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When I was a teenager (creep-ager, my mother and sister said), I used to go fishing with my Uncle and his fishing buddies. We sometimes (once or twice) went to Bayou Macon, but mostly we went out on the River. I loved to run on the Mississippi. Being just a big kid, I was never much good beyond carrying things, but they took me along more often than I deserved anyway. We had a lot of fun. Thank you, Uncle Jimmy, very much. We put in at a good spot where we didn't have to carry the outboard motor or boat very far. We ran in a 12' aluminum boat, with a small engine. The outboard would not push us upstream in a heavy current, we had to run up in the shallows. When we crossed a channel-control dam, it took a looong time, because the water has to speed up there. We mostly fished for catfish, mostly with lines or nets, but we did set a few yo-yo's, and sometimes brought a pole along. I preferred the big ugly "Channel Cat" or "Yellow Cat" that likes to stay out where the water is moving faster, and there is more debris to tear away lines and nets, but I have never turned up my nose at any catfish the others would eat. "Blue Cats" we all liked, but they are smaller. Gar we killed and threw back. Carp we usually killed, but sometimes sold. We rarely sold fish, it wasn't fair to the people trying to make a living at it. I learned enough to know that I don't know much about running the river. The most important rule is simple "Be careful! You can die here, and they may never find your body." I learned that the wind can carry away even the big boat horns: a HUGE tug of barges can be on top of you before you can hear a sound. Even if you know one has come by, the waves can surprise you, if the wind and currents are wrong. The boat can be far away when the wash reaches you. My Uncle and his buddies told most of these tales, but I heard others from people I met at or on the river, or who swapped yarns with me. The man on a bank of
the Mississippi, with a rope in his hands. |
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