True Fishing Trip

A "True" Fishing Trip

This has stuck in
the bowels of my memory,

like a Florida leech would
stick to a person's hide.

( as Red would say) So I
thought you might extend me

the kindness to muddle
through one more of these stories.

During my life I
have spent quite a few years

in the state of Texas.
One of these times was in Ranger,

a sprawling little
town set close to halfway between

Ft. Worth/Dallas
and Abilene, just before you drop off

what is aptly
named, Ranger Hill.

One Sunday my brother and I
decided to spend

the day fishing. Since we had
jerked all the "cat" hides

around Ranger, we decided
to go north to Lake Hubbard,

just outside of
Breckenridge. The locals claimed it was the

best
"cat" lake in that part of Texas. One even told me

of
a private access that only cost a dollar a head and
a

person could stay all day.

(Here
it goes, kids) So we loaded down the

cooler with
most of the Budweiser the local "boot leg"

would sell
us and took off. A short hour later we gazed

over one
of the most magnificent cat fish holes I had

ever
seen west of the Mississippi.

The land was studded
everywhere with

native pecan trees. A thick blanket
of grass carpeted

The otherwise grainy soil of that
part of the state.

The only disturbance in the carpet
was where other's

had boldly gone before
us.

Excitedly, we almost ran to the
bank.

(Would have, but we feared spilling our
beers.)

What lay before us was a beautiful lake so
deep

the sun was only able to penetrate it's
reflecting

surface by a few inches. The rock cliff we
stood on

simply cried "cat fish" for we knew it had
to sink

several hundred feet before crashing into
some hidden

valley far below. There had to be tons of
catfish

waiting at every foot of that cliff for our
bait and hooks.

Racing back to the truck, we gathered
every

possible thing we may have needed and piled
them on

the cooler. Within minutes, we were both
seated

along that magnificent bank with lines in the
water,

our beers on the cooler that sat between
us???

An hour and a twelve pack later, no
fish.

We tried everything. We used night
crawlers,

chicken livers, shad gizzards. I even went
so far

as to "salt" the area with range cubes I had
bought at

the local co-op the day before. I'll tell
you right

now, a catfish, simply can't say no to
them?. until that

day.

Disgustedly, we kept a
vigilant eye

on the shapeless, fine lines swaying
gently in

what breeze there was as our other kept

the one sitting next to us honest with
the

beer, for by then it was running
dangerously

low.

Along about this
time, I saw a smile

cross my brother's face. When I
inquired what

he thought was so damn funny about this
situation,

he nodded his head toward opposite
me.

My smile joined his as I turned to
see

one of these native pecan trees, that nature
hadn't

been so kind to, real close to the bank.
Sometime

in the past a limb had almost been broken
off

and was now flirting with the level of the
lake.

In fact, in one spot, the lake actually covered

a space of some inches of the
limb.

On this limb, a squirrel was
trying

to reach across the span of water for a pecan

on the other side. Every time it would reach

out it's tail would "swish" the water's surface.

Together, our minds played with the comedy

of the situation when suddenly the water exploded

as huge catfish cleared the lake's surface, grabbed

the squirrel then sank back into the dark recesses
of

the water.

Immediately my
brother and I pulled our

lines to the bank and
tossed out close to the limb.

Our excitement grew. We
could just picture hauling

that "lunker" in, and one
he was too, for there must

Have been eight inches
between his eyes!

Alas, our efforts proved naught
even though

we repeated the "bait" and range cube
process.

When we were about to give up, the water
began to swirl

around the limb. Though we kept one
eye on the "swirl",

The other was trained on our
lines. We both leaned forth,

Our hands, not touching
our poles, but close enough

For the immediate grasp
should the lines become taut.

Though it was a
beautiful Texas day, electricity filled

The air as
the "swirl" strengthened. Slowly, the slack in

both
lines stretched for the calm surface of the shadowed
lake..

My fingers cupped the rod handle ever so
slightly?

Slack then taut, slack then taut. I glanced
to my brother's line.

It played the same song as
mine?.slack then taut, slack then

Taut, ??"He's
playing with us." I commented as my biceps

Began to
ache in expectancy, Slack then taut, slack then
taut??

Suddenly, both lines seemed to plummet to the
earth's surface.

Our eyes locked in question. What
had happened?

The swirl deepened???..water surged
upwards??.

And I'll be damned if that catfish didn't
resurface and hang

that pecan back on that
tree!!!!

Now, the funny side to this "tale." Having
heard this

on "Hee Haw" one night, I relayed it to a
friend of

mine, inserting myself and my brother in
the necessary

Parts, as in this tale. This man sat
silent for a few seconds,

then turned to me and
asked?? "Really?"

 

Hamp
Nichols