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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