Waiting with baited breath
It’s feast or famine as Last Chance Station waits to
hook anglers at reservoir
Staff writer
Upon arriving at sunny, sprawling Marion Reservoir, anglers often make a pit stop at the fittingly-named Last Chance Bait Shop to buy snacks, drinks, and, of course, bait.
“We have minnows, perch, and goldfish,” Nick Johnson of Goessel said. “As far as frozen bait goes, we have a little bit of everything. We have all the different livers. We have shrimp and shad, a whole bunch of stink bait, and a whole bunch of worms.”
Johnson, in his early 20s, hails from Goessel. He has red hair, and wore a dark ball cap with the word “Dad” across the front.
He and his girlfriend are expecting a child soon.
“I was kind of hoping to wait until marriage,” he said, “but stuff happens unexpectedly.”
Johnson is the shop’s only full-time employee.
Owner Janice Davis ran the store herself until early this year, when she had neck surgery. Davis still comes in to help during busy days, but Thursday wasn’t exactly crowded inside the shop.
“I haven’t seen a customer all day,” Johnson said.
Johnson attributed this to heavy rains that caused the reservoir to flood into some campsites the previous night.
Many campers moved farther inland, and some cancelled their reservations.
Johnson was dealing with a minor flood of his own, as the shop’s bait tanks had just overflowed.
“You can stand here for 20 minutes when you’re filling up the water,” Johnson said. “Then you walk away for two minutes, and it overflows.”
The floor was covered with a thin layer of water, and some fish had managed to flop into the wrong tank.
When this happens — it happens pretty often, Johnson remarked — he uses a large squeegee to push the water out the door.
“It kind of sucks,” he said.
Johnson would have to hunch over the top of the tanks and move each fish back into the right one.
He made sure to wash his hands first. Davis is strict about not letting customers stick their hands into the tank and risk polluting the waters.
“I’ll yell at people for that,” she said.
A total of nine signs around the bait tank warn customers to keep out.
“We have to wash our hands every time so it doesn’t kill the fish,” Johnson said.
Davis previously removed a goldfish aquarium from the store after too many kids were sticking their hands inside.
Customers still try to grab fish on occasion, Johnson said.
“I try to take a nice approach, but if they’re being stuck up about it, I have the right to refuse service,” Johnson said.
It was hot and humid inside the bait shop.
“We can turn on an AC,” Johnson said, “but that’s expensive.”
On slow days, he usually goes down to the basement of another building and shoots pool.
To get to the bait shop, you must roll over a black cord strung across the driveway. It triggers an alarm system in the basement and lets Johnson know there’s a customer.
While running a bait shop seems like a pretty nice job, the business surrounding it isn’t doing great.
Davis has been trying to sell the property for two years.
Johnson attributed the decline to the opening of a competitor: a bait shop operated by the county at Marion County Lake.
“She wants to keep the business open, but it’s hard to do,” Johnson said. “We actually have problems with the county out here. They went ahead and were a little petty with us and opened up another bait shop with taxpayer money. That didn’t really help us out too much.”
Davis also spoke about the county bait shop’s impact on her business.
“We were getting people from in town before then,” she said.
Other residents have defended the county bait shop, noting that other counties operate similar stores, that most of the merchandise is locally sourced, and that the shop is a benefit to those on the lakefront.
Johnson works from 8 a.m. to 8 p.m. Fridays and Saturdays and 8 a.m. to 6 p.m. Thursdays, Mondays and Sundays.
Customers pick up in late spring and summer, when out-of-towners flock to the reservoir. But even during summer months, business is feast-or-famine.
“On days we don’t get customers, we’re just paying more electricity for no reason,” Johnson said. “On the days that we do have customers, we get the people that like to go hit the rivers, and they buy $100-some worth of perch at a time.”
On holiday weekends, the shop can get hundreds of customers a day.
“We sell a lot of fish,” Davis said. “And Pringles. You wouldn’t believe how many Pringles we sell.”
Most customers are out-of-towners; Wichita, El Dorado, and Newton are hotspots.
“You meet all sorts of people,” Johnson said. “Some of it gets on your nerves, but I mean, it’s manageable, with the amount of nice people that brighten your day.”
Davis agreed that the shop’s customer base was excellent.
“I’m going to miss the people,” she said. “I’ve met some of the nicest people, people I’m still friends with.”
If the property is sold and new owners do not reopen the shop, Johnson isn’t sure what he’ll do for work.
He’s interested in going to technical school, where he wants to study cameras. His brother has started a handyman business.
“Every now and then, I’ll go ahead and take some random job for $20 an hour,” he said.
For now, Johnson is living out what could be the final summer of a beautiful and strange staple of Marion Reservoir.
At the back of the bait store, a grass yard stretches out to the west, and a wheat field marks the end of the property line. The property is sheltered well by the wheat; despite the flatness of the land, it’s hard to tell there’s any water around. Crane your head south and only a tiny slice of reservoir can be seen.
“I’ll come up here sometimes during the sunset,” Johnson said. “Pretty nice being out here.”