This is a story of perseverance, a story of finding purpose in every day, a story of a man and a global pandemic and a Southern snowstorm and a quest.

It’s also a fish story.

Involving hundreds upon hundreds of fish.

When David McCandless awoke at his house on Horseshoe Lake on Monday morning, he had caught at least one fish 335 days in a row. He had caught a fish on Easter and on Christmas. He had caught a fish on Election Day and the Fourth of July.

But he had never had to catch a fish under the circumstances he was presented with Monday.

“The lake was frozen over,” he said.

Oh dear.

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So while the rest of you struggled to clear your driveways or get to work or persuade the dog to pee in the snow, McCandless set about trying to salvage a streak that was considerably longer than Joe DiMaggio’s 56-game hitting streak.

“I told my wife I was going to get in my boat and try to break the ice,” said McCandless, 65. “She was terrified.”

But before I tell you how that desperate gambit worked out, let me tell you how the streak began.

It was early March, the start of the pandemic, when McCandless and his wife, Susie, decided they’d be safer if they left their Memphis condo and moved to the house on the lake.

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“On March 16, which is my son’s birthday, I caught a fish,” McCandless said. “Sometime in April, I realized, ‘You know, I’ve caught a fish every day.’ ”

This is how most of the great streaks begin, by the way. Quietly. Without any fuss. Cal Ripken Jr. had to play in dozens of consecutive baseball games — when nobody was really counting — before he wound up playing in 2,632 straight.

“As time went on, I said, ‘Damn, I’m going to start taking pictures and sending them to my buddies,’ ” he said. 

Thus was born the McCandless Fish of the Day.

He would take a picture of every fish he caught. And — just for fun, because it was a pandemic, and because we are all easily amused — the picture would include some trophy or knickknack.

“It would be a little trophy of a runner, or a statue of a dog, or a book, or anything I could find that would be funny,” McCandless said. “I would always label it ‘Fish of the Day.’ ”

He would then ship the photos off to a group of 14 friends, who thereby became a part of the quest. He would send them to Jon, his best fishing friend. He would send them to pals from Second Baptist Church. He would send them to Carlos, who lives in Honduras and works with McCandless on projects to provide fresh drinking water. He would send them to Ernie, who is battling cancer and could use the lift.

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The streak reached 100, then 150, then 200. These were not always mighty fish. McCandless sent a photo of one fish next to a tube of ChapStick. The fish was longer than the ChapStick but not by much.

“I released 99 percent of the fish I caught,” he said. “Another thing is, I think I only got into my fishing boat to get a fish six times. I fish off my pier.”

As the seasons changed, the fishing got tougher. McCandless developed a way to give himself a head start.

“My go-to fish in the cold weather was catfish,” he said. “I would use my surf casting rods. I would set them out at night, as far as I could. In the morning, I’d sometimes have a catfish on the line and I’d be done.”

One of the friends wondered about this: How could McCandless know the fish got on the line after midnight?

“Another friend is an attorney,” McCandless said. “He made the ruling. When you reel it in, that’s when you catch it.”

Thus did the streak grow.

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And with the streak came the pressure. DiMaggio could tell you all about that.

“Baseball didn’t really get into my blood until I knocked off that hitting streak,” DiMaggio said. “Getting a daily hit became more important to me than eating, drinking or sleeping.”

McCandless finally resolved that he would stop after 365 days. A year of fish would be a magnificent feat.

But then came the cold, and the snow, and a storm unlike any we have seen in decades.

“I caught two catfish on Valentine’s Day,” he said. “I took a photo of them with a piece of butcher paper, on which I wrote, ‘Outside 13 degrees, windchill -2.’

“But then Tuesday morning, I went down there to check the lines and the ice had frozen over on the lake.”

McCandless actually had fish on the lines he had set out overnight.

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“They were stuck in the ice,” he said. “That’s when I told my wife I was going to set my fishing boat down — it’s raised out of the water — and break the ice. I was able to put the boat down and break the ice around my pier.”

Yes! Triumph!

“But when I tried to pull the fish in, the ice was so sharp it cut the lines,” he said.

Triumph turned to despair.

McCandless had one last idea. He has a wood shop built over the pier. The wood shop has two trapdoors. So he opened the doors, smashed the ice underneath and dropped in some lines.

It was ice fishing, Southern style.

I told you this was a quest.

Sure enough, when the day was done, McCandless texted a photo out to his friends. It was labeled, “Fish of the Day.”

But there was no fish.

It was just a big pile of snow. 

The trapdoor plan did not work. 

“Looks like the streak is over,” McCandless wrote. “It was a fun run.”

So the snowstorm won this one. It did something even the pandemic couldn’t do. And you know how athletes always say there is a little relief when a streak ends? McCandless felt that relief, too.

“I knew February was going to be tough but I never thought the lake was going to freeze over,” he said. “It’s probably for the best. I was running out of paraphernalia to put in the photos. I was going to have to start borrowing junk from the neighbors before long.”

The 14 friends responded with texts of sadness and gratitude. Even the friends who didn’t usually respond. The streak made the past year just a tiny bit easier. It connected them in a certain way. It gave them all something to look forward to, no matter what else was happening in their lives.

We humans do better with a purpose, a mission. It doesn’t have to be grand. It can be as ambitious as building projects to provide fresh water in Honduras. It can be as small as catching a fish.

I asked McCandless if he drew any lessons from the enterprise. He didn’t have any offhand. But then I noticed the way he signed his final text to his buddies. With the words, “Never give up.”