(Photos will be posted when I get around to it. Be patient; I'm old.)
Goldie was a feeder goldfish less than two inches long when we tossed her into Skipper Leigh Pond, created by our little dam on Junebug Creek. She grew to 12 inches over the next few months, then a big rain washed her over the dam and downstream. We thought she was gone forever.
But no! A downstream neighbor spotted her in a little pool and I rescued her. Soon she was back to her pond and safety, avoiding raccoons, an occasional snapping turtle and the great blue heron that visits every few days. She grew more over the following year, and more, finally to 23 inches of glistening gold and white.
Three months ago, we had another gully-washer. We assumed Goldie was hunkered down to ride out the current. Then, after the rain, we couldn't find her.
A few days later, we spotted her upstream, past the long, shallow part of the creek that had kept her in the pond, in a small pool formed at the opening of a big culvert pipe (see heron photo) that carries the stream under fairway number two of Apple Rock Golf Course. Every time I tried to catch her, she retreated into the pipe, instinctively safe from predators (including me).
I devised a plan.
The underground pipe opens into a large hole covered with a heavy grate about 150 yards up the fairway. The break in the pipe there is about five feet below ground level. A small pool forms at the bottom, normally barely above the edges of the two non-connecting pipes (one from a big pond upstream and the other which carries the creek down to the lower stream, thence to trickle down to our pond). In dry weather, it wouldn't be possible for Goldie to get back into the pipe, which at that point only carries a couple of inches of water unless there's a big rain. (At the downstream exit, beside our yard, the pipe is about half full, with about nine inches of water. If I could force Goldie our of the upstream pipe break, she'd be trapped. I could push up the grate, climb out and grab her with a long net.
I measured the pipe. It was just wide enough.
It was a warm day. I put on a swimsuit, thinking I'd force Goldie to swim upstream through the long culvert into the place where the pipe drops off. We tied a really long rope to my foot and my wife, Elise, held it as I wriggled in, staying on my back to keep my face above water. Goldie was somewhere upstream in the dark metal pipe.
About two thirds of the way under the fairway to the drain and surface grate, I felt the rope go slack. Elise had lost her grip. I got just a LITTLE claustrophobic, but kept wriggling upstream. It was easier now because, for some reason, there was more water than I'd predicted, and it was getting cooler.
Then it came to me: More water? What the . . . ? I heard thunder, muffled by the dirt above me but echoing down the metal pipe. It must be raining upstream, causing extra water to drain from the fairway. More claustrophobia. Drowning has never been my favorite way to die.
I wriggled on, getting pretty cold underground—and I could swear the pipe was getting smaller—until the inside of the pipe started getting lighter. Finally, I was out(!) and into the hole under the grate. I saw Goldie right where I wanted her, swimming outside the pipe, trapped in the little pool.
Now feeling a hard, cold rain and water pouring through the grate, I stood up and pushed upward on the grate above. It was stuck! As I pushed, the water was rising well above the pipe opening. Goldie, a fish, after all, swam back into the downstream pipe! I wasn't about to follow her; the pipe was now so full that there wasn't a layer of air to breathe.
The water kept rising . . . and rising . . . as I pushed in vain against the grate. My plans hadn't included the double whammy of a stuck grate and a big rain. The hole I was standing in was filling up fast toward the grate above; my panic rose even faster than the water!
Then I heard barking. Ranger had heard my cries and run back to Elise, who was now baking biscuits in the kitchen. She came outside to see why Ranger was making such a fuss. He barked furiously and spun around, turning his head toward the faraway fairway grate.
ELISE UNDERSTOOD! "Timmy's in the well!" . . . er, "Bill's stuck in the drain and the water's rising fast!"
. . . Oh, wait. That's not really how it happened at all. Actually, Goldie never went very far into the culvert pipe in the first place, then she swam back out into the open creek. Elise helped me block the pipe, and I netted her. Now she's back in the pond, fat and happy and waiting for me to throw her some cheap kibble.
(If you liked this, just THINK how much you'll like my books!)