Creek Fishing, Survival Read online

CREEK FISHING, SURVIVAL

  By Victor Cox

  Copyright 2013 Victor Cox

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  Book Cover: Copyright Roman Milert, Dreamstime Stock Photo

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  This work is approximately thirty percent fiction, the product of the author’s imagination. However, it is based on actual events occurring to the author.

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1. Going Down the Creek

  Chapter 2. Going Up the Creek

  Chapter 3. Going Home

  Chapter 4. Revisiting the Creek

  About the Author

  Connect with the Author

  Other Books by Victor Cox

  Creek Fishing, Survival

  Chapter 1. Going Down the Creek

  DISCLAIMER: All these events are based on actual occurrences or a reasonable facsimile thereof, however, the facts may have been changed, altered, or slightly adjusted to fit the printed page. (sort of like a movie picture changed to fit the TV screen) If these occurrences are similar to what you have experienced, it is purely coincidental, and no representation is made that you would have reacted in like manner. Some depictions are not very graphic and not intended for mature or immature readers. (probably, shouldn’t be read by anyone) Not responsible for damages caused by physical, emotional, or psychological repercussions. Known in the state of California (and many other states) to cause permanent mental and physical damage, especially to pregnant women and children. (I guess, by laughing) Clinical Test readings of this material to mice resulted in drowsiness. (For the mice and reader) You may, or may not, be affected the same way. Do not read this material while driving or operating machinery. (Duh!) Read at your own risk.

 

  Man, I just can’t go fishing and have a relaxing time anymore. Seems like it always turns into some kind of survival struggle for me. What seemed like a pleasant and sunny start for a fishing trip should never have turned into such a life or death ordeal. However, seems like I can never have just an average “going-fishing” good time. Why does it seem to always happen to me? I don’t know anyone else that has such a run of bad luck when fishing, especially, a trip that almost cost my life!

  You see, it started out innocently enough. I found this creek that leads into Pat Mayes Lake not far from Powderly, TX, where I lived. It’s named “Sulfur Creek” according to a local guy. I guess that should’ve given me some clue, but it didn’t. It’s on the south end of the lake and I discovered it by accident while driving around the lake one day just looking around. There’s this long bridge over the creek and you have to turn off the highway just at the start of the bridge, then go about a half mile paralleling the highway to the creek.

  The semi-gravel road was pretty good off the highway to the creek. Upon arrival, I checked the creek out. We hadn’t had any rain lately, and it appeared somewhat low. It was about thirty feet wide with trees overhanging the water as far as I could see. It reminded me of some place in Africa, the Amazon, or Louisiana, with all the overhanging limbs and growth along the bank. About the only thing missing, was Spanish moss hanging from the trees and some tropical birds flying around. It looked good enough to check out, even if it wasn’t very good fishing, and who knows, it might turn out to be a great fishing hole. The tea-colored water wasn’t real clear, but pretty good. I wondered if any Piranha were lurking around waiting for a meal? Were they watching me as I walked near the bank line? It stirred my curiosity, especially, when I saw the bony remains of some small animal near the water’s edge. Any other time, it would have been quite picturesque, but somehow it seemed ominous. No matter, after a little more walking and looking around, I went back home and told Merlene, my wife, what a good-looking creek I found. I told her I wanted to put my John boat in it and check it out sometime.

  The next day it was sunny and warm and, after a good breakfast, I decided to load the John boat in my trailer and check out the creek. I expected to catch some crappie, or white perch, or maybe a bass, since I’d recently caught a few on the lake at my house. After going to the bait shop for minnows, I hurriedly loaded up everything and took off for the creek. It always happens, doesn’t it, the time just slips away? The early start was now going to be mid-afternoon.

  Eventually, arriving at the creek, I turned the truck around and put it in position to unload the boat. Getting out, I noticed there were some empty rifle shells and shotgun shell hulls on the ground near the sparsely gravel incline where people put their boats in. I didn’t pay any attention to the empty shells—another clue I should’ve picked up on. I figured someone had been down here shooting at cans or sighting in their rifle for deer hunting season. There was no ramp to put the boat in the water, just a sharp, four foot decline on the bank. That didn’t bother me any putting in, but I figured the incline would be a little problem getting out. About a week ago, I cracked one of my ribs working around the house and was being very careful not to hurt it again. It was still very sore and I worried a little about the incline. Well, I’ll just be careful getting the boat out, I told myself. So, I finally got everything in the boat, and in the water. The sun was still up good, although it was getting late in the afternoon. I was feeling good and missing all the obvious signs around me that this may not be a good trip. With crappie and bass on my mind, I took off down the creek toward the lake.

  Well, the lake is a long way from where you put in at the bridge. About two miles I discovered. I figured I’d motor to the lake checking out all the potential fishing sites and fish them on the way back. The trip down the creek was one of excitement and anticipation. I knew I couldn’t pass up trying a few super-looking spots, and stopped on occasion to cast a few times before moving on. All around, and overhead, were trees, and limbs, and birds, and wildlife of all kinds expected in the deep woods. There were several log jams I mentally marked to try fishing for crappie on my way back. In a few places the creek got sort of narrow with little sandy points jutting out from the bank. Plus, several brush piles were hung up on stumps all along the bank. I made a mental picture of the many places I had to cross on the way back to the truck. I saw a few squirrels on the way. One even crossed the creek on some limbs directly over me from one side of the creek to the other. The long limbs of the Bois d'arc—commonly called Osage-orange, hedge-apple, Horse-apple, Bodark, or Bodock—trees on each bank stretched over the water. Their large leaves provided a green umbrella from the sinking sun. I was surprised the squirrel didn’t seem frightened of me. Even saw a few more in the trees near the creek as I eased along. Another squirrel scampered down a root and drank some water, not ten feet from me. None of them seemed afraid. I saw one deer in the woods near the creek just standing there, looking at me, and watching me go down the creek. The whole creek seemed surreal and more like some place in the Amazon rain forest than here in North Texas. All these signs, over and over, and I was missing every one of them. I just figured the deer and squirrels weren’t used to seeing that many people in the deep woods this far from the lake or bridge. I was enjoying this great opportunity to see wildlife so natural and close. I never thought anything about exactly why these animals weren’t scared of me. I should have!

  Not really paying that much attention to the time, it seemed to take forever to get to the lake. Of course, I’d never been to the lake down this creek before, and had no idea how far it was. It took me a lot longer than I expected to get to the lake. But
, stopping to bass fish a few times along the way couldn’t have taken that much time along the trip. The many twists and turns of the stump-lined creek, filled with moss, weeds, and trees, and off shoots from the main channel, had my attention. I looked for potential fishing spots instead of thinking about what distance I’d traveled, or, that the sun had sank to just over the tree tops. The creek reminded me of many Louisiana creeks I’d seen on TV and in magazines, besides the many I frog hunted on when I was younger. It seemed that at any moment an alligator could pop up or a snake could drop out of the trees. It was exciting, and scary.

  About that time, it did register that I’d been traveling a long way down the creek. I started to get a little worried that maybe I’d just better head back toward the truck. Plus, I thought, maybe I should’ve started a little earlier in the day to come on such an unknown trip, especially, down a creek I’d never been on before. Also, to tweak my anxiety a little, I was using a little two horsepower outboard motor I’d never used before and didn’t know how much gas it’d use. I figured since it was only a one cylinder motor, it couldn’t use that much gas. But, I got even more worried when I noticed I didn’t put the container with the extra gas in the boat. Guess I was in too big a hurry to notice that I didn’t get the gas. Oh well, I was pretty sure this one cylinder motor wouldn’t use that much gas and figured I had plenty to get back to the truck. I filled the motor tank—about one third of a gallon—at home. Then, I thought about the gas that spilled out of the motor in the back of the truck driving to the creek. The vent on the gas cap wasn’t tight and I failed to notice it when I put the motor in the truck. I did look in the tank when I took the motor out of the truck, and it appeared about three-fourths full. I should’ve refilled it then, but, thought even a three quarter tank would get me to the lake and back. Besides, I was in a hurry to get on the creek and was losing time by the second. Seems funny how clear those things pop into you mind when you’re in a position to start worrying about them. Well, too late now. Should I turn back now or not?

  No! About that time, I reached the lake. I knew I’d been getting closer to the lake all the time, I just couldn’t see it for all the reeds lining the bank line. I’d left the trees and wood line about three quarters of a mile behind me and wiggled through the many twists and turns through the weeds, and reeds, and moss. Even as I traveled through the weeds and moss, there was an open channel about eight to ten feet across with a clear area where the water was obviously deeper. However, I noticed the weed line was getting closer and closer and the channel more narrow for some distance now. But with the weeds getting smaller overall, I figured I had to be getting closer to the lake. I guess that’s what kept me going toward the lake. Besides, the fishing spots for bass were endless and I was mesmerized by the many moss beds, stumps, and reeds lining the main channel. I just knew there were bass waiting for me to catch them everywhere. I was even more enchanted when I reached the mouth of the creek where it joined the lake. Besides, the many stumps, moss, reeds, and clear water at the mouth, there were Lilly pads. Big ones! Bass city, if I ever saw it! I was captured by the beauty of the place and held prisoner by the prospects of big fish I’d catch.

  I looked around the open body of the lake a little while just wondering why I’d never found this creek before now? What struck me as odd was all the blackbirds. Every stump, snag, and still-standing tree was black with them. I’d been hearing them, but not seeing them, for a while now. I knew there must be lots of birds somewhere and they sounded like they were toward the lake. As loud as the were, I figured they must be on the other side of the lake, because where would they be sitting in the lake? Now, I knew. The lake was black with them as they perched on everything that provided a foot hold. I’d never seen that many blackbirds in one place before. The sound was deafening. They looked like tiny, black, tree appendages of some type left on the baron and dried branches. I clapped my hands a couple times and probably several hundred flew up at once, circled in the air, and re-lit where they’d taken off. Each one fighting for their tiny foot hole on the snags and stumps.

  As I slowly drifted around looking everywhere for all the potential bass I’d catch, I was reassured that the bass were all around me by several huge explosions of water in the Lilly pads near the stumps. I reached for my rod and reel stating, “I just got to try this area.”

  I started to tie on one of my favorite lures and noticed I had a little trouble seeing how to tie it on. How long had I been mesmerized by the lake tugging on my fishing instinct? How long had I been enchanted by the beauty at the mouth of this creek? How long had nature held me captive as I looked around at the many potential bass spots? It wasn’t fair, I thought.

  I glanced at the sun. It was gone! Not only gone, it was below the horizon and darkness already started setting in. My split personality surfaced—quietly at first—as the sun went down. It, and my fishing instinct, were at war with my conscious mind caught in the middle. I was turning into a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. It was un-nerving. It was like my good and bad sides were arguing.

  “Go ahead and fish! You got plenty of time!” The bad reassured me.

  “You better get back to the truck before dark!” The good warned.

  “It’s still plenty of light left!”

  “Are you crazy, do you know how long it will take to get back to the truck? Don’t you realize it will be totally dark before you get back already?”

  Another big splash!

  “Go ahead, finish tying on that lure. Look at the wake that one left near the stump!”

  “What if you run out of gas before you get back to the truck?”

  “I still have the electric troll motor even if I run out of gas.” I said out loud, as my consciousness interjected the three-way conversation.

  “Wow, did you see that? That bass caused a shad to jump clear out of the water.”

  “You don’t have enough troll motor battery power to get all the way back to the truck from here!”

  “Quit stalling, you’re wasting time, tie on the lure and get to fishing!”

  “It’ll be totally dark soon. You’ve only been down this creek one time, in daylight,—never in darkness.”

  “This is prime time for fishing and they’re waiting on you.”

  “Think about all the log jams you have to navigate in the dark, and all the twists and turns, and what if you go up one of the side shoots off of the main channel—you know how easy that could be in the dark.”

  Another big ruckus near the bank as a bass hit at a sunfish. The sunfish darted completely up on the bank and flounced around a few seconds before flopping back in the water.

  “No problem, I brought the flashlight. I’ll make one cast just to see,” I interjected.

  “What? You think that flash light will get you out of here and, maybe, out of one of those side shoots before it goes dead? You better think again!”