Get The Net

Ol Darv and I were heading for the mountains to try and catch a stringer full of small mouths and bluegills. We had decided to take a different route to our destination in hopes of discovering some new sites. Halfway through our 4-hour trek, I saw an old sign, and in big letters it said, “Trout Ponds, No limit, No license required”. I had always wondered about these places. So I applied some brake and we pulled into the parking lot. There was no one else around except an old man asleep in the booth where you pay for your fish. I grabbed my ultra light pole, banged on the booth, waking the old man. He said, you have to keep all you catch, here’s a net and a five-gallon bucket. Try the lower of three ponds; it has the bigger fish in it. The price is eighteen cents an inch, anything under nine inches is free.
I couldn’t wait; each pond was about fifty yards long. I made my way to the third pond. Hooked up my favorite tender tube and gave it a sling. It no sooner hit the water, and BAM I had on a 24 incher, I yelled for Ol Darv to get the net; he scooped that fish up and in the process of doing so, he scooped up two more. Darv!! I said, you’re costing me money, as he dumped all three fish into the bucket. Ol Darv said, the old man said we had to keep all we caught; he didn’t say how we were to catch them. I fixed my bait and tossed it toward the deep end and BAM, I had another big one on. I yelled, get the net. Ol Darv scooped up that fish and two more. Darv!! I said, that’s six fish and I only caught two. He was too busy laughing. I tossed in one more time and again the fight was on. Only this time, I didn’t want any part of Ol Darv or that net. He was chasing me around that pond yelling, “I’ll get him, I’ll get him”, and I was yelling “get away from me with that net”. I am not sure if he gave up or I out ran him. But he finally quit. I wrestled my fish up into the bucket, turned around to see Ol Darv on his hands and knees scooping fish out of the pond with the net and tossing them up on the bank. I said, WHAT ARE YOU DOING, we’re going to get arrested. He laughed and said he was trying to get a real big one but these others kept getting into the net. About that time his foot hit the bucket and over it went. Fish were flopping everywhere. I grabbed some fish, and the others flopped back into the water. Ol Darv said, see now I'm saving you money. Ol Darv said, looky here at what I got, and he scooped a 36-inch rainbow trout up on the bank. As soon as that fish hit the grass it started floppin and every time Ol Darv would slap his hand down on it, it would shoot out across the grass. He was crawling after it and the third time he hit that fish it went back into the water with a SPLASH. I think that fish broke Ol Darv's heart by the look on his face. I was laughing so hard I couldn’t speak. Ol Darv said he was done fishing for today. We loaded up our stuff and paid the man. Somehow we still managed to have eleven fish for a grand total of thirty-eight dollars. Ol Darv still talks about the big one that got away. I keep telling him it’s not fishing, it’s scooping. He says it’s all in the terminology, catching is catching.
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Bow Fishing

While out at the local sporting goods store I spied a bow fishing combo kit, and as fate would have it, I happen to have an extra compound bow. I picked up the kit, undeterred by the amount of dust on it and headed for the checkout. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Ol Darv's face when I let him in on my latest idea. Ol Darv was a little less than excited about shooting fish with arrows, but not one to avoid a new experience we headed for the lake. Ol Darv had a 10-foot canoe and he looked a little skeptical when I explained I was going to stand on the top edge of the canoe. If you have ever been in a canoe you know how hard it is to sit in one, not to mention stand up; the slightest movement will cause the canoe to tilt or flip over. Ol Darv was a good sport; he paddled me all over that lake with me shooting at carp and although I never I hit one, every time I would shoot, Ol Darv would laugh while I tried to regain my balance. After two hours, I was ready to quit and Ol Darv was ready to give up the paddling. Getting down turned into a harder ordeal than I planned. About the time my left foot hit the bottom of the boat that canoe turned sideways and, splash, Ol Darv hit the water. Somehow I managed to stay in the boat. Since we were three feet from the bank, I stepped out onto the shore. Ol Darv sat there in two feet of water; he was unimpressed by my cat-like reflex. He said next time we are going snipe hunting and I get to hold the bag. I can’t wait.

The Trail Below

Always trying to stay as warm as possible, I borrowed Dad’s blue nylon coveralls and headed for the high country. Ol Darv and I were looking for whitetails and as fate would have it the snow was flying. We got to the camp about an hour before daylight, and I headed off to my stand. The wind was blowing hard up high. So I decided to sit on my backup stand, a small ledge. Once on the ledge, I was about three miles above the valley. About two hundred yards below the ledge, a small trail wrapped itself around the mountain. It wasn’t long before I felt the need to climb down to the trail and see how much activity the fresh snow would reveal. It was almost noon and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Trying to be as careful as possible I crawled around the side of the ledge and worked myself to the bottom of the ledge. Feeling proud of myself for getting down unscathed, I took my first and last step toward the trail. I am not sure if I lost my grip, slipped, or tripped. However, I do remember thinking to just sit down. A lesson learned a long time ago, it’s better to fall and get over it than to pull a muscle trying to catch yourself. As soon as I made contact with the snow, my feet flew up. And down the mountain I went. This being the first time I had worn nylon coveralls, I had not given any thought as to how slick they would be as they made contact with snow. Since I weigh in at about 250 pounds, it didn’t take long for me to reach warp speed. My first thought after saying AAAAAAAAAHHHH was put your feet down it will slow you down. All this did was create a plow effect. I was still picking up speed so I raised my feet. I felt every rock, bush, and boulder as I traveled toward the trail. This seemed like such a good idea just a short time ago. I used the butt of the deer rifle to help steer me around some of the bigger lumps in the snow that I figured could only be large rocks. I crossed the trail at a speed just short of breaking the sound barrier. I flew about ten feet in the air and landed on my backside. I could see a large tree approaching. So I lowered my feet, dug in, and impacted like a bug hitting a windshield. Thinking the worst was over, I rolled over just in time to have all the debris that I stirred up to come crashing down on top of me. Dazed, I stepped onto the trail and tried to shake the experience off hoping no one saw what happened. The zippers on both pant legs had come unzipped about half way up and the snow had packed in all the way up to my belt. I couldn’t get the snow out my pants without taking off the whole outfit. I walked back to the camp barely able to bend my knees for all the compacted snow. An hour later, Ol Darv came in and said that he saw the strangest thing. He said that he was coming around the mountain on the old trail and it looked like a bear had come off the hill the way the snow was wallowed out. He then said that out of the clear blue there were some boot tracks? He said that he didn’t know how that feller got where he was but he could have found a better way to travel.

Doe Season

Ol Darv and I were doe hunting on private property. Deer were as plentiful as blue jays in the summer time. We were allowed four deer each, according to the regulations, and we were out to take two. As we entered the woods he went left and I went right. It wasn’t long before I was looking down the scope at a two-year-old doe. She was coming right up the trail toward me. I waited until she was about thirty yards away and sent a 180 grain .270 core lock special delivery. That deer flipped over backward and hit the ground hard, rolled over twice and landed right in the middle of a brier patch that made the black hole look like a pothole. That deer had completely disappeared into the briers. I halfway hoped it would jump out and run a little ways, but it was not to be. So into the briers I went; two seconds later I was tangled in ways I never dreamed possible. I felt the sting of a brier tearing at my ear so I reached up and freed myself. About a second later I felt the blood start down the side of my face. It seems that brier had nicked off a microscopic piece of my ear that even though it was small, I was bleeding like a stuck pig. I was wearing my favorite hunting gloves and kept pushing on the spot. Before long my glove was soaked with blood. Meanwhile I was trying to find the deer and once I did I had to drag her out. Ol Darv had been successful as I, so we decided to call it a day. I should have realized something was wrong the way ol Darv was looking at me. He even asked if I was alright. I thought this was a silly question, and asked why he inquired. He said, “Looks like you cut yourself.” “Just a scratch,” I said. He shot me the same old smile Ol Darv always gave me, so we loaded the truck and headed for town. First stop was the 7-11. I went in and grabbed a cold Coke and was standing in line to pay when I noticed everyone in the place was looking at me. I started to feel real uncomfortable and the guy ahead of me in line slid out of the way and insisted I go first. The cashier was looking a little troubled. He asked, “Are you alright buddy?” Ol Darv was grinning like a bird-fed cat. “Why would you ask me that?” “You have blood all over your face” he said. It seems that while I was using the glove to stop the bleeding I was also using it to wipe the sweat off my face. I looked up in the mirror and almost scared myself. Between the two-day beard and blood I looked like a mass murderer. I turned to Ol Darv who was laughing so hard I thought he would pass out. I said, “you’re buying, I’m out of here.” That store is no longer on the stop and get a pop list of things to do. So just remember, your buddy may watch your back, but you are in charge of the front.

Toxic Pond

Ol Darv and I took a quick trip out to Toxic pond to catch us a bunch of Largemouth’s and a bucket of bluegill. Most folk round here don’t fish Toxic pond much cause they are scared. It’s the only pond in the state that don’t freeze in the winter. Ol Darv and I figure its because it’s too hot a fishin spot for it to freeze. We used to call it the forbidden pond cause it has a ten-foot chain link fence around it with barbed wire on top and big signs with “No Trespassing” on them. We would stand for hours watching those big ones jump out of the water. One day Ol Darv mention he might know who had a key and the rest was history. I am not sure why they gave us a key. But who am I to argue with good fishin. First time we went I caught 14 largemouth bass. On that day I was fishin with a 3.5-inch tender tube, using eagle claw #1 true turn hook and a 1/8 once weight. Ol Darv prefers the easier life he uses good ol fashion worms and a Zebco 33. He always says all that flashy stuff could only lead to trouble. Ol Darv was pulling bluegills in until his five-gallon bucket was clear full. I suggested we quit when he started tossing them into the bottom of the boat. I don’t mind a fish or two, but the boat is only 10 feet long and it didn’t take long before we had fish floppin everywhere. So even thought we had only been fishin a half-hour we left. We both agreed the fish looked a little funny but we ate them anyway. Every since then ol Darv has been easier to find after dark, he says he always did have a good aura about himself, I still think it’s the fish.

Tree Stands

I never was one to be comfortable once my feet left the ground, but everyone always said the best place to be when chasing whitetails is from a tree stand of one sort or another. I had been out chasing whitetails in southern Missouri with my dear ol dad when I discovered a platform up in a tree in the middle of a huge field. I tied my gun to a dangling rope that was hanging from the tree and began climbing up to the platform. It took some time getting up, since there were no pegs or tree climbing help available. Once I got up there, the view was spectacular and although I sat there all afternoon, not one deer had the common courtesy to show up. Off in the distance I could see my dad loading up the truck, so I decided it was time to get down from my perch. As I lowered my gun I saw there were several branches in a line down the backside of the tree. It looked like a perfect ladder. Hmmm, I thought, how easy would that be. The only problem was I couldn’t reach the branch from my side of the tree. Only one thing to do, yep, it’s time to jump. Looking back now I realize that leaping through the air twenty feet above the ground may not have been one of my better ideas, but with caution tossed to the wind I jumped. As soon as I grabbed that branch it broke off the tree slicker than water off a duck’s back. Down I went, feet first (at least I started feet first). I hit the first branch with my feet, rocked backward, and caught the second branch between the legs. The sudden stop was short lived. I rolled off that branch ricocheting off two or three more and pile drove myself like an Olympic diver into a brier patch. Still holding the branch I struggled to my feet. About three hundred yards away I could see dad looking my way. He just shook his head and got in the truck. I tossed the branch into the brier patch, and retrieved my gun. I was feeling the pain in every inch of my body as I walked to the truck. Once I arrived I asked dear ol Dad if he saw what happened; he said he saw the whole thing. I was amazed. I said, “You saw the whole thing! Why didn’t you bring the truck over and get me?” I asked. He said, “I started to. It looked like you hit every branch in that old tree and I got worried when you just lay there. But then you got up. I just figured you might want to walk that off.” What do you say to that? After that I always tell Ol Darv, if you’re looking for me out in the woods, don’t waste your time looking up.

Mountain Climbing

Never go mountain climbing unless you are absolutely sure the person going with you has a clue about what they are about to do. Simply watching someone on television is not enough to get you there safely, words of wisdom. My son always gives me that strange “how do you know that this is a bad idea” look. Little does he know adventure has always been my middle name. Ol Darv and I had just watched two guys scale the vertical side of a mountain. Our conclusion, how hard could it be? So we got fifty feet of nylon boat rope (mistake one), got a couple of D-rings he had acquired at a yard sale, and headed for the closest cliff to begin our journey to the top. The cliff we selected was fifty feet to the top with jagged ledges along the way to make things easier. Between the cliff and the river was a two-foot ledge, just enough room to slide around. Ol Darv took off up the side of the cliff like he had done this his whole life. I waited at the bottom until he got the rope tied off. Then with him pulling up the slack I climbed up after him. After reaching about the thirty-foot mark, I was feeling really good about the climb. Knowing Ol Darv was holding me with the rope, I decided to try a pendulum swing. If you never saw someone do a pendulum swing while climbing, it looks like a clock pendulum swinging, thus the name. I yelled for Ol Darv to give me a little slack so that I could attempt a pendulum. The problem was that he only heard give me some slack. So he let go of the rope. About the time he let go, I jumped off the face of that cliff and dropped like a bucket into a deep well. Down I went and a blood-curling scream that came from me is still echoing around the base of the cliff. Sometimes at night people still say they can hear that sound. Ol Darv had smoke coming off his gloves as that rope was spooling at about 100 miles an hour. In an effort to save his best friend, he grabbed the rope and braced himself against the tree stopping my free fall. At this point, I was about two inches above the water. It was also at this point that I realized we did not tie the “Swiss-seat” body harness properly as we saw on television. It was up around my chest causing my voice to raise several octaves. So with what sounded like a schoolgirl, and with all the breath that I could muster I uttered, “Slack, slack, give me some slack”. Then splash, I hit the water. After shaking off the water and listening to Ol Darv explain how he wished I would make up my mind whether I wanted slack or no slack, I decided to cross mountain climbing off my list of things to do.