"William. Boyd" wrote in message
...

Gone Fishin My Way

Back when I was young and in the military service I always loved the out
doors.
One time when stationed in Altus Oklahoma, myself and my best friend
decided to go fishing. We thought the Red River was the best candidate
location for an expedition worthy of our efforts.
We had become accustom to and adopted a special brand of beer as our
favorite but knew it was not readily available down along the river where
we were going. Not knowing how long we would be gone it was determined
that the least thing that we wanted was to run out of beer.
This determination leads us to think that we could bring any left over
beer back with no problem. Packing the bare necessities and some food,
plenty of food, pork and beans were the main stay, along with Vienna
sausages and crackers, potato chips, Frito corn chips, Sardines, crackers
and some other long forgotten items. Now the six cases of Tuborg Beer,
being in long necks as we call it now, was not light weight cargo. If you
add every thing together it would be a car load for the average
automobile. Considering we were driving a Chevrolet Corvair, this was a
formidable load after adding a blow-up life raft type boat, trout line
anchors (Cinder blocks 4 each)and fishing tackle galore.

But off we went reaching a predetermined point within hours and well prior
to sun set.
The drive was hot and tiring due to not having air conditioning in the
Corvair. The river bank was sandy and smooth, so we drove down rather
close to the bank. Unloaded the
Blow up boat and aired it up, put the trout line anchors, bait and lines
in it and started down the river wading. Lindsey was leading on the bow
line, some thirty feet ahead of the boat. Considering the trek was
relatively benign, I snuck a ride on the aft end of the
Pontoon boat, of course without the tow boat captain knowing I had hitched
a ride.
Lindsey yelled out, “when will we know we have arrived at the spot we
want”, I replied “you will know by the depth of the river”. I had in mind
that a good hole in the river bottom would yield the best catch of fish.”
Shortly thereafter, Lindsey disappeared
under the water, what a hole!. He bobbed up, sputtering; it was too deep
to wade any more. I yelled Bingo, we have arrived at ye old fishing hole!

We set out all the lines and baited the hooks. Now, of course being the
good planners that we were, we had one case of beer with us, and were
appropriately applying the intended use of it, but its longevity in
jeopardy, we headed back to the car. Arriving in the nick of time, and
with the remainder of the first case of beer, lingering, with the
re-stoking in mind. Knowing we had just a limiter amount of time to get
back to the fishing lines and check them for the catch, we loaded more
bait and another case of beer.

Lardy me the catch of the night, a lot of cat fish. We hauled in several
twenty some odd pounds each of beautiful catfish. Putting them on the
stringer and rebating the hooks all night. Then came the departure,
following retrievals of traut lines and leaving the cinder blocks, we
loaded up.

About then came the problem of the load and river sand. The Corvair with
the engine in the rear and four cases of beer and an estimated 400 pounds
of catfish as well as pork and beans, sardines and what have you we were
not only overloaded but stuck in the sand.
Decisions, decisions, we made one and spent quite a while carrying out the
mission, what was it? Drink the beer; eat the beans and stringer the fish
in the river.

My fishing buddy, Lindsay Nelson and I had an experience that was not
rivaled by many although we did try. We did make it back with about all
the fish and none of the beer, would you consider the trip was successful,
we did, only because we made it back.

BILL P. :-)


Great story Bill, that's what fishing is all about, good times, good
friends, a little of the unexpected, and beer! Oh yeah, and fish, too!

Ed