How do you stop a Rhino from charging?

A Nutria

For my kids...
They suffered through this one aplenty
and Gewels for her help in deciding to write another real true story post


Years ago, I discovered a brand new species of animal. It had the head of a goat, the body of a lion, wings like an Eagle and a tail like a beaver. I found it swimming amongst the Nutria on Pat Boone Bay at Toledo Bend Resevoir.
Bored with the fish not biting, I had taken to chucking rocks at the many Nutria that swam lazily just offshore. About the size of a Cocker Spaniel, Nutria were rodents imported from south America in order to keep Aquatic Vegetation from taking over East Texas Lakes. They are not much to look at, resembling large drowning Rats, at but are not nearly as obtrusive as say, a Hippopotamus.

As I took aim my last thoughts were "That is one big ugly Mothertrucker of a Nutria" and my rock splashed noisily beside him.
Imagine my surprise when the beast sprouted wings and flew away, circling back one time to take a good long look at me.
The head of a Goat, the body of a lion, wings like an Eagle and a tail like a beaver! It was almost biblical!
I asked a few of the locals had they ever seen any such but all I got was mumbled replies as they pulled their whiskers and ambled away...
The body of a Lion I say!
Well, I knew what had to be done. I got on the phone to Marlin Perkins over at Wild Kingdom. He said he was too old for such like, and that John was out hunting Albino Gorillas in the Everglades but he had a couple young guys he would send....
The Kratt Brothers arrived the next day with an 18 Wheeler full of gear. They had their Secretary, a well educated Lemur that could type 100 words a minute with her infant son Zoobumafoo. As I recall she was quite a gal, played a mean game of Bridge, and a real good cook.

Any way they set up nets on land and in the water and buzzed around on Hydroplanes and generally tuned my little camp into a 3-Ring Walmart.
They never did find the creature I described, but had no doubt that it did exist because I have such an honest face and they were kind enough to give me a years worth of Mutual of Omahas Basic Term Life Insurance, a $6000 Benefit, which would have been just enough to bury me back then should that biblical looking creature have come back for me.
I always thought that was just real nice.

FISHING REPORT #2

FROG JUICE

I went to Church Camp last week with my old friend Kem. We have been friends for 4 decades, but we are not as good of friends as we used to be....I stopped smokin' pot and he found Jesus Christ...
It bothers Kem a lot when I cuss...especially if I manage to drag his heavenly Father into the mix which I quite often do. I do try to watch my language around Kem. The main reason he wants me to go to Church Camp is so that I might find Jesus too..even while he smokes his joint...but the other reason he wants me there is so that I can help the youngsters catch some fish. I enjoy that immensely and that is why I go
This year I hoped my 16 year old son, Rip, might be of some help getting 12 6-8 year olds baited up and their poles in the water on the side of the bank and keeping their lines from becoming impossibly entangled, but Rip was more interested this year in collecting tiny frogs on the bank and putting them in a Gatorade bottle.
They were a smarmy slimy mess in there and in the 100 degree heat I kept begging him to get rid of that bottle and give me a hand with all these kids.
It took about 30 minutes to get everyone baited and in the water.
One of the young-uns, Joshua "fit the Battle" I called him, looked up to me and says:
"Thanks Mr. Steve, You sure look hot"
'Thirsty too" I replied.
I was sweating like a Pig and I reached for my drink. My eyes were stinging as the sweat rolled into them and I pressed my lips to my once cool bottle of Gatorade.
I tilted my head back....
...As the first frog passed my tongue I knew there was something wrong. I froze in mid-gulp. There had been no Frogs in my Gatorade before and as the next Frog entered my mouth...
....I knew what was happening....I had accidently grabbed the Gatorade bottle Rip had been doing his little Biological Swamp Torture Experiment in... and now I had a mouthful of frogs in frog juice.
In front of God and Kem and 12 little Church camp Kids I spat the vile liquid out of my mouth and let loose with a
"GODDAMMIT"
that echoed up and down the Lake.
All heads turn to me, and up till now I have been the figure of charity and compassion and a mentor to some of the nicest little boys and girls you would ever want to meet and generally a good influence.
But I see Kem out of the corner of my eye and hear him whisper very loudly
"Steve, please, watch your mouth"
Well, that did it for me and I turned to him and said quite loudly
"KEM, WOULD YOU GIVE ME A FUCKING BREAK, JUST ONE TIME?"
And all 12 of those kids just cracked up!!!

I owe Rip one... I do.... and I'm gonna get him good!

FISHING REPORT

TIME LAPSE OF PERSIED METEOR SHOWER 8/12/2007

3a.m. Sunday Morning-
Stopped for gas.
Truck wouldn't start.
No tools, no money, long way home.
Beat the hell out of the truck for an hour.
Hammer, Tire Iron and Muriatic Acid did the trick.
Truck started.
Good thing we got an early start.
Perseid Meteor shower in Full Tilt Boogie. Splendid, but the Native Americans considered Meteors to be Bad Medicine.
I love that bad medicine.
My freind Keith could catch fish from a storm drain, or a parking lot puddle, maybe even from a bale of hay, I do declare.
9a.m. Sunday morning-Sun beating down, no wind, humidity off the charts, no wind, sweating profusely, no air, 96 dgrees in the shade if there were any shade, sun blazin' in cobalt blue sky, not a breath of air, temples pounding, if a bird would fly by we'd have us some shade....
Real Hot...Whoa Yeah... In the Shade.
But there is no shade in the middle of the lake.
We hauled it for the house.

DAVY JONES LOCKER

"In angling, as in all other recreations into which excitement enters, we have to be on our guard, so that we can at any moment throw a weight of self-control into the scale against misfortune; and happily we can study to some purpose, both to increase our pleasure in success and to lessen our distress caused by what goes ill. It is not only in cases of great disasters, however, that the angler needs self-control. He is perpetually called upon to use it to withstand small exasperation's."

FROM "FISHERMANS LUCK"

Cap'n Hook is the Great Great-Grandson of"Fighting Joe Hooker, a bombacious and hard drinking Union General from the Civil War.
He and I became good fishing partners. He was my Supervising Sous-Chef at the Crystal Crotchless when I first started working for the Hymen-Regency.
For the first few trips we would go to a Dam below lake Granbury where we hoped to catch Stripers in the 'tailrace" below the Dam.
We would be using Fly rods- and the Fly rod is seldom seen here in Texas.

We did not catch any Stripers, but we did have a most unusual catch for a Flyrod in Texas...
Our first time out below the Dam Hook caught an 18 pound Opelousa Catfish!
We thought it was a bit of a fluke until the next weekend, when we both caught Opelousa's...his was 12lbs. and Mine was 14 lbs.

Then I bought a boat and Motor. I had been saving coins for about a year and a half. I took them to the Bank and the total came to....

EIGHT-HUNDRED AND FIFTY DOLLARS!


I bought a 15 horsepower motor with that money, brand spankin' new.

Hook located the boat...it was a 1956 Lone Star V-Hull. When it was new it had a Canopy, windshield, two seats at the Wheel and two more seats facing aft (to the rear) and a 60 HP Motor. Back in 1956 you could not ask for a better Ski Boat.

But this was 1982 and the boat had caught fire and all the seats and Canopy and Windshield and steering Mechanisms were gone....the Aluminum was melted in spots and most of the paint inside and out was burned of as well. It looked like a big ol' beer can weathered and crumpled on a Trailer.

I bought it for $75.
With a little ingenuity that I really dont have much of, I managed to turn it into a good fishin' boat.
It looked like a real contraption, but it was one tough floatation device.



HOW TO SINK A BOAT

One day at an area lake, Hook and I found a little moss bed full ogf fish. We very seldom caught many fish, but for about 20 minutes we were knockin' the fire out of them.

But our fortune was not to last...a big ol' fancy-assed Ski boat came plowin' right through our serendipitous little honey hole.
We kept fishing even as the giant wake thrown up nearly tossed us over.
Then the Bastard did it again, this time even closer...so close the spray almost bathed us.
Several times over the Son-of-a Bitch came through, until our spot was now floated with Seafoam.
All this racket is not good for the fishing.
Its not good for anything.
We gave several dirty looks to the Skipper and even tried to wave him off some, but it became apparent it we were being blatantly disrespected.

It made my Maritime Blood boil.
So... I cranked up the motor and we went else where.
An hour or so later, we decided to call it a day...

As we were heading in to the ramp, I spy the enemy vessel. It seems to be adrift, and perhaps the occupants are swimming or taking a nap or whatever. i brought my bow to bear upon the wicked craft, now only a few hundred yards away.

Hook looks to me and says
"What are you doing?"

'We are going to pay them a little visit"

I approach the boat and there are still no occupants visible.
At full throttle I circle round twice..still no one...
so I said to Hook:

"This ought to wake 'em up"

and brought my bow right in line with their beam...full steam ahead...and announce our arrival:

"HOLD FAST, YE SHEEPSHEADS...GANGWAY!!!"

And we slammed into the Ski Boat taking her broadsides.
Still no one appeared, and as I surveyed the damage, I could hardly believe what my $75 piece of crap had done to this guys boat.
It was starting to sink.
I had found its sweet spot.We got the hell out of there.



I don't know if it sank all the way or not...or where the occupants were when I rammed her...but we never did go back to that Lake.

THE UNIVERSE ALONE

I've been wanting to post this for some time now...Water Baby brought it home for homework a while back...how is it that we get behind on what we want to post?

The Most Of It
He thought he kept the universe alone;
For all the voice in answer he could wake
Was but the mocking echo of his own
From some tree–hidden cliff across the lake.
Some morning from the boulder–broken beach
He would cry out on life, that what it wants
Is not its own love back in copy speech,
But counter–love, original response.
And nothing ever came of what he cried
Unless it was the embodiment that crashed
In the cliff's talus on the other side,
And then in the far distant water splashed,
But after a time allowed for it to swim,
Instead of proving human when it neared
And someone else additional to him,
As a great buck it powerfully appeared,
Pushing the crumpled water up ahead,
And landed pouring like a waterfall,
And stumbled through the rocks with horny tread,
And forced the underbrush—and that was all.
robert frost


So is it enough in this life to see a stately Buck cross a lake and crash into the underbrush?
Maybe.
Sometimes.
This weekend the Rip and I went camping and fishing.
What a weekend...I am sunburned and sore...we caught a lot of fish, but they were all small....I spent too much time hunkered over a campfire cooking, and can hardly stand up straight.
Saw many Redwing Blackbirds, which are a very pretty bird and quite rare down here.
Fed a baby Rabbit Corn on the Cob and he proceeded to do tricks for us not 5 feet away. I named him Mr. Jingles like the Mouse from "The Green Mile".
It ain't natural for a Rabbit to come up on humans that way.
Between the yearling bass, the Red Wings and the Rabbit, we had a very good time.
They were enough.

FISHERMANS LUCK

"the pleasantist thing in angling
is to see the fish on golden oar
shoot through the silver stream
and greedily devour the treacherous bait"

william shakespeare

I've got those Spring Fishin blues....

I think the Bard had done a little fishing himself ...he pretty well summed it up for us.

I tried to teach my good friend Kem how to fish with plastic worms. He really had no feel for fishing but loved to get out there. I had caught a couple of fish and kept giving him instructions on technique and what to watch for. There is an Art to Fishing, and especially with Artificial Lures. You have to make an inanimate object look alive.
I caught another fish...
He asked me to show him one more time and handed me his pole which was already casted out.

I start bumpin' ol' worm back in.
"One...two... three... little taps with the rodtip Kem,
then slowly lower the tip...reeling in tha slack slowly, keep the line a little taut...

"As the treacherous bait floats down , Kem,
Floats down, down, deeper into the lower stratas
Into the dark, dark as thy doubts , Kem
And Dark as thy Heart, Ol' Friend
Where the Moss and Mermaid hide
One... Two... Three..., Kem, lower away the bait
Seething into the yawning jaws abide and
Whirling Heart that steathily waits
Where Gods creatures chase and claw and fang each other,
Since the begining of Time
On all sides of the Universe and on both sides of land
All the while, Kem, you must BE the rodtip,
Be the tip of your rod, the rigging, the spar
Feeling, reeling for a slight change in tension
Feeling for the Murderous twitch, a jam or jar
The Death Stitch, mark well thy thread,
The poisonous pathways
That lay now woven in the watery woeful depths
For any unseemly movement,
Or abrupt commotion... "

It was about then that the Fish had heard about enough of me and came breeching into the Glorious light, the warm and pleasant sun, and all the delights of air and earth.

"GOT HIM" and I set the hook on a 5 pound bass.
I handed Kem the rod and he was looking at me like I was from outer space.


An hour later Kem wants to try something else. I suggest the weedless spoon, thinking that all that flash and action will at least keep Kem occupied.
Well I was wrong.
Kem worked that spoon like there was an old boot tied to the end of his line. When he casted , the lure would sail so high, almost out of sight, and when it smacked the water it was like a Six-Pound Shell had been launched, discharged from a Spanish Cannon on a Pirate Ship. After watching for a while I grabbed the rod out of his hand. I casted out and had that spoon dancing.

"Like this, Kem, you have to make it look alive and scared"
and then the water exploded and I caught an 8 pound bass, biggest Bass I ever caught

"Holy Shit, Steve, you are enough to piss off the Pope"
An hour later we went and got Kem some live worms and I put him on the end of the dock where he caught Bluegills all afternoon.

He was in heaven.



Heres a couple of guys that love to wet a hook...



They ought to be Keel-Hauled!

YOU HAVE TO BE SMARTER THAN THE WORM

"The pleasantist' thing in Angling
is to see the fish on Golden Oar
shoot through the silver stream
and greedily devour
the treacherous bait"
Shakespeare


"Out of the blue and into the black..."
Neil Young


PART 3
1959
Dad absolutely loved to fish. My first memory that I can put a date to was after my sister Lisa was born; I would have been 27 months or 2 and 1/4 years old. Mom had been home from the hospital for a week or two and was laying in bed nursing Lisa. Dad had asked if she were OK and if he and I could go out to Grapevine Lake for the afternoon. I assume permission had been granted and as he and I walked out the garage Door. I remember asking very soberly if "Mother" was going to be okay with us gone.

We climbed into a big ol' Oldsmobile, a 1958 punked out with Jet Fighter Wings and a motherlode of Chrome, and within 10 minutes we were hopelessly stuck in a muddy field. It was a short cut Dad had been using to get onto the Blacktop from the house. To think that moments before I had been concerned about "Mothers" welfare.
"Ahab, beware of Ahab."
This is my first memory. We spent the whole afternoon trying to get unstuck. We did not make it to the lake that day.
I think it explains a lot about why Mom was always a little concerned for us, outside of just being a Mom. I'm sure that she was relieved that day, with us close by in the field.

1964
One evening in Detroit, Dad shakes me out from in front of the TV.
"Come along here boy, I need some help."
He is grinnin' like a Butchers dog, has an empty Coffee can, and also his Headlight-Flashlight on. Its the business end of a flashlight attached to a headband that you wear on your head, a separate battery pack that clipped to the hip; it was manufactured in the 1940's and would be worth a lot of money now. No, probably it wouldn't be worth much to anyone but me. Dad kept it with all his Camping and Fishing gear in his Sea Chest.

Down the street we go in the dark, Dad looking like some kind of spelunker that has lost his cave. I have no idea what this one is about, but Dad always had some kind of project/adventure going. We get to Mr. Bowles house. Dads illuminating gaze is directed down, down into Mr. Bowles flower bed and laying on top of the ground are the Biggest worms that I have ever seen. They are almost a foot long, as big around as a pencil, and you can see the big blue vein though the Opaque reddish and tan wormskin. There must be hundreds of em'!

"Wow, thats cool Dad... what are they?"
"Night Crawlers"
"Night Crawlers?"
"Yes, and we are going to use them to fish with"
"Okay"
'Now that one there, where the light is shining, get him."
I take a step towards the bed and drop to my knees. As soon as I hit the ground, all the Night Crawlers, quick as lightning, zip into their holes. I had no idea that a worm could move that fast.
"Out of the Blue..."
"You have to creep up on em' nice and easy" Dad explained. "They feel the vibratiions."
"...and into the Black"

We move down the bed to where there are more laying undisturbed. Stealthily, I go to my knees and crawl up to where I can reach one.
"You're going to have be fast..."
Yeah, Dad I get it!" and I try to grab the first one.

Not only do you have to be fast, you have to choose the right end of the worm to grab; you have to grab the end that goes back into the hole. Otherwise, all you get is mud. The worm is no dummy, and never comes all the way out of the hole, and stands ready to go below to safety.
You have to be smarter than the worm.

I got pretty good at it. The Coffee can would be full of worms. A fishing trip would follow the next day, and what fish we caught with our worms!!! We did not sit on a dock, catching Bluegill...no... Dad rigged the live worms to where we could troll them from the boat, and we caught Walleye, Pike and I even took a 4 foot Musky one day ...my my, hey hey...

But the time spent simply gathering bait, being outwitted and outrun by a worm that was faster and smarter than us... I would laugh, and Dad would chuckle... and... during the 4 tears we spent there...
Mr Bowles never seemed to miss his worms!

I didn't know then that one day I would be in charge of gathering the bait, planning the trip, packing the tackle and gear and even setting up and baiting Dads rod on what would be his last Fishing trip.

Theres more to the picture
Than meets the eye
Hey hey, my my

CATFISH

Standing by the water, staring at the stream,
Tell me, honey, are there any catfish in your dreams?
Catfish ain't expensive, and neither is it free,
Some folks crazy 'bout it. Others have to let it be.

You walk down to the bank and then you flash your bait.
You're looking for a catfish, child.
You ain't got long to wait.
No, you ain't got long to wait.

Catfish got whiskers and a sweet little grin,
But you can't never tell where a catfish has been.
Just call out my name and drop in your line.
I'll be your catfish, honey, any old time.

Cause I'm standin' by the water staring at the stream,
Tell me, honey, are there any catfish in your dreams?

Danny O'Keefe

MAN OVERBOARD!

Continued from "Ghosts in the Fire"

There are probably a hundred or so posts that are imbedded in the last three, but as Admiral Farrugut said "Damn the Torpedos, full speed ahead!"

So I don't know where Dad came up with a Canoe. Nor do I know where he came up with the "Rubber Band Trotline" either. Both made for a rollicking good time on a fall day in 1969.
Twice a year my mothers family would get together at Toledo Bend Lake. We would camp on an old road that now led to the lake in either direction. There was a dirt path wide enough for a car that you now used to get to the road.
Moms family was made up of Southern Baptists; and they were hardwired to the bone Baptists that did not believe in doing anything on a Sunday but go to Church. All cooking and shopping was done on Saturday. it was even against State law to buy anything on Sunday...called the "Blue Law".
So it was during the fall get together that Dad Bruce and I loaded the Canoe and set out for a point and an Island, a good mile away where my Dad would show us how to set up a Rubber Band trotline. Actually, there were to be three.
Let me now describe the Rubber Band Trotline for you. First, you must find and aquire 1/2 inch rubber band stock that comes in 100 foot lengths {available at most Army-Navy Stores}. Then you need about 100 feet of of Trotline with as many hooks as you can get on there.

(Annelisa, a trotline is a 1000lb. test strength length of Nylon Cord that hooks are attached to in intervals of 2-3 feet. Usually they are strung between two stumps in the water, baited and allowed to sit for a time before being checked and re-baited...'run' as the Old Timers say. Davy and I had 7 @ 50 hooks each out one year and took Catfish off of them till our hands bled)

Now double the rubber over to make fifty feet and attach to the trotline You now have 150 feet and you will need to find a stump appproximately that far from the bank. Tie the rubber band to the stump and take the trotline to the shore. There should be a little tension on the line. And you should be able to pull the trotline all the way in onto the shore and bait the hooks; the increased tension, provided by the rubber band pulls it back out towards the stump.
As my son says, "Ingenious". Of course, in Dads case we had three of these bad boys ready to deploy.
With my Father in the stern and Bruce stationed amidships, and myself in the bow with a quick "heave to" we glide from the safety of the firmament onto the glassy surface of Toledo Bend. My Mom and Bruces wife have arrived to see us off. The look of consternation on their face makes me wonder if "Edmond Fitzgerald" may be scrawled on the side of the Canoe.
'Steve, are you sure you don't need a Jacket?" shouts Doris, my Mom.
"I don't think so, I'll be awright"
Its 76 degrees. I glance to Dad who has managed a thin grin. I watch as his cigar rolls from one side of his mouth to the other and the grin never changes. How does he do it?
"Bruce, you boys be careful out there!" Jean is the love of Bruces life. She is wearing white Clam-Diggers, a flowered top and a crazy straw hat. Looks like a cross between Betty Boop and Minnie Pearl.
"Aw, Jean, I've been doing this all my life" says Bruce.
"You be careful just the same"
"Yes, Mother" Bruce whispers, giving me a quick grin. They have been married for years, have three kids, and his pet name for her is "Mother".

We arrive at our destination... midway between a small island and a point of land. We successfully tie off two of the rubberband trotlines. I am starting to get pretty excited, as is Bruce. My Dad was always coming up with pretty cool stuff and this was looking like a real winner.
Bruce is about 6'5" and weighs a good 300 lbs and so far has been pretty good ballast for the Canoe. But when Dad asked for a knife (he had misplaced his) and Bruce stood up in the middle of the Canoe, there was real concern in Dads voice as he said;
"Bruce, I don't think you should stand up in this canoe."
"I have been standing up in Canoes all my life, Jack!" is Bruces reply.
I, for one, was pretty certain that Bruce had never been in a Canoe at all and that we would all soon be very wet.
Sure enough, we rocked once to the left then once to the right... I glanced at Dad who had that Cigar clenched in his teeth and....the canoe turned over and I was rising to the surface.
Now I can see the sky and the bottom of the Canoe.
I can see Bruce break the surface and gasp for some air.
Then , very slowly, I see my Dad 's hat then his nose and then there is that Cigar. It's still clenched in his mouth and I see him give a few puffs and a little smoke and then a few more puffs and PRESTO its like magic...he has been fully submerged but that ubiquitous cigar is still lit!

We made it to shore....we lit a fire from Dads cigar... we stripped down to our underwear and hung our clothes to dry...we heard the rumblings of motors and cars on a gravel road that led right up to us. It was my Mother and Jean and Mom's Southern Baptist Family... they had gotten word and come to check on us. I am sure they would have stayed away had they known what we were wearing. The caravan of cars slowly parades by with those Baptist Bitter Beer faces gawking out the window.
Finally the car carrying Mom and Jean pulls up and stops. Jean climbs out of the car and hollers at Bruce "Just what do you think you are doing there Brucie Boy"
Bruce looks down at me and grins "Just tryin to get dry, Mother"
except for a pair of wet tighty-whiteys, he and I are bare-beamed and buck naked.
Jeans got her hands on her hips now and yells at Bruce "Don't you know you can't just take your clothes off any ol' where, light a fire and think you are going to get your clothes dry?"

Bruce looks down at me again and winks "Been doin' it all my life, Jean!"


Man, we did catch some fish that night.

GHOSTS IN THE FIRE

See also THE "GULLYWAMPUS" STRIKES AGAIN! from October, where I tell about Bruce, my Fathers best friend.



Dear Bruce;
In 1983 I decided that I needed to make a major lifestyle change. I stopped spending my hard earned money on smoke and drink and in an effort to get back to the way I was raised, began purchasing Fishing and Camping gear. I bought a $100 boat and trailer, a $800 dollar motor and put about $1000 worth of high Tech amenities on board.
So I started to do a lot of fishing and a little camping and as soon as you stop chasing women you will find one. I found Yvette and she was sweet and a Redhead and wanted for me to take her Camping. So I began to plan a Campout that would be held at the location of Toledo Bend Lake. Toledo Bend was where Dad and I had had our very best times and I was eager to go there; part of getting back to the way I was raised. There is a point and an Island that I have a lot in common with.
So Yvette and I set out for Toledo Bend and Patroon Bay.
We renamed it "Pat Boone Bay"

We went to that point and Island where there is the greatest little Primitive Campground in the world and I told her about the night that Dad, Bruce and I had caught a lot of fish on Rubber Band Trotlines from this very spot.

There was a group of 4 men that were camped down the way and they had High Dollar boats and huge coolers that from the sound of things after dark probably contained beer. One night they were being particularly raucous with a huge fire blazing so Yvette and I went down to investigate.
Yes, they had beer and they were old timers we pulled up a stump and were offered beers and we drank and listened to the storys the Greybeards had to tell. They talked of gigging frogs and Yvette asked if it hurt the frogs.
They and I laughed and told her “not a bit”.
They talked about the fish they had caught on the lake and the places they had caught them.
There is an old trestle bridge, underwater with a ghost that lives down there.
There is a place you can catch a lot of fish, but there is natural gas bubbling to the surface and on a calm day you don't dare light a smoke.
There are Catfish as big as Volkswagons and men in Asylums that have seen them.

Yvette listened in wide eyed amazment but I recognized these stories as 90% pure bullshit. One of them turned and looked at the Island that stood 100 yards off the point. He said that there was a time when there was no better fishing than right off this particular point.
He said, in fact that there had been a young boy who along with his Dad and another man had caught 180 Crappie, Bass and Catfish in one night off this point with a Rubber Band Trotline.

My gaze moved out of the fire to the speaker.
“When was that?” I asked.
“About 15 years ago” he says.


I look at the Island, I look at the point, and I look at the speaker. I look back into the fire and feel the short hairs standing up on my neck and the chill creeping down my arms. I poke the fire with a stick and watch the sparks shatter skyward and melt into the stars.

“That boy was me” I say "and we had three Rubber Band Trotlines"
“ Well then, youngster” he says “ Why don’t cha get us another one of those beers. “
I can't tell if he is looking at me like I''m full of BS, or if he might believe me.
I got us another beer and said nothing else about it.

Bruce, this is a true story.
I really did run into these four ol'timers that had made us into a legend!
I didn’t try to convince them that I was really the boy in their story because, well, they wouldnt have believed it! But there are times when I replay this in my mind before I fall asleep at night when I get the feeling they knew I was that boy before the story ever got told.
In case you don't remember Bruce, the last thing you told Dad was "I have been standing up in Canoes all my life Jack" right before we went over.

Love, Steve

(to be continued, where I will explain the workings of the "Rubber Band Trotline")

THE "GULLYWAMPUS" STRIKES AGAIN!

When I first started looking at blogs I was inspired to write a lot of E-mails. Through the glory of the Internet I found my Dad's old best friend, Bruce, was still alive and this is what I wrote him:

Bruce Myers was my fathers very best friend while I was growing up which was just fine with me because I liked Bruce maybe as much as my father did. Where my father was dry and always under control, Bruce was effusive and jolly. They never spoke curtly to each other and always had a good time together. Their relationship was centered around fishing and Highballs……..and according to them this is how it all got started.
Bruce and Jack (my Dad) worked together for Hobbs Trailers. It was 1958 life was good and they were in their prime. Jack was a big time fisherman while Bruce was, well, I have no idea what Bruce was before fishing, except a really nice guy. Since they were going to be best friends for a long time it was important that Jack get Bruce onto the water in search of the big Bass or anything that would bite.
So Jack takes Bruce fishing, using all the popular lures of the day. Before too long, Jack catches a fish which excites the very excitable Bruce.
“What did you catch him on? “ Bruce wants to know.
“A Jiitterbug” replies Jack.
“Nah, now Jack, don’t go puttin’ me on” Bruce says, thinking no way could a Fishing lure be named after a 20's dance.
“Not a bit”says Jack and shows Bruce the lure with “Jitterbug” printed plainly on the lure.
“Well I’ll be”says Bruce”I want one of those”
Jack ties the Jitterbug on for Bruce to use. Before too long Jack catches another fish. Bruce is curious. “Whatcha catch ‘im on?”
“A Devils Horse.”
“Nah, now Jack, don’t put me on”
“Here it is written right on the lure, "Devils Horse!"” So Jack has Bruce tie on a Devils Horse.
Now Bruce is very intrigued about the names of these lures and wants to know more names so Jack begins to recite some Lure names to Bruce including the Classic ‘Hellbender’ and “Water Dog” and "Boy Howdy" which Bruce sees in the tackle box as being for real.
Jack sees an opportunity. He was very well known in Sporting Goods Departments as having names for Lures that did not exist. Names like “The Bottom Scratcher” “Doodlesocker” and “Gullywampus”. There was the "Rebel Yell" "Dirty Bastard" and 'Who hit John" none of which were actual lures, just names Dad drempt up.
Jack had a million or so screwball names for lures and Bruce is now a true believer and I’m sure Jack layed it on pretty thick. Dad used to call one ' Swivelhip Susie", probably the dirtiest thing I ever heard him say.
The next day at work Bruce comes in, high on Fishing, and tells Jack that at lunch he wants to go down to Leonards Department store and buy a Rod and Reel, a tackle box and all those lures they had talked about the day before.
“Can you make me a list of those lures, Jack?”
“Glad to, Bruce”
Enter Bruce into the Sporting Goods Department. Friendly salesperson helps him find a Rod, reel and Tackle box. Now Bruce says “I’ve got a list of lures here” and hands it to the salesperson who studies the list for a moment then looks up to Bruce with a funny grin.
Like I said, Dad was famous for these lures.
"Is there something wrong?" Asks Bruce.
“No,no”, says the salesman, and with a chuckle adds “But you must have been talking to Jack
Renfro!”

Bruce wrote back to me thanking me for reminding me of his old friend Jack, and assured me that every word was true.
When I was growing up I must have heard this story a thousand times and never grew tired of hearing it. I'd give anything to be sittin' on a campstool by a fire, listening to the two of them go on into the night with their friendly banter.
I don't know how this comes across to those of you that did not know Jack and Bruce.