Like all worthwhile stories, this one started out by
accident. I was supposed to go to Buffalo
point, but I took a wrong turn and wound up going down a long dirt road past
several shanty’s; complete with occupants in stained clothes, sitting on the
front porch drinking out of mason jars.
It was like a hillbilly collection set, and I had collected all the
pieces. In spite of this monumental accomplishment
I decided to try for more and continue on…
To be honest, hillbillies don’t scare me all too much. I know their weakness, Jesus and blind
patriotism… So if I get in trouble I know
am just one patriotic speech or “what would Jesus do” away from safety. But the hillbilly’s are not the star of this
story; a fish is, a fish, and a moment.
I was relieved to see that at the end of this long, steep,
windy dirt road there were other campers…
Just one set, but people none the less.
My relief soon subsided when I realized these were locals probably just
camping down at the end of their street.
It was of no matter, it was getting late in the day and I had little
choice but to stay. So I quickly set
about setting up my tent with the absent minded efficiency that only comes from
having done something too many times. I
then searched for a pay area but none was to be found. Free camping. Score!
I grabbed the rod and reel and my bag of freshly bought
lures and headed to the river. This part
of the Buffalo was slow, warm, and mossy. This didn’t have me bounding with
optimism, but I needed dinner. About a
half mile or more upstream I found some fast water, free of moss and threw
out. Fish on! My jig hook to lure ratio was off and the
fish didn’t stay on. This would happen
about six more times before the light turned on that I needed a bigger
hook. Finally after the correction I
hook one and land it, about a twelve inch smallmouth. The limit is one and it must be over eighteen
inches so my search for dinner continues.
I quickly fish out the fast water and have to move upstream
into slow moving deep water. I cast out
expecting nothing. During my retrieve I
see a large tube-like shape in pursuit, it’s a three foot spotted gar! I cast again and hook into a fish and it is
giving me a tussle. The entire time I am
hoping it’s a gar. The fish leaps….. It’s
another smally, but bigger than the last.
I land the fish, release it and target the gar again. He strikes!
I couldn’t set the hook… I try and try again, getting multiple strikes
but setting the hook into that thin bony mouth proves impossible. I move
upriver. I am probably a mile or more upriver
at this point and the tracks in the sand have slowly become mine and mine alone. Light is getting scarce and the sun is barely
providing more light then the large waxing gibbous moon hanging overhead. One more bend I say…
Two bends later I find myself at the confluence of a small stream. The light from the sun and moon is equal now, making every object look like its giving off its own gentle glow. I wade towards the inlet and cast out. Another gar is in pursuit! He hits and this time he stays on! For all of about five seconds, when he decides to release the lure… I never had him. I cast again, this time deeper into the ripples created by the small stream. Wham, this time whatever it is, is on! Rocketing out of the water is a large smallmouth bass. With my two pound test line and four foot light action rod we are equals, and he is all I can handle. For what seems like hours, we battle back and forth, and during the long fight I lose focus and look around, I see a buck crossing the river upstream, fireflies are beginning to dance all around, granite cliffs with dark water stains stand as a barrier separating the river from the forest, the world is aglow with a supernatural light, an old bass is struggling for its life, and then there is me; just one of the universe’s windows of consciousness, but in that moment I was showing the universe something truly remarkable.
