The Legend of Ol' Blue

by Margot McMillen
Illustrated by Mark Raithel

A tall tale about winter coming to Lake Ozark.

Lots of people tell stories. Families remember special stories about ancestors. Hunters exchange tales about memorable hunting trips. Neighbors talk about things they remember happening in their area. It seems when a group gets together, someone starts to tell one of the old stories. Someone else remembers another and, pretty soon, everyone is sharing in the age-old tradition of story telling.

Stories often get better with each telling. Somebody exaggerates a story they've heard, and pretty soon you have a tall-tale. A tall tale is a story with a kernel of truth in it that has grown into a whopper.

The following tall tale is about a blue catfish named Old Blue. Tall tales about Old Blue were first written down by Earl A. Collins, a teacher and writer from Cape Girardeau. His stories were published in the Kansas City Times in the 1930s. Like all tall tales, this version has parts from other reports, many heard years ago. Some of the details are true. We think you can tell which parts are true and what parts turn this into a tall tale!

A way long time ago, before your parents or even your grandparents were born, there was a big, blue catfish that lived happily in the Osage River. This catfish was different than his brothers and sisters. For one thing, he grew to be huge, with eyes as big as the headlights on a 1935 Ford. People said he weighed 250 pounds.

Ol' Blue was big enough to grab a fishing line and give a john boat quite a ride, before snapping the line with a flick of his head. And he could flip himself out of the water to sun-bathe on a sand bar. He could live for a couple of hours out of water. That would kill other catfish, but Ol' Blue was different.

All the fishermen tried to catch Ol' Blue, but he was too smart. If he was in a playful mood, he would rest on the bottom where you could see him. He'd watch you fumble with your line and then, just when you got ready to cast, he'd swim away so fast that all you'd see was a swirl in the water. Then he'd come to the surface and grin.

By the time Union Electric Company built Bagnall Dam, this catfish had quite a reputation. But his life was going to change.

Bagnall Dam stopped the river's flow. The water against the dam buried the sand bars and created Lake of the Ozarks. This was quite a different environment for Ol' Blue, and he didn't like it one bit. At first, he showed his anger by thrashing around and making waves. He knocked the tourists out of their boats. But he couldn't make the dam go away.

Then, one day, Ol' Blue disappeared without a trace. Some said he had died. Others said he was just saving his energy, growing until he could knock out the dam with a flip of his mighty tail.

Years passed.

One spring day, Skunk Hide Jim, an old-timer who lived out in the woods, came into town with the news that Ol' Blue was back. In fact, the giant catfish had saved Skunk Hide from starving over the winter.

To understand about Ol' Blue and Skunk Hide, you need a little background. They were rivals. Skunk Hide had tried for years to catch Ol' Blue but, as you know, the fish always won. As it often goes with longstanding rivalries, however, the man and the fish kind of liked each other.

At the time of this story, Skunk Hide was a strange old man. He lived in the woods and tried to make his living as a trapper. But the new dam, the new roads that brought people to the Lake, and the new houses and hotels were making wildlife scarce. Like Ol' Blue's, Skunk Hide's life had changed.

Skunk Hide claimed that Ol' Blue had helped him through the winter by flipping fish into his john boat so Skunk Hide wouldn't go hungry. In fact, Skunk Hide said, he and Ol' Blue were going into business. They would catch fish to sell to the tourists.

"We aims to go into partnership," said Skunk Hide. Ol' Blue would herd the fish to shore, then flip them into buckets with his tail. In return for the fish, Skunk Hide promised Ol' Blue that he'd keep all fishing nets out of Ol' Blue's cove. Skunk Hide explained that the nets tore Ol' Blue's whiskers and hurt him.

Naturally, people didn't believe Skunk Hide. After all, he was an old trapper with worn-out shoes and raggedy clothes. He lived alone and hardly came into town at all. Some people thought he was crazy, and they laughed at him behind his back.

But that summer, Skunk Hide had buckets of fish to sell, and he made enough money to buy himself new shoes, new clothes and a new hat. He put some money in the bank. People didn't laugh at him any more. And, for his part, he kept the fishing nets out of Ol' Blue's territory.

Their partnership worked until the month of October. That's when farmers count their pumpkins in the field, and add up the money they're going to make at Halloween. But during this particular year, farmers would count their pumpkins one day, then go back the next and find some were missing.

Word spread that someone was stealing the pumpkins. Folks told the sheriff that they needed guards on the fields, but Skunk Hide said he knew exactly where those pumpkins were going.

Skunk Hide told them that Ol' Blue had taken the pumpkins, and that everyone should come to the shore on Halloween night. "Ol' Blue's planning a party," he told the farmers, "he's fixing to say good-bye for the winter."

Nobody knew whether to believe Skunk Hide, but they didn't want to miss the fun, either. So on Halloween, old folks and youngsters lined the shoreline, under the new moon, waiting for the spectacle.

All was quiet and creepy. Midnight came and midnight passed, and just when the people were getting restless and sleepy and about to leave, suddenly, there was a bang and a crash and the waves grew high and the night was filled with orange-colored light. Out of Ol' Blue's cove, bobbing on the water, came thousands of spooky orange-glowing pumpkin heads grinning and scowling, and all around them the shiny black backs of turtles, catfish, bass, paddlefish and all the creatures of the lake, pushing the ghostly parade toward the crowd.

People gasped at the sight, but there was more. Eerie sounds rose above the splashing water. Voices of bullfrogs and honking geese filled the air. And then out of the middle of the parade rose a huge catfish. He stood on his tail for a long time, looking into the eyes and hearts of every person gathered there, and he winked at Skunk Hide. Ol' Blue's strange laugh echoed from the hills. Then he dove gracefully out of sight, hardly leaving a ripple in the water.

Then a swarm of lightning bugs flew out of the pumpkin heads over the crowd, blinding people. Children covered their eyes, but it was over in an instant. The lightning bugs flew in a fiery swarm above the crowd, then turned off their lights and disappeared.

As quickly as it had started, the lake was dark and quiet and cold. The ghostly parade disappeared, the birds flew away, the lake creatures dove out of sight, and just a few pumpkins were left, looking innocent and silly.

It seemed that at that moment, winter fell on the Lake of the Ozarks. The people shivered and started home.

And just as he had years before, Ol' Blue vanished without a trace. His last appearance was quite a sight. But folks say, if you can find someone who remembers that night, they will tell you that some day-maybe soon-he'll come back.