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Dateline: Room 122

"And when the night is cloudy, there is still a light, that shines on me ..."

The fireflies told us.

Let It Be.

Flying around the camper and the pink-wrapped boat, they knew.

Let It Be.

They whispered to his 83-year-old father, Louie, who when he found out said, "I just knew it."

Let It Be.

From the field across from my hotel they met me after the final cut to 12 and whispered, "Stay."

Let It Be.

From the banks of a stream they whispered to Kerry to look down in the water by a stuck branch, and when she did there was Julia Kennedy's lost wallet.

Let It Be.

So they came in huge numbers to whisper that Bassmaster Elite pro Kevin Short was going to win the Genuity River Rumble in Fort Madison, Iowa.

There was magic in the air and it came in on the wings of fireflies on these, Iowa Firefly Nights.

"...shine until tomorrow

Let it Be."

-- "Let It Be," The Beatles

Do you believe in magic?

I do now.

It began on Lake Champlain in August of 2007. I was sent to do a story about the Bassmaster Elite event taking place in Plattsburgh, N.Y.

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I thought, "Pro fishing, are you kidding me, getting paid to put a worm on a line and sit on a dock eating a ham sandwich until something happened. Come on."

And then I got to upstate New York and found out that "to experience the sport I was going to go out fishing with a Bassmaster Elite pro."

No one bothered to tell me he would show up in a pink truck hauling a pink boat and that all he would ever call me back then was, "Barone!"

After riding in the boat and "experiencing" the sport of professional bass fishing I wrote a story called Diary of a Bassmaster Virgin, and a respect for what the Bassmaster Elite pros do began. As did a strong friendship.

And then came the name, in response to being just "Barone," I started calling him, "K-Pink," and it was this I thought of while watching the countdown to his win begin.

In the fall of 2007, as payback for the Bass boat ride across Lake Champlain, I managed to get Kevin way up to the outback of Maine and into a haunted fishing lodge.

We chased trout and ghosts while being led by a guide named Munster (I can't make that up), spirits at night, brown trout during the day and our adventure turned into a story called The Haunted Fishing Lodge.

Throughout it all, cool New England fall days and spooky nights, Kevin went along with it, and did so with an open mind. A lot to ask when dealing with ghosts, guides named Munster and me.

Last year brought one of the most difficult stories I have ever had to write because by that time I was writing about close friends, Kevin and Kerry Short, and I was writing about the death of their 19-year-old daughter, Michelle.

On a driveway in Mayflower, Ark., Kevin Short put his hand on my shoulder and told me this.

"db, you want to know horrible? Horrible is having to write your own daughter's obituary."

So began the story Firefly Nights. After doing the interview for the story at the Shorts' house, I drove back to the hotel on dark roads lit by the glow of thousands of fireflies, guided by the light of what I believe to be the spirit of Michelle Short.

As I was getting ready to come south from Connecticut to write about the Bassmaster Elite Series events on Kentucky Lake in Paris, Tenn., and the Mississippi River in Fort Madison, Iowa, I got this text message sent to me from Kerry Short (K2 as I call her):

"db ... I saw my first firefly tonight."

And this is what I texted back:

"It's a sign."

Turns out, it was.

Not so much at Kentucky Lake

I'm told Kevin has never done well fishing Kentucky Lake.

I was told that SEVERAL times.

By K-Pink. (Right place, wrong time)

In fact, those of us close to him started calling it Paris Lake (takeoff was in Paris, Tenn.) in hopes that the name change would "change the bad JuJu (Mo-Jo)."

It didn't.

K-Pink finished in 67th place, out of the money, but more importantly, out of the top 12 in the Angler of the Year race, and possibly kissing the upcoming postseason goodbye.

On top of that, while trying to leave town to come to Fort Madison for the practice days, the Shorts experienced a major problem with their truck that cost them several hours on the road. (Fixing a Flux Capacitor)

When Kerry texted me what happened, I answered by asking if it was "serious."

"Hell yes," was the response I got from K-Pink, and in fact the Chevy work order confirmed that when the dealership service writer explained the problem by using the words, "blowed up."

"It was a long, A LONG, ride here to Fort Madison."

I bet it was. Not so much in distance, but in silence.

You can tell the great ones by the silence. The longer the quiet, the longer the stewing after a loss, the bigger the fire to win within.

Somewhere along the line all the great athletes I've ever covered, the ones who have made their respective Halls of Fame, have always told me the same quote: "I hate to lose more than I love to win."

When you hear that you are looking into the eyes of a champion.

If you could see behind those signature Pink Costas, those are the eyes you would gaze upon.

"Mental Toughness"

To win is to survive.

To survive you need more than just physical strength.

You need courage, desire, focus. Try measuring THAT on a treadmill.

Winning rests in your soul.

I don't know where losing rests. And I don't care.

On the first day of the River Rumble, K-Pink stood on the Bassmaster stage, a bag with the five-fish limit inside in his hands, and quoted Bassmaster legend Rick Clunn, saying that harder tournaments are easier to win because half the field takes themselves out of the event ... mentally.

Folks, that means those who do that have lost the event before they even step on the field. Or launch from the dock.

The best of the best are the best ... ANYWHERE.

Snow, rain, mud or shallow water, you play, simple as that, and you give it your best. It's owed, to your competitors, to your fans, to the sport.

To survive the loss of a child and to still be able to function, on ANY level, let alone the highest, to me is the epitome of "mental toughness."

But there is something about K-Pink you may or may not know, and that I'm sure I'm going to get a "Barone!" over mentioning.

Kevin Short lost his mother at the age of 3. She was killed in a car wreck, and little Kevin was in the car at the time.

With those two events, if that person happens to turn into a basket case, you would just shake your head in a knowing fashion, because you know that's more than enough to take a person out.

But some survive that kind of thing — not sure I could — and those who do have the mental toughness it takes to play through anything, to take the field no matter what. (Jack Youngblood of the L.A. Rams playing in the Super Bowl with a BROKEN LEG comes to mind.)

I was standing just to the right of the stage when K-Pink quoted Rick Clunn, and knowing Kevin the way I do, I knew the Muddy Miss-A-Sip was in for a battle.

K-Pink came to play.

Blah, Blah, Blah ... HE WINS!

I can't remember any of the details of fish size caught when and where, AND I WAS THERE.

That's because when Bassmaster emcee Keith Alan said "... and the winner is ..."

I lost it.

Completely.

Couldn't have got a quote from him backstage if I wanted to.

Leading up to it, Kevin was sitting in the "Toyota Tundra Hot Seat," right off the main stage. As each angler weighed in, the object was to get Kevin out of the seat. But it never happened.

I was between the truck and the stage, and with every bag weighed I would wait to hear how many pounds, and after it was announced, Kevin would look down at me with a look I knew to say, "Damn ..."

Angler after angler weighed in, and yet Kevin stayed in the seat.

Three to go.

I got the look.

Two to go.

Another look.

The last one.

I may have got the look but I couldn't see through my eyes watering. Whoever invented autofocus on my camera pretty much just saved my butt.

I needed the autofocus because I had moved from behind the truck up to the fence between me and the audience, and in the first row, there sat Kerry Short. So even though I couldn't see, I pointed the camera Kerry's way, flipped it on the speed shots, and hit the button exactly when the announcement was made.

Soon afterward Kevin was holding the trophy over his head, and in an acknowledgement of friendship I will never forget, looked straight at me, and pointed my way.

At which point, I had to leave.

So I walked alone to the banks of the Mississippi, chaos behind me, gentle waves in front.

Birds skimmed along the top. A young boy threw rocks in the water, his father waited for autographs. The ESPN satellite truck hummed. Bass workers took down the metal fences.

I heard cars being started, cops giving directions, boats on the river, tape recorders being clicked on, pencils scratching across reporters' notebooks, pats on backs, shakes of hands ... and then I heard this:

"db ... DB ... HE WON!"

It's the one sound of the moment I'll never forget, nor the bear hug and tears that soon came within the grasp of Kerry Short.

Magic

"db ... do you see the fireflies?"

I didn't. I was watching my birthday cake made of doughnuts being carried away.

By Kerry Short.

The Shorts had invited me over to their camper for dinner and later that night surprised me in the campground with a cake made of doughnuts.

Perfect.

It was Kevin's suggestion to make the first layer be of all jelly doughnuts knowing as he does that I get all my fruit intake via the jelly.

But it was the "db, do you see the fireflies?" that told me that magic was once again in the air ... two days later, K-Pink confirmed it.

"db, everything just worked ... it was a magical day."

It's a couple of hours after his win and it's just Kevin, Kerry and myself at dinner in a Mexican restaurant.

Earlier Kerry had told me, "Now he knows he can win at this level, knows he belongs."

I can see it in his face, his body language. This was his first chance to be away from the stage, the autograph seekers, the questions and interviews, and it was in a booth, the fourth one on the right, that I saw a man come to peace with himself.

To arrive.

The long journey had finally led to a destination. And that journey stop had a name: Bassmaster Elite Series WINNER.

It was starting to dawn on both Kevin and Kerry just what had been done. Kerry looked at Kevin and said, "You know now we can pay off our house," and gently laid her head on his shoulder.

Earlier in the launch ramp parking lot, Kevin silently motioned me up to his boat, dug around in his pocket, and then showed me the check he just got for winning. It had $100,000 printed on it.

A little later, Kevin said, "This puts me back in the race for the Angler of the Year postseason ... and is a huge step in getting to next year's Classic."

Words turned to other friends, Steve Kennedy and Billy McCaghren and how well they did in this tournament (Billy was third and Steve seventh) and the drive home.

Kerry: "It's about 9 hours ... I've been on LONG 9-hour drives that felt like 12 hours or so, but this 9 hours will fly by, I guarantee that."

Kevin: "But we're not leaving until tomorrow and we're sleeping in late."

After more hugs in the restaurant parking lot, I got back into my minivan and drove back to my hotel in Burlington, Iowa, about 30 miles away. Kevin and Kerry made the 5-mile or so trip back to their campground.

Midway through my ride back I got this exact text message from Kerry:

"I wish U could see all the fireflies that are out here 2night."

And this is the exact message I texted back:

"2nite take the trophy put it on the picnic table and sit there watching it lit by the Firefly Nite. That's Magic."

Then Kevin and Kerry, when you get back home, take the trophy and give it a permanent home ... in Michelle's room.

— db

Don Barone is an award-winning outdoor writer and a member of the New England Outdoor Writers Association and is also a member of the Outdoor Writers Guild of the U.K. You can reach db at www.donbaroneoutdoors.com

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