Fishing Rocky Bayou

Our favorite place to go when the girls were young was Rocky Bayou that joins White River on the Stone county side.  If you were to back track this creek it would pass in front of kinfolks' houses from the ancient past.  We would wade through the section where I learned to "grabble" fish, where I caught crawdads for bait.  Blue Hole, where we swam and even where Hubby's kinfolk lived (and oh, the stories I have!)  Mother used to warn me and my daughters to be careful who we dated, they might be kin to us.

Back on track to the adventure of the week...Rocky Bayou is a gravel creek  When the river is up you can motor in easily. Other times there is a small channel of only a few inches depth that you must fly over...Hubby can do that.

The waves ripple from our landing.

 This is a honey hole for bass.

The fishing begins while I take pictures

 thinking I am in heaven.

The bass are biting!

These wonderful rock ledges shelter many fish

but not from Toni and Hubby.

Yep, that's my Dr Pepper.

Toni shed his shoes early.

I kept mine on but I was connected 

through the water and the rocks...paradise!

We jumped ship leaving Hubby behind catching fish.

Toni and Andrew headed to the place they used to swim.

Low but still beautiful.

Hanging ferns grew on limestone cliffs.

See all the rocks?

I found just a few to bring home.

Every one needs a day like this now and then.

The fish were released

and we motored toward home.

The Scenic Route To Torture

Highway Nine, the scenic route,

We all know what that means.

Beautiful vistas, crooked roads, few guard rails and wonderful photo opportunities...on the way to another doctor.  I remember when this road was gravel and I rode in the back of the truck with my sisters going to visit kin in Stone County.

Imagine this with no rail, rolling gravel,

 and meeting a vehicle.

Twenty-two miles of crooked and steep,

takes me to the beauty of White River.

Sylamore creek feeds into White River

with a mansion on the bluff.

I'm sure you're wondering where the torture comes in...We're there...another wonderful doctor.  Shakes my hand, I scream.  He pokes my wrist, I scream.  He leaves the room and returns with a needle, and I scream some more. Tendinitis, he says, as if it were nothing. Just a tiny prick here, he says. (Afterwards, I wondered if he were describing himself)  After hours (it seemed) of probing with a needle as big as my arm (if it had been bigger, I would have said it), pop! goes the needle into the tendon.  He said, well, that tendon was a little tight.  The king of understatement!

I am wrapped elbow to thumb tip so I cannot move my right arm nor my thumb...for  ten days...but he releases me to return to work!  I don't know about y'all but I have to have a thumb to work.  I need two hands.  If thumbs weren't important in working the mail then they could hire armadillos.

THEN they want to charge me $15 to complete the required paperwork!  I asked, do you charge for filing the insurance?  No, that is a customer courtesy...no ca-ca!  That is the money paperwork.

Disheartened, hurting like crazy and embarrassed that I cried more than the eight-year-old with a broken arm, I left to drive my STANDARD home.  I took the less scenic route this time.

Down the mountains and  up the mountains, across White River, through the small town of Guion (which only had twelve miles of  crooked and steep) back home...only to get in the car again to return to my doctor to have her do the paperwork.

That went well, she was appropriately sympathetic and said, I still have the F disease but fixing the arm will help.  I return home and  find out she didn't SIGN the paperwork.  I know, I know, stupid!  I didn't check.  I decided it can wait til Monday. I am officially, legally off until after Christmas and can't do anything!

I must say the day is brighter, the arm pain has lessened, and I am lucky to still own two arms.  How did I write this post???  Very  slowly, one handed...I couldn't leave y'all hangin'...Merry Christmas.

Been Grabbling?

Meet the Ledfords.  Mary, Pete, Ray and Uncle Crit.  The second photo is Uncle Crit and Granny Pruett, brother and sister.

Uncle Crit and Aunt Lou settled in Stone County Arkansas.  They lived in Herpel, close to Mountain View.  Herpel is about as far in the sticks you can get before White River.

We would visit on weekends, now and then.  Aunt Lou died before I can remember and Uncle Crit lived with his children on their farm place.  We always had fun at Uncle Crit's, there were thousands of things to do.  There was Blue Hole to swim in, you could hunt for arrowheads and sometimes, when the mood hit them, you got to go grappling.

"Grabbling" has also been called noodling and tickling.  I am not talking dirty here...this is a bonafide way to catch fish!

Pete and Ray said I have a hankerin' for some fresh fish.  Let's go grappling.  I agree because anything to do with these gentlemen was loads of fun.

We gathered a stringer and everyone  is grinning. (There is a difference between a smile and a grin. Smiling is when your happy.  Grinning is when you are happy to be up to something)  I had no idea what was in store for me!

We hit the creek looking for some good fishing spots.  I am still confused that we have no fishing poles and only a string.  We arrive at some spot that looked good to the men.  Yep, pulled an fifteen pounder outta here last spring, spot looks good for bedding, now block the hole girl...uh, WHAT? 

Dad and Uncle Crit were quiet as Ray and Pete told me my job.  They explained, when they found a good spot, I would lay down in the water, block all escape routes with my body, arms and legs and Ray or Pete would reach in and get a fish.  Simple, right?

To hear Pete and Ray tell it, it was a cake walk.  As I was curling my body around a submersed rock, blocking holes with every body part I had, while holding onto the rock because the current was strong.  I hear quiet Pete speak up, Now, girl, you may feel a little bump now and then but don't let 'em through.  We're having fish for supper.  I looked, they are all grinning now.  I am trying to think, is there snipe fishing too?

Ray says, that's good girl and hold it, hold it  as he reached to his shoulder under the rock and feels around.  He pulls out a catfish!  My Dad or Uncle Crit put in on the stringer.  Ray reaches in again and pulls out a bass by the gills.  Add that to the stringer.

We're getting a pretty good string of fish and I am having fun.  So far, so good.  I came to swim and this was better, but I still can't figure out the grinning...grinning runs in both sides of my family.

Dad and Uncle Crit are staying in the shallow water.  I now have to carry the stringer. I am not very old but I drag those fish through the water like I had done it all my life. 

Approaching another deep hole, Pete says, oughta be some big uns in there.  Block it, girl.  So I curl and fill all holes and hang onto the rock and the stringer.  Jackpot!  Pete and Ray are pulling those fish out.  The fish are bumping into my belly like cows trying to get to the feed bucket.  This is a little spooky.  I can't see what's bumping my body and have only Ray or Pete to assure me all is well...and they are still grinning.

Ray pulled out a cotton mouth snake, holds it up and says, ah, hell, we can't eat that and slings it over my head into the water behind me.  Yes, he is still grinning!

At this point, the block was gone, all arms, legs, feet, torso and any other part of my body were on dry land.  Not that I am afraid of snakes but I knew cotton mouths were poison.  I look and everyone is grinning bigger.  So this was the plan all the time!

We walked back down the creek with me dragging a stringer full of fresh fish, getting heavier by the moment.  I over hear bits of conversation, because the men are on high ground and I was in the water keeping the fish fresh. I heard, shoulda seen her eyes, with a round of laughter.  Never seen anybody leave the water so fast, hee-hee.  Should put a saddle on that girl and win a race. 

I learned one very important lesson that day.  If Pete and Ray ask me to go hunting, I ain't going!