Seething

I threw the boys in the Jeep last night to go catch some creek chubs.  When we pulled into the park there was just one car in the lot.  It was a group of skaters that I knew would stay up in the parking lot.  Good news, nobody by the creek.  Undisturbed me and undisturbed chubs meant that those poor little bastards would be easy pickins!  I helped the boys out of the Jeep and instructed them to stay away from the creek and the woods.  I've been catching flack from the sarge for the patterns of red bumps that seemed to increase on each of their little bodies after each of our recent trips to the park.  They didn't argue and headed straight for the playground equipment with Luke throwing a "Hope you catch some good bait, Dad!" over his shoulder.

After watching them land at their jungle gym of choice and making sure that I could keep them in sight, I set up at a spot near the entrance of the park.  Deep little run with tall grass on both sides of the creek.  A good chub spot.  I was just getting my first little chunk of crawler on the hook when a van pulled up in the lower parking lot not too far from me.  I watched as 8 people poured out of the thing with a huge dog muscling his way through them like it was after a squirrel that only it could see.  I didn't even have time to sense that my night had just completely gone to hell.  That big ass, dumb ass dog instantly flew straight at me as soon as its front paws hit blacktop.  I was the squirrel.  As I watched the grizzly dog bear down on me, I felt my fight or flight instinct start to rev, but it read the situation and said, "You're on your own, buddy!"  Even better, all 8 of the van people screamed at the blur of fangs and slobber with a panic that made me think, "Dear Jesus!  This thing's about to clamp onto my throat!"  It didn't, but it barged right in and clumsily threw itself all over my precious fishing spot with the people right behind it.  They crowded around me, stomped around on the bank, and leaned over the creek, asking, "Are there really fish in here?"  "Not anymore!" was the obvious answer, but instead I patiently explained about the chubs and that I use them for catfish bait, and then gave up the hole and moved up the creek.

I dropped my line into the second hole when yet another vehicle pulled up with an even bigger dog.  "You have GOT to be kidding me!"  This stupid thing, too, flew right at me.  It practically knocked me into the water as it barged past me and plunged square in the middle of the hole that I was fishing.  I had to quick get my hook out of there for fear that I would snag the beast.  Incredulous, I turned around to look for its owner.  A Courtney Love type walked up laughing, "Stupid dog!"  Yeah, stupid dog.

I grabbed my stuff and walked further up the creek.  The dog matched me pace for pace, but it was still in the creek and it was destroying every hole that I hoped to fish.  Courtney, the grizzly, and the Mystery Machine gang all fell in tow, too.  What the whaaaaaaaaat?!

Before I could skip around the whole miserable crowd to a couple of holes near the back of the park, I turned and saw Lincoln standing with his shorts down.  When I asked him what he was doing, Luke casually told me, "He pooped in his underwear."

If this was a test, I failed.  I was throwing my arms around and saying all kinds of crazy stuff to myself.  A closer inspection of Lincoln revealed that the mess was completely down both legs, all over his shoes, and in the treads because he had apparently walked in it.  Trying to clean the boy up in the glorified outhouse of a bathroom that they have at the park was the cherry on top of my sundae of an outing.

I strapped Lincoln bareback into his car seat and headed for home.  As I motored out of the park, I noticed Courtney Love facing me and apparently watching me leave.  Despite my intense frustration, I felt bad.  Other than being a little thoughtless and maybe ignoring leash laws, they were pretty innocent in the whole thing.  Just curious and friendly, really.  I could have handled it better.

I still wasn't ready to talk to anybody for a good hour after it happened because, apparently, bait fishing is super important to me.  In the mean time, Lincoln had a bath and a snack, and was ready for bed.  That little dude can sure make me crazy, but I can't stay mad.  I finished off his night cuddling with him until he fell asleep.  I can only hope and pray that this will be the memory he takes from that day and not the raving lunatic he saw in the park.  I know better.

One More Trip Down River

I took Friday off and headed back down river to bayou country.  I came armed with a couple of dozen creek chubs, most of them big males.  I spent about 17 hours on the water.  The channel cats were biting, but they were about all that was.

Remembering that the current had recently pushed my trailer into the dock when putting in at Indian Channel, I decided to play it safe and drop the boat in Bruce's Bayou.  I was glad I did.  Not long after I anchored, a guy pulled up to me in his boat and asked if he could talk to me.  He was in quite a panic.  It turns out that he put in at Indian Channel and his trailer was completely wedged under the dock.  The kicker for him was that he didn't have a license, so I think he was worried about getting into legal trouble.  He was a little rough looking and ex-con polite.  He kept calling me sir, and apologized and thanked me over and over again.  He just wanted me to spot him as he tried to pull the trailer away from the dock with his boat.  My job was to pull him out of the drink if he got tossed in.  The poor guy went at it a couple of times, but that current was throwing him all over the place and the rope kept getting swept and tangled under the dock.  When he did finally get things right, the current just pulled his boat into the bank and it was all that he could do to keep from crashing back down into the trailer and dock.  He asked me for ideas and I suggested either using his truck and trying to work a better angle or maybe calling a tow truck.  He thanked me one more time and sent me away with a "blessing of good fishing."  I went across the river and anchored again for channel cats.  I heard him let out a big "Whoop!" not long after.  He had managed to pull it out with his truck.  Man, too much drama for my day away on the river.

The channel cats pretty much bit all day long.  I fished for them for a couple of hours at a time, with trips back into Bruce's in between.  I was hoping to get into some bass or pike, or maybe even some walleye.  I used everything in my tackle box-weedless frog, spinner bait, several crank baits, plastic worm, plastic lizard, and even live worms on a jig.  Absolutely nothing.  The only sign that there were fish in there was the carp splashing in the shallows.  Thinking that they needed time to stare at a bait and think it over, I went to a live chub on a big bobber.  Still nothing.  I finally stumbled across a 12-inch crappie.  I threw him in the livewell hoping that a flathead would later stumble across him too.

The channel cats were biting all day, but that doesn't mean that I was catching them all day.  There are definitely more cats in that part of the river, but that means that there are a lot more dink cats.  I had a lot of little pecks and yanks.  They stole a lot of bait.  The big fish were getting the best of me, too.  I got a lot of huge hits that made me think that the rod holder was going to break, but they'd let go before I could get to the rod.  I lost a lot of bait that way, too.  I think that my total for the day was 8 channels.  Most of them were in the 5-8 pound range.  The 17-pounder in the picture engulfed a great big live creek chub that I was hoping would bring in a flattie.  I was happy with this channel.  I keep my drag tight and he was actually pulling out line with the rod in the holder.  I knew that was a good sign.  It fought with ferocious energy and made several more runs on that tight drag before I finally brought it to the side of the boat.

At the end of the night, I threw that big crappie out.  Pointless.  That thing was so big and wide, it just flopped in the current near the surface.  The rod was pumping like it had a 30-pound flattie on it.  Of course, I didn't realize that it wasn't on the bottom until I finally decided to reel it in.  Two cranks on the reel and the thing was splashing on the surface.  Son-of-a-mother!

Getting back home from out there is a pretty huge process compared to my usual hangout.  I have to creep back up river and through the bayou to the launch.  Then once in the Jeep I have to creep through the farm country.  There are deer everywhere.  I had my closest call last night.  I keep it at 40 and scan both sides of the road like I'm watching a tennis match.  My caution saved me a lot of trouble because a doe popped out of the woods right in front of me.  I had to stand on the breaks to avoid her.  She got confused and ran straight down the road for about 50 yards before finally diving for cover.  After that I scanned the woods like I was watching ping-pong.

This might be my last trip all the way out there this year.  The bayous themselves still haven't produced much for me.  Boat traffic is pretty constant, and a lot of the boats are huge.  You're bouncing in someone's wake just about all of the time.  Deer Creek Park is still very inviting, but I have to wait for the river to come down quite a bit before it will even be open again.  In the midst of all of yesterday's madness, I was thinking that a day in my old haunt would feel pretty good, too.  Catch some smallies, maybe a stray pike or walleye.  When evening approaches, spend some time stocking up on suckers to use for cut bait.  Hit all of my favorite flattie spots.  Maybe not see another boat all day.  That's the good stuff.