Both of my parents loved to fish and, when we children were young, my mother also enjoyed hunting. That all changed one day when her rifle accidentally went off and just missed hitting one of us children. After that, Mama never went hunting again. But she never lost her love of fishing. The one thing that you could count on with Mama if you went fishing with her is that she would definitely give you a generous portion of instructions -- especially for us to be quiet. It seemed that no matter how much care we took, we just couldn't be quiet enough for the fish that lived in north-central Louisiana. Or, at least we couldn't be quiet enough to please Mama.
And you best not move your pole around too much either because the pole was connected to the line and moving the pole made the line move, which was sure to scare all the fish away. At the same time, Mama constantly reinforced to us that we shouldn't allow any slack in the line so that we could feel the tug of a fish when we got a bite.
It goes without saying that you'd better not even think of throwing anything into the water. That was a big no, no. Throwing a stick into the water could get you banned from fishing and consigned to sitting in silent humiliation while everyone else got to fish. Mama was a terror to anyone who made any noise, so we learned early on how to be quiet while fishing.
Sometimes either Mama or Daddy would take just one of us children fishing with them. This was always special. I have many fond memories of getting up early to go fishing with Daddy -- just the two of us. Daddy liked to go fishing at a place we called Terral's Island. All of the land thereabouts had been flooded when the D'Arbonne Bayou was dammed up to make Lake D'Arbonne. The thing that made it good for fishing was all the trees that had died when the land was flooded. The fish liked to feed around the waterlogged stumps that were scattered all over that area. We didn't always catch a lot of fish there, but the ones we did catch tended to be good-sized. I just loved the way those big old blue gill bream would fight as I struggled to swing them into the boat.
One day my brother Don took Mama fishing on Bayou D'Loutre which ran near our home. Don carried a pistol along just in case they saw a water moccasin or something in the water. Anyone who has seen Bayou D'Loutre knows the cypress trees line both banks and actually lean over in the water so that the branches from each side of the bayou meet in the middle and intertwine. Sometimes snakes would lay on these branches and sun themselves. Occasionally a snake would drop into someone's boat and, I can tell you, there would be some exciting times as everyone, the snake included, adjusted themselves to the new situation.
As they drifted slowly downstream, Mama fished off one side of the boat while Don fished from the other. The fish were biting real slow that day and after a while Don's interest began to flag.
Pretty soon he noticed a large fox squirrel sitting on a limb just above the boat. Without thinking, he pulled his pistol out and fired at the squirrel. Amazingly enough, he hit it and the squirrel fell with a splash into the bayou. Don quickly paddled over to where the squirrel was floating on the water and picked it up. Just as he got a hold on the squirrel they heard a boat's motor heading in their direction.
It wasn't squirrel season yet, so Don thought he had better hide the squirrel and the pistol. He covered the pistol with a croker sack (burlap bag for non-Southerners), dropped the squirrel into the fishing tackle box and closed the lid. As he did, he noticed that the squirrel wasn't dead; he was only wounded. The bullet had grazed his head and dazed him for a bit. Right about then a boat came roaring around the bend and, lo and behold, it was a game warden. The game warden maneuvered his boat alongside Don's and looked their boat over real close.
Satisfied that everything was kosher, he said, "Howdy, folks, did y'all happen to hear a gunshot just now?"
"Yeah," Don said, "It sounded like it was just up ahead there. We were wondering what they were shooting at."
"Hunting out of season I suspect," the game warden said.
He started his motor and backed his boat away from theirs.
"You folks have a good afternoon," he said as he headed off downstream.
Just as he was pulling away, Don noticed the squirrel had come to and had begun to scrabble around in the tackle box. When the game warden disappeared around the bend, Don reached down and opened the lid on the tackle box. All of a sudden the squirrel jumped out and launched itself into the water. Oddly enough, while the squirrel had been lying in the tackle box, a lure had gotten tangled in its fur. When the squirrel hit the water, he took off swimming with that fishing lure swinging back and forth like a red flag in front of a bull's face.
My brother Don paddled furiously to catch up with that squirrel. As he began to pull even with him, Mama was right there to pounce just as soon as she could. Pretty soon the squirrel was within her reach and Mama grabbed him just behind his head and pulled him out of the water. As she lifted the squirrel, they were both surprised to see two big old bass caught on the lure that was stuck on the squirrel's back.
Mama always had to laugh when she told this story because she enjoyed pulling people's legs almost as much as I do. Have a Happy New Year!
Sam Byrnes is a Gentry-area resident and weekly contributor to the Eagle Observer. He may be contacted by email at [email protected]. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
Editorial on 12/28/2016