Spring 2026

BONKER’S WORLD The day was ending just as it had begun, calm and quiet with sunlight muted by smoke hanging in the air. At times during the day they could actually smell the pungent aroma of the fires burning not too many miles away. The time between then and now had been filled with tension, turbulence and trouble. All caused by human nature, the very thing that makes humans who and what they are had caused a great competition. A competition that would secure the championship for only one of them. The reward of winning the championship was unimaginably high. The cost of losing the championship was unimaginably harsh and insufferable. The winner would be exalted and carried on the shoulders of lesser men who would shout “huzzah.” The loser would be condemned to an existence worse than that of a scullery rat. The competition had taken place in a foreign land on a remote body of water surrounded by boreal forest. Only the combatants, their squires, along with the creatures of the forest, the water and the air would bear witness to the tectonic contest. The competition between the two exceptional individuals possessed of superior intellect and skill had been simmering for the past year. It was only a year ago when the competition had been called a draw, but only when both combatants had laid bloodied and exhausted on the wharf. It was time, the competition had boiled over. The combatants and their squires launched their corvettes, but only after the squires had interceded in the most recent escalation of the conflict. The remote lake was as smooth as glass and the corvettes rode easily on their planes. The competitors arrived at their first agreed upon area of combat. Their weapons had not yet been decided upon, they wanted to judge for themselves what tools of the combat at hand would function the best at the given time. Their weapons chosen, the combat proceeded. Sir Winterkill was the first to strike a blow followed closely by Sir Bonker’s counter thrust. Thus the combat continued, both knights striking, parrying, striking and parrying with all their skill and guile. No quarter asked and none given. The contest had reached its allotted time limit at the first agreed upon area of combat. It was time to move onto the second area of combat. Once again the corvettes rode easily on their planes. The smoke diminished sun still glistened and danced on the fine ripples of the clear water.

They arrived at the second agreed upon area of combat. Once again both knights chose the weapons best suited for the area, and once again Sir Winterkill struck the first blow. He struck with a mighty blow that would have smote a lesser man than Sir Bonker. Sir Bonker gathered himself and recovered by striking a massive blow of his own. Sir Winterkill was shaken, but summoned that courage that lives deep within champions to fight on. After a time of ineffectual striking the combatants took heed of their squires and agreed to a short suspension of the battle. The corvettes quickly delivered the bellicose men to an area of respite. The squires waded through the shallows and pulled the vessels onto the shore. The tired knights stepped out onto the dry shore and could be seen in repose while the squires prepared a repast that was followed by the knights partaking in a postprandial nap. With renewed energy the battle was rejoined. From one field of combat to another, the blows rained down. At times the great knights were each staggered by the hammer like blows but their courage and endurance saw them through. Finally, as the haze covered sun was well past its zenith and the exhausted combatants could combat no more it was time to retire from these waters of valor and for the squires to negotiate an equitable truce. Discussions were held, terms agreed upon and accords were struck between the great knights. Once again peace was upon the land, the eagles soared, the moose watched from the weed filled shallows, the bears continued to forage along the shores and the loons continued with their haunting cries. So was the tale of the Battle of Black Birch Lake. What was at stake in this battle of the skill to win, the will to win, and the passion to see one’s competitor beaten into submission? It was the greater glory of the knight who caught the bigger fish. Oh, not to be scoffed at, great pride was at stake. These knights have been joined in this battle every year in recent memory. Granted, the weapons were only the tools of fishing along with taunts and words of derision. The only blows struck were by a bigger fish than the other knight caught, and the only pain caused was by a particularly mean and nasty taunt, but the energy to carry on a full day of catching fish after fish and deriding and taunting each other’s skills and prowess as anglers takes an enormous toll. As to which knight won the battle? They aren’t saying, but the Battles of Black Birch Lake will be refought several times over the coming months only to be renewed again next summer.

IOWA BOWHUNTERS ASSOCIATION

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