Take Time to Fish Between the Cracks
By Terry Higginbotham
The summer of 1972, my brother and I were filling cricket and bait
buckets for Mr. K.C. Bray at the Sunset Marina on the Toledo Bend
Reservoir just south of Many, Louisiana.
It was just another hot, humid, July in the southwest Louisiana. Each
day the same as yesterday and with almost certainty the same as it would
be tomorrow. The wind was so still that the Spanish moss barely rustled
in the old cypress trees. But these were the type of days I liked, cause
the fishing would be good. Good fishing meant good tips. |
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Lil’ Brother and I never did make a lot of money, but enough to keep us
just short of even on our account at Mr. K.C.`s store. Our daily
provisions consisted of two cokes, a moon pie, a Miss. Dailey’s fresh
made sandwich, and all the crickets we needed to catch our supper. By
7:00 p.m., every evening we would have our 3 bream apiece. We would gut
`em, stick `em, and cook `em over a little fire we would make on the
bank near our tent.
Lil’ Brother and I had spent the last two summers camping on the banks
of the Bend. We fancied ourselves as a modern day Tom Sawyer and Huck
Finn. We were accountable to no one and responsible for only our daily
bread. Don’t get me wrong, we were not bad kids nor did we come from a
broken home. We had loving parents, grandparents, and friends. We were
just lucky enough to grow up in a part of the world and in a time that
allowed us to live free, truly free.
Our parents would come to the Bend on the weekends and we would get a
reprieve from our day-to-day attempts to “survive”. We didn’t know until
years later that mom and dad gave Mr. K.C. money to cover our supper in
the case fishing ever went bad. They would bring us fresh clothes, comic
books, candy, and fresh tackle for our nightly fishing. They would stay
for the weekend then head for real world late on Sunday Evening.
On Friday night we would all go down to the dock. We would sit for hours
talking about the week’s events. Lil Brother and I would tell about our
adventures. Dad would tell us stories about the jobs he was on. Dad was
an ironworker and we were fascinated by his stories of “walking in the
air”. To us he was a superhero. Saturday we would spend the day fishing,
swimming, and skiing.
Sunday morning was spent at “church”. We would go down to the dock, bait
a couple of hand lines. We would then lower the hand lines through the
cracks in the dock. The really big fish would rest in the shade, just
under the dock. The best way to get to them was to fish through the
cracks where the two floating partitions of the dock joined. While Lil’
Brother and I would fish for the Big Ones, Daddy would read to us about
becoming “Fishers of Men”. Some of the best times of my life were spent
belly down on that old dock, coaxing those big bluegills out with worms
and crickets. As I look back on it now, it wasn’t because of the fishing
but because of the time spent with Dad and Lil’ Brother.
Recently my dad came to visit. I was in the midst of a major project and
wasn’t spending much time with him. Maybe a few minutes in the morning
and an hour or so at night, before I passed out from exhaustion. On his
last night, I finally got to tell him about the new boat I just bought.
About the rods and reels, tackle, and accessories just waiting until we
got a chance to go fishing. I told him about the cabin on Toledo Bend
that we were going to rent, as soon as I got enough time to go. I told
him about how excited the kids were when I had brought home new rods and
reels for them, last month. He seemed to enjoy the talk although he
seemed very quiet and almost sad.
My dad left that next morning. As we shook hands, he drew me near and
presented me with an old box. He whispered, “The secrets to a happy life
are in here”. Dad was always a little strange when it came to good-byes,
so I just smiled, waved and watched him slowly drive out of sight.
The small box was worn red with a small picture of a man battling a
giant bass. Below the picture was the caption “Sunset Marina Toledo Bend
Many, Louisiana”. I slowly opened the box and smiled as I became aware
of it’s contents. Truly these were the “secrets of life”. In the box was
a small bible with a bookmark with Matthew 4:19 printed on it. It had
been a while but I did remember, “Follow Me and I will make you Fishers
of Men”. Beside the Bible was a small hand line wrapped in a piece of
paper with my dad’s handwriting scrawled on it. I unfolded the note and
smiled as I read the simple key to a happy life.
“Son, Make time to fish through the cracks”.
Today isn’t just another hot, humid, July day in southwest Louisiana.
Not quite the same as yesterday and with almost certainty the same as it
will be tomorrow.
“Hey Jon, throw dad another moon pie”.
“Just a minute dad, I think Erin’s got another one”.
“Be careful not to lose him, it’s a little tricky getting ‘em back
through the cracks”.
“Hey dad”.
“Yeah, Jon”.
“Was fishing this good when you were a kid?”
“Almost”.
(c) Copyright 2004 OuachitaGroup All Rights Reserved
Owner of HuntStats.com and The
OuachitaGroup, Terry Higginbotham, is an avid hunter, fisherman, and
outdoorsman. He runs a research project studying the Whitetail Deer and
the American Wild Turkey. Information from this study is available
online at HuntStats.com or by
email at: articles@HuntStats.com |
