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SURPRISES
We were at the camp of Frank Middleton , our Missouri neighbor,
planning a float trip on the St. Francis River with my johnboat
and motor. We had no idea how many miles we’d covered,
but figured if we put in after lunch we’d be back
by six or so.
We left my car at the take-out spot, and our wives drove
us to the put-in place, where we both caught bass in the
first pool we fished, not lunkers but nice sized feisty
fish.
After fifteen minutes, I gave the paddle a stroke or two
and we floated to the next pool. Immediately we were into
fish that surged and plunged and walked across the water.
Fisherman’s Heaven.
We were in the fourth or fifth pool when a movement along
the bank downstream caught my eye. I signaled to Frank and
dug my paddle into the sandy bottom to halt the boat. Twenty
yards ahead of us a flock of six or more turkeys strutted
along the bank. For ten minutes we watched before they evaporated
into the woods.
“Wow!” Frank said, “that was awesome!”
Four or more pools later, I looked at my watch, saw it was
almost four o’clock, and suggested we put some distance
behind us. Frank agreed and I started the motor. We putted
along, wishing we could fish each drop-off, half sunken
tree, and quiet pool.
Five o’clock passes and we had no idea where we were
or how far we had to go. Six o’clock came, and I was
getting uneasy. I figured I should have sighted the take-out
place by now.
Seven o’clock came with the motor wide open, but neither
of us knew where we were.
Slowly the sun sank below the horizon, and just as dusk
descended we came to a place where six or seven foot tall
dead trees rose from the bottom of the river and stretched
from bank to bank. Throttling back we weaved in and out
of the obstructions, crawling at a snails pace, brushing
limbs away from our faces.
Suddenly we were free. With a cheer, I opened the throttle
and we blasted along the river we could hardly see.
We ran out of gas about ten o’clock . With no spare
can, we floated disconsolately along the river, once our
friend, now our enemy.
Then we saw the outline of a cabin. “Put me ashore”
Frank said “I’ll see if we can get some gas.”
A few minutes later He came back with the owner of the cabin,
who filled our tank and refused payment. And we were on
our way again. “I called our wives” Frank said
“and told them we’d be a little late.”
With the moon now high in the sky, I had no idea how deep
the water was beneath us was. In the moonlight it looked
to be about three inches. I slowed down, tried unsuccessfully
to find a deeper spot, and finally said to hell with it
and opened up the motor.
It was eleven-thirty when we got to the take-out spot; close
to midnight when we chained the boat to a tree, transferred
our gear to the car, and started home.
We never made that float again because: 1. We didn’t
have the guts, and 2. Someone cut the chain and stole the
boat.
But don’t let that keep you from floating the St.
Francis. It’s a beaut of a river.
Dick Lynch
Cape Cod Salties Sportfishing Club, May 2004 Backlash |
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