Category Archives: Fishing Ramblings – My Fishing Blog

Random thoughts and musings about fishing

Planting A Garden

The flooding rain Good Friday caused a lot of problems and delayed those that like to plant their gardens. Folklore around here says Good Friday is the time to plant tomatoes, peppers, squash and other cold sensitive plants. We seldom have freezes after that date.

Growing up we depended on our huge garden to feed us year-round. We never bought anything we could grow. As a kid, I hated all the work but loved eating the results of it.

Potatoes, turnips, radishes and cabbage was planted early in the spring. Daddy always spread the tiny turnip and radish seeds, not trusting us kids to do it right. But we spent hours cutting up seed potatoes, carefully leaving an eye on each piece, to plant. And the cabbage plants were transferred from small containers to rows in the garden.

I enjoyed watching the potato plants break the surface and a few weeks later scratching around the base of them for new potatoes. Those golf ball size nuggets were carefully removed and cooked. Later, when the plants started dying, daddy would use a turning plow to expose the mature potatoes and we would gather them. Many were eaten fresh but bushels were spread on the concrete floor of an old barn where they stayed cool and lasted well into the next winter.

String beans, butter beans, butter peas, black eyed peas, corn and okra rows followed the tomatoes and peppers put out on Good Friday. Dropping seeds for them in the prepared furrows daddy had made was tedious and I wanted to just drop handfuls and get it over with, but I knew that even if I got the seeds covered before he noticed, sprouting plants in a few days would give my laziness away.

For weeks an almost daily job was carefully pulling weeds from the rows of plants we wanted. I learned a lot about identifying good plants from unwanted weeds. It was hot, dirty, boring, tiring work but had to be done.

When string beans were ready, we picked them by the bushel and spent hours at night stripping the “string” from them and snapping them into short sections. Some too mature ones had developed beans, and those were shelled out to be cooked with the snaps. I still buy “shelly beans” with the beans in them when I can find them, they remind me of real ones from home.

The beans were carefully put into jars and canned in our pressure cooker, about a dozen jars at a time.
Our pantry had well over 100 jars of them by the end of summer, at least two jars to eat a week until the next year when fresh ones were available.

Butter beans and butter peas also meant hours at night in front of the TV, shelling them into pans and filling big pots. Mom would spend hours in the kitchen the next day blanching them to freeze. We had a big chest freezer and it would be full by the end of the summer.

Nothing is better than fresh corn-on-the-cob, pulled just a few minutes before boiling, slathering with butter, and eating. Daddy planted short rows a few days apart to extend the time we had it, but there was a huge patch down in the corner of the field.

That patch was watched carefully for the perfect day and at daylight we would be pulling ears and filling the truck bed. Under the shade of a pecan tree we would shuck and silk the ears and take buckets of them inside where mom or one of us kids used a board with a perfect groove to slide the ear over a blade the cut and creamed it.

That cut corn was carefully processed and put into containers to freeze. While mom worked inside doing the cut corn, we had a fish cooker with a huge pot of water boiling under the carport. Ears of corn were dumped into it and blanched, then taken inside to an ice water bath to cool. Each ear was then carefully rolled in tinfoil and frozen. In the middle of winter those ears were almost as good as the fresh ones of summer.

All that work was worth it for the excellent eating all year long.

When I bought my house in Pike County in 1981, I wanted a garden. I cut all the trees in the back yard, clearing about a quarter acre. After buying a tiller I got it ready and planted a smaller version of daddy’s big garden.

I’ll never forget him coming to visit and looking at it, and saying it looked like good dirt. It was, and I was encouraged when my efforts started producing small plants. But I had a problem. The whole area around me drains right through my back yard. Just as the plants started growing a heavy rain flooded it, drowning most of my garden.

I tried a smaller plot on the high side of the area the next year. It did not flood, but just as the butter peas started getting ready a dry spell killed the plants. My well did not produce enough water to keep them alive.

I now have a tiny 20 by 20 foot area where I plant peppers and tomatoes. I set up a pipe from my shower drain to a buried 40 gallon drum with a sump pump in it. Every time we shower the water is pumped to the small garden, keeping it well watered.

Fresh tomatoes are fantastic and I have them during the summer, but I still miss all the other good eating from a big garden.

Do You Remember Catching Your First Bass?

Last week I received a picture from a grandfather in Colorado of his 5 year old grandson and the first bass he caught. This picture was posted to my website and his comments “Remember when? Look at his smile.” got me to thinking about my first bass.

I really don’t remember the first fish I ever caught. I am sure it was with my mom or grandmother since most of my early fishing was with one of them. I would follow them to local ponds and fish with them all day. We would sometimes get rides from dad but if he could not drop us off, we would walk to nearby ponds. A mile or two walk was not too far to go fishing.

Both mom and grandmother had 5 gallon lard buckets they kept all their fishing tackle in. Hooks, sinkers, corks, an old pair of pliers, stringer, extra line, towel for wiping hands and anything else we might need was in there. Our cane poles were the only thing that did not fit, and these were carried over our shoulder or stuck out the back window of the car. The lard bucket was good for carrying tackle as well as a place to sit while fishing.

We kept everything we caught, no matter how small, since even the tiny bream would “make the grease smell.” Picking around bones was a normal problem while eating fish back then, we had no idea of filleting fish. And I can still taste the crispy tails of the fish fried to perfection. I miss that part of the catch while eating filleted fish.

One place we liked to fish was Usury’s Pond, a big watershed lake about 5 miles from the house. It had a concrete dam and fishing for catfish and bream was often good near it, but the place I liked best was the pool and creek below the dam. Where the water came over the top of the dam and fell to the creek bed it hollowed out a nice pool. And the creek draining from it was deep enough to hold catfish and bream.

I would often walk the creek dropping my bait into holes along the creek. My bait was a gob of red wigglers I dug behind our chicken houses and they were put on a #6 hook suspended about two inches below a split shot. A couple of feet up the line was a cork – a real cork, not a plastic or Styrofoam kind you see now.

One day I was below the dam, sitting on the sandbar and letting my worms drift with the current. Suddenly my cork popped under the water, much quicker than what I was used to seeing. When I raised the tip of my cane a fish went crazy, pulling, running and jumping. It was the first fish I had ever hooked that jumped, and I was hooked, too.

That little bass was probably no more than 10 inches long but it fought harder than anything else I had ever caught, except for some catfish. And it jumped, clearing the water in thrilling splashes. I loved that! I knew then I had to catch more bass.

Over the next few years I got my first spin cast reel, a Zebco 33, and learned to cast lures with it. Then “rubber worms” hit the market. Back then when they first came out you had two choices of colors. Creme worms came in either red or black and they were in plastic bags three to the pack. They were so stiff they kept the curve from the package even after being removed from it.

You could also buy pre-rigged plastic worms that had a two or three hook harness in it, with a spinner blade and some beads in the front. We cast them like a lure and worked them back with a steady action much like a lure. If they sunk to the bottom they would get hung up.

Eventually we learned to use a single hook and rig the worm with the hook buried in the worm. We used split shots in front of the worm for many years until bullet worm weights got popular. We even fished them with no weight, much like floating worms are fished today.

Back then when we felt a bite we let the bass run off with the worm, waiting for it to swallow the hook. I don’t know where we thought the bass had the worm, it had to be in its mouth since they don’t have any hands! Now we know to set the hook quickly before the bass spits the worm out. Back then we would let the bass run till it stopped, then set the hook.

Do you remember your first bass? Share that experience with your children this summer. Tell them about yours, and help them catch their first bass if they have not already done so.

Endless Summer of My Youth

Years ago when I was a teenager, the movie “Endless Summer” impressed me . It was about searching for the perfect surfing wave, following summer around the globe, visiting beaches everywhere. Growing up, my endless summers were quite different, and I would not swap memories of them for any beach full of perfect waves.

My endless summers started with the last day of school. I attended a small elementary school consisting of grades 1 – 8 and a total of about 215 students. We all knew each other and the last day of school was full of songs like “No more pencils, no more books, no more teachers with dirty looks.” I am surprised the teachers let us get away with it back then.

As we left school my mind was full of plans for camping, fishing , building tree houses, picking blackberries and plums and many other activities. It seemed we had endless days ahead to do all the things we wanted to do before school started again.

One of our first activities was a big camp out. We would gather camping equipment ranging from lawn chairs to mess kits with the same care British explorers planned trips to Africa. And we probably carried more stuff than they did! Fortunately, we usually did not go much over a couple of hundred yards from the house on these excursions, so return trips home for additional supplies were not bad.

We always had a great supper the first night of camping consisting of a full meal in a foil pouch. It had a big hamburger patty topped by sliced potatoes, carrots and onions and butter. This was placed on fire coals to slowly cook to that perfect state of burned black meat and still crunchy potatoes. Nothing ever tasted better!

If you have never slept on a lawn chair, you have missed one of the most miserable nights of your life. There is no way to get comfortable on one of those things. I have no idea why we kept trying. The ground, even when covered with rocks, was much more comfortable!

Our “pup” tents were so named because they were probably suitable for a few puppies, not kids. But we loved them, anyway. So what if they leaked, let bugs in, were hard to put up and take down and were heavy to tote. Maybe that is why we kept trying lawn chairs!

Picking blackberries was always anticipated with much more fun than the actual picking. We would watch the blackberry vines as they bloomed and the berries slowly started turning red. We knew exactly where the best vines grew, and loved dewberries because they were so much bigger and filled the containers faster.

Momma made a blackberry cobbler with the first picking of berries, and we ate as many as went into the container. One summer we got real industrious and decided to sell the berries we picked. Back then, 25 cents a quart was a good price and we sold several gallons that summer. I would not pick them for sale at 100 times that price now!

Fishing ranged from tying and fishing home-made “flies” in the local branch, catching small bream and other fish, to bicycle trips to local farm ponds. We did not have a boat back then but an old pair of tennis shoes and jeans allowed us to wade around the edge, casting for bass and bream. And wading kept us cool while in the water and on the ride home.

Another cooing activity was damming up the branch to make a swimming and fishing hole. We worked many hours filling croker sacks with sand and dragging cross ties to the dam site. Our dams often created a great pool of water that lasted until the next hard rain washed out the dam. If we had been made to work that hard around the house we would have been furious.

Summers end too quickly now. It seems school starts months sooner that it did back then, and I know it seems even worse to kids returning to classes. I hope everyone can enjoy the time left and make some memories for the future.

Bluebird Nests

I have two bluebird nests in my back yard, and two at the land I own. Bluebirds have been busy building nests in all four of them the past few weeks and I think the females will lay eggs soon. I have enjoyed watching the pairs of birds working back and forth constantly this spring.

It is amazing how bright blue the male bird is this time of year. It brightens up to attract a mate in early spring and will keep the deep blue color for a few weeks, gradually fading to a lighter color as the summer progresses.

I have also enjoyed watching the Canada geese on my two small ponds. I build nesting platforms from them, making a small raft for them to nest on. A female is hard on the nest, not leaving very much at all, on one of the ponds, a good sign she has started laying eggs. A pair on the other pond have not started laying eggs yet.

About a month ago nine geese moved onto the bigger pond. They would fight and honk at each other constantly, trying to establish dominance. Finally one pair ran the others off and claimed that pond as their own nesting site. One lone goose went to the upper pond and stayed there, and the other six left for parts unknown.

That single goose stayed around by itself for a few weeks and now it has gone. As soon as it left, a new pair moved in. I hope both pairs are able to raise some young this year.

Pay attention to the birds around you this spring. They are entertaining as well as educational.

Renew Your Fishing License

For years, Georgia fishing and hunting licenses expired on April 1 each year. Now, they expire on the day you bought them a year later if you buy an annual license. That confuses many folks and they forget to check and renew them on time, risking a fine.

April Fools Day always reminds me to check my license since I had to buy one by then for many years. I did this year, it expires in 2216. I got my lifetime Senior License a few years ago but forget that and check anyway. I just wish I could be fishing 197 years from now when it expires, and I would have to renew it.

I never minded paying for hunting and fishing licenses. The fees are used to improve those activities in a variety of ways, from hiring new game wardens to funding hatcheries that produce all our hybrids and most of our trout.

My only worry about the fees is that they will not be used as intended. As I understand the process, the license fees go into the general fund and then legislators have to approve it being spent at intended. It would be too easy for them to spend that money in other ways.

I would not be happy if they voted to use the money for something like highway improvement. Not only would that be double taxation, hunters and fishermen already pay the gas tax for that, it would go against the way the money was intended to be spent.

I feel the same way about outdoor recreation that has nothing to do with hunting and fishing. Funding a nature trail on public land is nice, but do not use money hunters and fishermen paid to improve their sports. Use money from a fee or pass for using the area if not hunting or fishing.

Hunters and fishermen fund our sports nationally, too. The Dingle-Johnson Act places a ten percent excise tax on all fishing equipment. You pay it when you buy hooks or reels, or anything else related. Hunters pay the Pitman-Robinson excise tax for the same reason.

Funds are collected by the federal government and most of it is sent back to the states as block grants. The amount each state gets is based on a formula that includes number of hunting and fishing licenses issued by that state. It also requires that the receiving state spend all their state hunting and fishing license fees on those activities.

States are required to spend this money on hunting and fishing, but all outdoorsmen benefit. Most state hunting areas are open to bird watchers, hikers and others that do not hunt but get to enjoy lands hunters and fishermen purchased and conserved.

Check you fishing and hunting license!

Why Do You Camp?

I have always loved camping. From “camping out” in lawn chairs and sleeping bags in our back yard a few feet from the house to trips to Clarks Hill with the family setting up a big Army Surplus tent, I enjoyed my time outside.

When I started bass fishing, I camped in tents at lakes the night before a tournament. Then I bought a cargo van in 1977 and fixed it up with a bed and used it. Two more vans took me to the lake many times, each one converted a little better for my needs, until last March.

My old back finally convinced me I wanted to be able to stand up to get dressed, so I got a slide in pickup camper. It takes a little more work loading and setting up at the lake, but it is a lot more comfortable once that is done.

Last weekend I camped in it at Lakepoint
State Park on Lake Eufaula for five nights for the Potato Creek Bassmasters tournament there. When making reservations, I went to their web page to make sure there was no tornado damage. It hit the airport about five miles from the campground, destroying hangers and planes, but did not damage the park.

Modern “campers” amaze me. On the website comments about the campground proved people do not want to camp to enjoy the outdoors. I am not sure why they even go. They could stay home and do the same thing they do in the campground.

The oddest comment was about alligators. There are big signs in the campground warning “Alligators Present, Swim at Own Risk” and there are usually several in the water late in the afternoon.

One person complained in their comment that there were alligators at the campground but the park ranger did nothing about them. I’m not sure what they were supposed to do, the lake is full of them and they are wild animals, moving wherever they want in their natural environment.

Another person complained there were puddles in the campground after it rained. Duh. I guess those folks wanted a nice huge paved area like a Walmart parking lot, sloped so the water runs to drains. Get rid of all the trees and dirt so nothing natural, like a puddle, is possible.

Over the weekend the sites filled, many with families with children. I think this past week was spring break there. All the kids brought their toys, riding scooters, playing basketball and having faces buried in electronic gadgets. The same thing the probably do at home.

One of the first things many of the folks did was put out their TV satellite antennae and set up their big screen Tv. If you are going to sit inside and watch TV, why pay for a campsite? I like being away from TV and all the other day to day distractions at home. It is nice to hear no news for several days for me.

At their age I would have been fishing every minute I could. That is one thing I loved about camping at the lake, all that water so close by and I just knew it was full of fish.

I still love camping, sitting by the picnic table first thing in the morning drinking coffee, then going fishing. After coming in, grilling and sitting outside is a big part of it, enjoying the peace and quiet of the great outdoors. But sometimes that is destroyed by all the noise of camper air conditioners, TVs blaring, and other non-natural sounds.

Stormy Weather

Thank goodness the guessed at stormy weather did not appear while we fished at Sinclair last Sunday. Just the thought of being on the lake in a lightning storm and memories of past experiences made me shiver. But I didn’t have to hide from them.

Two of my worst experiences were back in the 1970s. One June, Bobby Jean Pierce and I went to Bartletts Ferry several days before a tournament to practice. We camped at a marina near the dam but wanted to explore up the Chattahoochee River

Back then, the river channel was not marked, and dangerous big mud flats were unknown to most fishermen. We spent some time working our way up the river, learning how to run it. And we caught fish. They were unpressured since few bass fishermen went up there.

One muggy, cloudy afternoon we were fishing near the mouth of a small creek. It was very hot and still. Suddenly, without warning, lightning cracked nearby. We thought about running the 20 minutes back to camp, but we were afraid to try it in the wind and pouring rain that immediately started.

We eased into the creek that was about five feet deep and 30 feet wide and had overhanging trees. We thought the lightning would surely hit the trees, not us, back in there. I sat up front running the trolling motor, keeping the boat in one place since the wind tried to push us out of the creek.

After a half hour I noticed the boat was not moving. When I looked down, there was several inches of water in the bottom of the boat. The rain had filled it up so much the weight had pushed the big motor into the bottom, anchoring us.

Finally, about an hour later, the storm moved off.
We managed to pump the water out, crank up and get back to camp just before dark. That was a miserable 90 minutes, sitting in the boat hunched over and jumping every time the lighting cracked around us.

The second time I was at Jackson on an August Friday afternoon, getting ready for a tournament the next night. It was just me and my dog Merlin this time. After putting in at Kerseys in the middle of the afternoon, I had found some fish biting on a point up Tussahaw Creek, but I wanted more than one place to fish.

About an hour before dark I ran to the dam to fish a point right beside it. The afternoon had been hot and muggy with thick clouds, but no rain fell. I guess those conditions should have warned me.

A little before dark wind started howling over the dam and rain started coming down in the proverbial sheets, blowing over the dam like a waterfall in reverse. Within seconds lightning started. There was no flash then a pause before the thunder. There would be a flash – crack – boom all together, indicating the lighting was on top of me.

Back then there was no buoy line at the dam, so I eased the boat right against the concrete. It rose 20 feet over me and I thought the metal railing and walkway on top of the dam would protect me like a lightning rod.

I put the front of the boat on the rocks and got down in the driver’s seat, wanting to be as low as possible. Merlin had the same idea. She huddled under the console at my feet. I wanted to join her!

We sat like that over an hour, twitching every time the lightning popped. Finally, about an hour after dark, the storm moved off and we went back to the ramp and headed home. Another miserable night!

Sad News in the Fishing World

from Lowrance

Darrell J. Lowrance: 1938 – 2019

We are deeply saddened to share news of the passing of Darrell J. Lowrance, founder of the Lowrance brand.

Darrell served as President and CEO of Lowrance Electronics from 1964 to 2006, and was responsible for many breakthroughs in the industry.

In addition to inventing the first recreational sonar product for anglers, the Fish-Lo-K-Tor — known fondly as the “Little Green Box”, he led the development of the first graph recorder, the first integrated sonar/GPS unit, and many others. These innovations form the foundation of today’s Lowrance products and vision.

The first commercial depthfinder from Lowrance

As a leader in the fishing and marine community, Darrell was a member of the Board of Directors for AFTMA (American Fishing Tackle Manufacturers Association – later to become the American Sport fishing Association) from 1978-1986, and again in 1988. He was inducted into the Bass Fishing Hall of Fame in 2013.

“With his passing, the world has lost a great man and a true visionary,” said Leif Ottosson, Navico CEO. “Darrell’s passion for fishing, design, and his dedication to driving the marine electronics industry forward led to innovative ideas and products that have shaped the fishing experiences for millions of anglers globally during the past 60 years.”

In memory of Darrell’s work, many of the competitors at the Knoxville Bassmaster Classic last weekend wore commemorative blue ribbons during Sunday’s final weigh-in.

We mourn this loss and we offer our sincere condolences to Darrell’s wife, Kathleen, and to his family.

Team Lowrance

Bald Eagles

When you see a bald eagle soaring overhead, floating on the air like it is weightless, you can see why it is a symbol of our nation. The bald eagle is an impressive bird, looking strong and in charge of everything in its world. The dark brown body and stark white head contrast vividly against the sky that holds it.

I will never forget the first time I saw a bald eagle. I was fishing at Lake Oconee and followed it for about 15 minutes as it soared over Double Branches. Several other boats stopped and also idled along, watching it as it hunted for fish in the lake.

While I was growing up there were no bald eagles in the east Georgia area around McDuffie County. I spotted a few like the one at Oconee while fishing area lakes in the late 1980s and they have gotten more numerous since then.

During the 1970s there were no active bald eagle nests in Georgia, according to the Georgia Department of Natural Resources. They have made a gradual comeback since 1979 when the DNR started “hacking” or releasing young captive birds on the coastal islands of Georgia. They have spread to the extent that last year nests were found in 35 different counties in the state.

During the 2003/04 nesting season the DNR found a total of 84 occupied eagle territories across Georgia and there were 67 successful nests in them. Those nests produced a total of 104 young eagles. That is an increase of 4 successful nests and 7 more young eagles than the year before.

Bald eagles are some of our biggest birds, reaching a huge size. They can be 40 inches tall and have a wingspread of 7.5 feet. They probably mate for life and produce only one or two young each year.

Eagle nests are amazing. They are usually built in tall dead trees on or near the water and eagles will use them year after year. Some eagle nests are huge, getting up to 5 feet wide, 12 feet tall and weigh up to 1000 pounds. They are made out of sticks and really stand out in a tree out on the lake.

Although eagles will eat waterfowl and carrion, their main food is fish they catch out of lakes, rivers and the ocean. It is amazing to watch one soar high about the water and suddenly swoop down with talons outstretched, plucking a fish out of the surface of the water. It is surprising how big a fish the eagle can grab and fly away with, heading to a perch to eat it at its leisure.

The most eagles I have ever seen at one time as on a trip to Pamlico Sound on the coast of North Carolina. We went into a big swampy area off a river and there were a lot of dead trees standing in it. Almost every tree had a eagle nest in it. There were probably 20 nests with pairs of eagles flying around, catching fish and taking them to their young.

Ospreys are often mistaken for eagles. They live in the same areas, build similar nests and fish for food. Ospreys are smaller than eagles and are lighter in color. They breasts are speckle white and brown, unlike the dark brown breast of eagles. They are more common that eagles and you are more likely to see them on area lakes. If you are looking at a big bird from below it, and it has a light colored breast, it is an osprey, not an eagle.

Eagles face a new threat. Last year several dead eagles were found around Clark’s Hill lake and it was determined they died from Avian Vacuolar Myelinopathy(AVM), a disease that attacks the nervous system of eagles and coots. Coots that are infected are sometimes eaten by eagles and they seem to get the disease from them. Not much is known about AVM and there is nothing that can be done about it at this time.

Eagles were sacred birds to Native Americans and there are a lot of myths and tall tales about eagles from our history. I hope their populations continue to grow and everyone has a chance to stand in awe as a bald eagle soars by.

Sitting On A Deer Stand Remembering

Sitting on a deer stand on Thanksgiving Day is always bittersweet for me. I enjoy all the usual things, watching squirrels and birds, checking out the trees as leaves fall, contemplating life and the anticipation of seeing a deer. If I happen to kill one for the freezer it is like the cherry on top of an ice cream Sunday. The whole thing is good without the cherry, but the cherry definitely adds something.

The bittersweet part is thinking about past Thanksgivings. As far back as I can remember Thanksgiving involved hunting. First with my daddy, following our dogs looking for quail. Later, after daddy got rid of our dogs and stopped hunting quail, one of my friends, A.T., and I would follow his pack of beagles looking for rabbits.

If I could not quail or rabbit hunt, I would take my Remington semiautomatic .22 rifle and wander the woods looking for tree rats. There were no deer to hunt back then.

After college I started teaching school and the four-day holiday meant fishing trips to Clarks Hill. I would fish in the morning then go into town to have a family dinner. Those fishing trips are great memories, too.

Those days are gone. I know I will never be able to hunt with my dad again, and days of looking for rabbits and squirrels are over. Also gone are the huge Thanksgiving meals with my extended family. Mama had five brothers and four of them and their families lived near us. Daddy had five sisters and two brothers and some of them lived close.

Thanksgiving always meant big family gatherings. I was too young to realize the importance of family, and I was always in a hurry to get the meals over, so we could go hunting or I could head back to the lake. I wish I could go back and just sit and talk with family long gone.

I still get to enjoy thanksgiving dinner with my wife, mother in law and brother in law and his wife. That is great, but it too reminds me of all the family I have lost over the years. Life goes on and we adapt to changes.

If you have family, enjoy every minute you have with them at gatherings, not just at holidays but at all times. But do work in a hunting or fishing trip to make those memories, too.