, "what does that have to do with anything" looks.

Bless Alice, she jumped right in there and asked about all his old friends from school. John started talking about the guy who wrote articles for local papers, books, and who was such a dynamic personality. Alice asked John what his name was. Another one of those looks. Finally he said, "Dennis Clay."

Larry, who was fishing up on the front of the boat whipped around and said "Dennis Clay? I know Dennis Clay."

There was a moment of stunned silence. They both said, can't be the same guy. Helicopter pilot? Yep. Moses Lake, Washington? Yep. Same guy. Wow what a coincidence! Not so much.

At this I got out the package and my cell phone and made the prearranged call to Dennis patiently waiting at some predawn hour in Washington State. Meanwhile the two fishermen were standing mouths agape, speechless as John read the letter from Dennis and handed the package, containing a Buck Knife for each of us, to Larry.

The letter: Greetings John, Larry, Alice and Michele, Surprise! I couldn't resist the chance to get you all together for a day on the water. Sure wish I could be with you, perhaps someday.

Please accept these knives as mementos of this day together. I have one also, with the same etching, except my name is first.

And a big thanks to my co-conspirators for helping to put this all together.

Enjoy the day, have fun, become friends. Best, Dennis.                                 

Larry's view of the happenings: The Sunday morning of our outing began at 5 a.m., an unusually early hour for retirees, such as Alice and me. We were to meet up with Alice's old friend at the main dock at a local marina on the lake at 7.

When we arrived at the Marina and made our way down to the main dock area, we were surprised to find Alice's 'old-friend' Michele already standing there awaiting our arrival.

After the normal expected greetings and introductions between two old friends, she lead us out to the end of the dock and our fishing boat, where she introduced us to her husband, who was also our fishing guide.

After a 20 minute or so ride down the lake, John motored over to a rocky point off the shore, had me move up to the front of the boat, handed me a bait casting reel with a huge lure on the line, requested that I do not cast over-handed, wished me luck, and proceed to the back of the boat.

It became immediately obvious that he was under the impression that I was an experienced Stripper fisherman and he had no earthly idea that I'd never fished for one.

Ergo, for the next four-hours, we moved and I plugged, we moved and I plugged until we finally opted to seek a little shelter from the wind in a cove.

It was at this time, while I still continued to plug away and the balance of the group was huddled and talking behind the clear enclosure of the boats center console area, that the true mystery of the journey began to unfold.

This unfolding began when amidst the wind distorted conversations the group was having beyond my discernible hearing, I strangely and distinctly heard John say the name "Dennis Clay."

I looked back over my shoulder and said, "Say, I know a Dennis Clay." At this, John looked at me from behind the clear enclosure with a totally perplexed look. I laid down my rod and joined them.