And then, there were none.
It is with great sadness that I relate the tale of the life and death of one of the finest collections of yard pond fish ever to swim the waters of this earth.
When my wife and I originally began setting up our new household, we were delighted to find that there was a garden pond in the back yard. We drained, cleaned and prepared this magical find and, after much preparation, began filling it with life.
The first inhabitants were a collection of mosquito fish. These little guys are awesomely awesome as they eat mosquito larvae, which can be a problem when you have a giant, 40 gallon water-filled hole in your back yard. They were accompanied by a small brim and a crawdad. Over the course of the following year, the mosquito fish multiplied and grew to sizes I have never seen in the wild. The brim go up to his own mischief. The crawdad, just as my father had warned, spent his days kicking up crud from the bottom of the pond.
I bought all sorts of pumps and hoses, familiarizing myself with the basic plumbing required to ensure healthy circulation or water and Oxygen production. There were occasional small mistakes, of course. Every once in a while, the hose which circulated the water would get knocked out of place on its little plastic waterfall and I would not catch the error until the pond had drained most of its water into the yard. There was the mysterious disappearance of the crawdad, who had enjoyed a brief period of celebrity when I found that he had grown from just over and inch long to about five inches long. He spent a few weeks getting fished out for guests to see and then he was gone. He possibly just packed his bags and moved on to greener pastures but he probably just died or got himself eaten. I still entertain myself thinking about him sparring with the brim in a miniature version of the giant squid/sperm whale battles which seemed to have a part in my childhood science studies.
This past spring, our little ecosystem got some new members. The wife and I decided that it was tome for something a little more interesting than pond fish and stepped into the world of Coi. We bought two, named them Goldie Hawn and fish Winston (after our cat, Winston) and let them loose. When they survived, we added two more, named Tojo (he had a rising sun on his side) and Tug Baker (after Tug Baker, who needs no introduction). And all was well with the world.
Things went along swimmingly (ha!) for a long time. Coi exist in a realm between your average little fishbowl goldfish and those big carp which occupy lakes and rivers. They do have a tendency to nip at competition sized fish, which eventually gave the brim and nervous breakdown, leading to the establishment of the Mancke Memorial Cemetery for Marine Life (the MMCML).
I am sad to say, the MMCML has just added four new members.
What happened was a failure to properly manage what should have been a simple task. It is summertime and, as a result of the warming water and ample sunlight, the pond had developed a massively healthy collection of algae. I have been considering grabbing some snails from the river to address this issue but it had not happened yet and the algae level was high.
So I decided to change the water. Just drain it down to about 15% then refill with clean, clear, fresh water.
Everything went smoothly at the start. I drained the water down then put the hose in and started to refill. As the water rose, I watched the fish swimming all around, darting through the water. I had been looking at them through green, thick water for a while so I was impressed to see how they had grown and how colorful they had become. I left them to enjoy their new water and went inside to cook dinner.
Ten minutes later, I looked out the window. Tojo was floating.
I ran out and tried to help somehow. He was still breathing but weakly paddling around on his side. As I tried to figure out the deal, his little sister, Goldie Hawn, started to act in a similar fashion. I ran inside but tried to control my panic. I worried that somehow the oxygen was too low and I brought out a bowl of water and started transferring everyone. By now, all four fish were acting off. A quick web search recommended a salt bath, which we quickly prepared. Each fish was helped along, pushed through the water which was supposedly a miracle cure for shocked fish. There was no positive result.
Around this point we realized the culprit was not Oxygen levels but the temperature of the water. I had pumped out all the deep, cool water where the fish could regulate themselves and refilled it with warm water from the hose. I was far out of the three degree range fish can handle.
All four were transferred back into the pond, which I helplessly packed with ice, hoping to get that temperature back down but this was just desperation. The patient was dead. I could attempt as many techniques as I wanted to make myself feel better but that fact was clear.
The final technique was to shuttle the fish into the refrigerator, in an attempt to shock their systems back into functioning. I assume this should work like the ice cube technique employed on OD’d drug users.
At approximately 7:10 p.m., on July 29, 2010, I pronounced all four fish dead. They were laid to rest at the top of the recently built waterfall which feeds the pond. A few lines from I Corinthians were read, as well as the prayer for the burial of the dead from the Book of Common Prayer (I get very involved with this sort of thing). For some reason, a Viking funeral never crossed my mind. Now I think that is because it might be too silly and, dang it, I actually had some feelings for those fish.
And now, the pond sits silent. The mosquito fish passed on in the night. Utility players, they never had names but I mourn their loss as well.
And now, we must rebuild. We must embrace the lesson we have learned and move on. New fish will be procured, I will monitor water temperature, and the pond will live anew.
And I will just have to deal with the fact that, like J. Robert Oppenheimer said, for one afternoon, I became death, destroyer of worlds.
1 year ago
