The thing about water is – life, as we know it, is not possible without it. This just precludes any argument about water. But the thing about water, for me is, in more subtle ways, water has made possible so many things that makes life worthwhile. Like fishing. My pursuit of several animals that prowl below its surface, and near it, has held a lifelong fascination for me, pushing me to travel to the far corners of Arkansas, (wow!) and even beyond.
The thing about catfish is, They reside in almost all significant bodies of water in Arkansas, but the concentration in the far southeast corner of Arkansas surpasses all. To my way of thinking, the entire delta, excluding the people I love who live there, is a bit bland. Until you get inside the river levees. Then it becomes transformed into one of the most wonderful places on earth. The concentration of almost all forms of water life, and wildlife in the surrounding forests, is great! They have been crowded out of the farmed portion of the Delta and concentrated into these long, crooked, stretches of natural perfection.
The lure of these whiskered monsters of the deep in the river delta has brought about so many of the memorable occasions in my life, that I just have to tell you about some of them. Like my three very close approaches to death. All at Wargo. Wargo is simply one of many oxbow lakes off the lower Arkansas river.
I once camped on a high bluff on Wargo. My partner in this adventure, as so often was the case in the old days, was Sport Dunnahoe, my father-in-law. I loved him like a father. He always had the boat ready when we got to Watson. An eighty foot tree, when we arrived, was leaning out over the water. Soon it would fall into the lake and disappear. Naturally, we moved our campsite well back away from it, just as a precaution. Our catfish lines were set and baited. We went to sleep. In the middle of the night, we awoke to an earthquake, or so we thought. We peeked out of the tent. The entire bluff, pulled by the falling tree, had caved off, leaving us, and our tent, perched on the very edge of the bluff. The entire tree had totally disappeared, buried under many tons of river sand.
On another occasion, J.D. Dunnahoe, my brother-in-law, and I had just finished baiting our catfish lines on the far side of the lake, just at dark. A major thunderstorm hit as we started back across the lake in our small boat.
The thing about water is, when pushed by heavy winds, rain, and lots of lightening and thunder, it can transform quickly into a place one does not wish to be. We made it across without incident. I dropped J. D. off to pick up the truck, then I turned into the teeth of the storm to head for the ramp.
The thing about a small, light boat, which now had almost all the weight in the rear, was that the front end now sticks way up into the howling wind. I had just gotten started when a strong gust of wind picked up the boat, and I was airborne. Time slows down, up in the air. I had time to ask myself, “Why do I not have on the life vest?” and “Can I swim a lick with this rain gear on?” Then the wind dropped the boat back to the water, turned 180 degrees. I forgot about the ramp, and simply struggled for shore, and for survival.
The thing about Wargo is, you have two choices. You can fish it and be cold, or you can fish it swarmed by an unbelievable number of mosquitoes. There is only a very small window between. I often chose the cold early spring.
Camped alone, I struggled out of my tent one cold morning. My fire from the previous night was completely out, or so I thought. I picked up a gallon can of Coleman fuel, stood back, and sloshed a long stream on the remaining wood.
The thing about fire is, it can come to life from a single small spark, instantly, and run up a long slosh instantly. I was left standing with a giant flamethrower in my hand, and I slung it. Far. I may not fish Wargo for a while, but when I do, I will be sure all my affairs are in order first.
Continued, next post.
No comments:
Post a Comment