Tuesday, April 17, 2012

Our Ouachita River Adventure


      This past weekend, crack outdoors man Neal Nelson let me tag along, once again, on his spring turkey hunting/fishing trip. He let me do this once before, but after I was in on swamping a perfectly good flat bottom boat in the first fifteen minutes, and helping my partner Travis, Neal's dad, lose most of our stuff, I figured he would try to work around me this time. But no, that's not Neal's way. He's a friend in good times, and a great friend to have in a tight. So naturally, I jumped at the chance to redeem myself. Neal's trips are usually good for at least one good story.
      Neal is the Director of the Baptist Collegate Ministries at HSU, and one of my Pastors. His sidekick, Scott Jackson, our Pastor, Professor at OBU, and owner of Outdoor Discipleship Ministries, carrying many groups of young people to the remote corners of the world, is always along. This trip, my retired friend, "Skeet" Adams, was with us. "Skeet" is short for "Skeeter," short for "Mosquito," I guess.
      The last time I tagged along, we were floating the last 17 miles of the Buffalo River, Travis and I didn't actually turn our boat over, we just took so much water in over the front in a rapids/riffle that it just sank part way. But Travis and I never abandoned ship, we were still paddling for the bank when we were chest deep in water. Neal, watching from above, shouted, "Hey! They made it!" then later, "But they sure look awful short!" Using the term "rapids" sounds better, but with two preachers witnessing, I have to admit, it was more of a big riffle.
      This trip, Neal had gotten a really good deal on a very nice cabin on a branch of the upper Ouachita River near Mt. Ida. Neal always seems to find the best deals, throwing in terms like being a "pore' preacher" and "I have four little kids, and another on the way" with his application. That just seems to always do the trick for him.
      Skeet is a really old man, two full months older than me. Skeet and I got there early in the afternoon and fished and sat around, catching lots of sunfish, while we watched what we felt like were 3 turkeys playing around up river. We had trouble convincing Neal of that though, since he felt like finding 3 turkeys that easily was just too simple. We also saw a lot of deer. Neal and Scott got there in the middle of the night, because Neal felt he should help wife Teresa get the kids to bed at home first.
When they arrived, with two canoes in tow, we got to figuring out who was going to sleep where. Neal and Scott had bunk beds in their room, and the other room had a double bed. Trying to be helpful, I said, "I don't have any problem at all sleeping with Skeet. Sounds good!" As a kid growing up in Wing, we kids often slept three to a bed. But Skeet, an only child, eyed me hard when I said that, deciding I was too agreeable, finally grabbed a couple of quilts, and headed for the couch. So, I had a big bed and a room to myself. Those things just seem to work themselves out better if one is agreeable enough.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I had to go to the bathroom. Quick. Standard fare for us old men. Once standing up, the two minute warning sounds. I like to think that being old was not totally responsible for what happened next, because sometimes, my sleeping pill can make me a little crazy in the middle of the night.
I totally have my path to the bathroom at home memorized, right down to the last detail, and no light is needed. Can't wake Barbara up. This night, I seemed to think I was still at home. I knew right where the bathroom door was, and it was just where I remembered it, except the bathroom had shrunk, and clothes were hanging everywhere. Well, I didn't have time to move all those clothes, so I headed to the door into the rest of the house. Right where I remembered it. But now, someone had removed the doorknob, it seemed, and it was now shaped more like a window. I was beginning to get in a rush, and I ran back to my light stand to turn on my light. But, I felt all up and down that light, and the switch was gone! Time to move now, and I ran back to the first door, determined to search through all those clothes until I found that commode. Had to be here somewhere! No luck. As I headed back to that door that felt more like a window, The 2 minutes were up. Time for the last resort. I screamed for Barbara, maybe she could get her light on. No answer. Then, a tiny light of reality started to flicker on, and I found my light switch to my lamp way down on the cord. By then it was really getting ugly, so I will spare you the rest of the details, except to say that I had to convince Skeet the next morning why I already had clothes washed, and hanging out to dry, at daylight. "Just forgot to bring extra underwear," I said. Now, that's one of those stories I only share with my computer. I know I can trust it. It never says a word.
      While Neal and Scott scouted for turkeys the next morning, Skeet and I fished some and sat a lot. We had to rest up for the big float trip. When the guys got back at lunch, they cooked up a meal. I had already eaten my meal, a peanut butter sandwich and 3 or 4 packages of peanut butter and crackers. I like to keep it simple, out in the woods.
      We left Skeet's little red truck (Skeet only drives red automobiles, he has 3 or 4 of them. Red is the natural color of a truck, he says) at a bridge on the main Ouachita River. Neal led us to a spot upriver that would make for a four mile float, Neal says, and we launched our canoes. Neal and Scott, with pretty little seats (with a comfortable backrest) in their canoe, paddled a little, and fished a lot. Skeet and I, old men with no backrests in our canoe, (We forgot to bring them) fished a little and paddled a lot, so we were soon far ahead. Let's get this 4 miles in before our old backs give out, we decided, and we paddled on, fishing occasionally. Catching Smallmouth bass was the main goal, and we did finally catch one, along with a large mouth bass and lots of perch and goggle eyes. We paddled past a dead Small mouth bass floating in the water, and I closed my fingers on it's tail momentarily. We had now caught two Small mouth bass. Two Small mouths sounded a lot better that one, which could be considered and accident. We just kept paddling on, and after we had gone 6 miles, Skeet and I figured, no truck showed, and our old backs were worn out. Then we put our rods away, and paddled on, now just trying to survive this thing with a little dignity, and strained our eyes to see that pretty little red truck.        Continued     Thanks for reading!

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