Post by Bubba on Jul 3, 2015 14:44:55 GMT -5
Sitting on the bench seat of a small wooden Pirogue boat, Bubba Reece contemplates life and the flow of things past and to come. Shirtless with his trademark camo cutoff shorts and black combat boots he quickly and expertly baits a hook with a nightcrawler and swings the line over the side grabbing up the cane pole as he does. Looking around him he sighs feeling content to just be in this moment, slowly his eyes drift shut as he takes in the sounds and smells surrounding him. The soft distant buzz of cicada off on the shore and the distinct chirp of the Bob White. This last putting a smile on his face as he remembers tricking many a newcomer to his humble estate. Every time the bird would chirp Bubba would call out “Here Bob We’re over here!” Claiming to the unfortunate soul that his directionally challenged friend liked to whistle his location. He had so much fun traipsing about the woods for hours “looking” for his lost friend Bob White...of course his unwitting dupe never appreciated it much but oh well that is southern humor for ya! Suddenly a sharp tug on his cane pole brings Bubba out of his reverie, eyes popping open he watches the tip of the bamboo pole in his hands as the tip bounces once again he waits learning patience from his papaw and his father. After several minutes of stillness his pole begins to dance in his hand, giving a sharp tug straight up he stands gingerly in the small boat. Just that slight motion making the pirogue rock alarmingly.
“Here we go baby! By the way this pole is bending it might be a good one!”
Bubba’s now familiar southern drawl adding a sense that this could only happen in the Deep South! Line drawn tight and pole bent at a sharp curve Bubba struggles to land whatever is on the other end of the line, slowly he begins to pull the underwater dweller to the surface made all the more difficult with no modern rod and reel setup just a line in the water tied to a bamboo pole one step above hand line fishing. As the creatures head nears the surface Bubba gets a quick look at his adversary. Long snout like mouth, needle sharp teeth, broad head and bright silver scales…
”Yep alligator gar! And judging by the width of his head it’s a BIG one! Gotta be careful with this one…Gars this size can flip a small pirogue like mine. Luckily the pond here isn’t too big.”
Stealing a glance at the shore Bubba notes trees running right up to the water’s edge of this “Small” pond more than 100 meters away from where he now fights a denizen of the deep. Then his eyes light on the small makeshift dock he and his family built many years ago, this…this will be his refuge if his boat gets knocked over. As the gar’s head breaks the surface of the churning bubbling water it spins violently and dives back down pulling the tip of Bubba’s pole 6 inches into the water before he can right himself and regain some control. Just when Bubba feels he has control his dinner proves him wrong, slowly the fish begins to circle the boat spinning Bubba and the precarious pirogue in ever accelerating circles.
”This must be what it feels like to be in a tornado! Heheheee!!! Yeah buddy wear yourself out! You ain’t got nowhere to go but up in this boat! Ya know what fish…this is exactly what I’m gonna do at Trauma! I’m gonna wait, I’m gonna be patient just like my Papaw and my daddy taught me, and then when my opponents have relaxed and begun to think that they have an easy meal I’ll come up swingin and battle and beat them down and wear them out Just like I’m doing to you!! WHOA!!!
With his last comment the muscular fish on the other end of the line makes a sudden dive to the bottom nearly pulling Bubba into the water with it. Righting himself and almost over reacting sends the boat rocking violently sloshing water over the side threatening to sink it where it floats. Giving a calculated tug on the pole Bubba begins to haul the gar fish back to the surface. Sweat beginning to trickle down his brow Bubba swipes at it with his shoulder effectively smearing sweat on both his shoulder and his face…
”Well that was pointless…look here fish I’m gonna let ya go anyways….your too big for this boat and my grandmamma wanted Bream not gar for supper! I just need you to slow up a bit and slide up here by the boat all nice like that’s all!”
Shaking his head and laughing Bubba renews his battle with the fish eventually tiring it out and removing the hook with a pair of pliers sitting on the bottom of the boat. As a last insult the gar fish flicks it tail as it slips back to the depths of the pond splashing Bubba with cool pond water soaking his head and torso. Heaving a great sigh he wipes water from his eyes and feeling suddenly refreshed he takes up a longer bamboo pole and begins easily guiding his boat over to a fallen tree that has been resting in the water for generations its two main branches cutting a “V” shape in the water. After tying the boat off to the snag Bubba quickly baits his hook again and after positioning the boat to sit between the two large branches he drops his baited hook into the middle, its two large branches forming a coral to trap any fish in.
”Now we’re talkin! Hey this sort of looks like a wrestling ring!”
Before he can finish his thought his pole begins to dance again, this time it’s different, softer than before. Where there was a sharp tug to the line this time there is only small quick jerks letting our fishy wrestler know he has indeed found the Bream his grandmamma is looking for! Again patiently Bubba waits for his time to strike, and strike he does with an expert snap to his pole he quickly lifts a large oval shaped fish from the water, its dark colored, banded body wriggling on the hook. A blaze of orange on its throat and the unmistakable blue on its gill plates positively identify it as a Bream or more commonly called in the North and elsewhere a Bluegill.
”There you are you beauty you! Let’s get you off the hook and in the bottom of the boat…there ya go. Now let’s get a couple dozen more of your relatives shall we? They ain’t got nowhere to go, just like some wrestlers I know back at PCW come Trauma! I’m gonna serve them up just like I’m gonna serve you up fishy…worked over and cooked to perfection! Tornado or no tornado Frank and Me are gonna lay waste like a tornado! The nobodies are a comin and hell is comin with us.”
Fishing the lazy afternoon away Bubba indeed fishes another two dozen Bream out of his fishing hole, some a couple pounds, others only a few ounces but still they came in and do not leave the boat again. Not surprisingly Bubba finds a couple black bass in the bottom of his boat at the end of the day as well. With a smile on his face Bubba takes up his long bamboo pole and begins guiding his pirogue back to the dock where he and his family created more memories than functioning portage. After tying off the boat he slips his catch into a burlap sack and carries them to a small table set up with a manual water pump fed by a spring hidden deep underground. Pulling out a filleting knife Bubba dumps the bag on the table and three strong pulls from the water pump later begins cleaning his catch, preparing them for the feast to come. Slowly from behind him a hulking figure steps forward, Frank Merritt dressed in his baggy jeans and Hawaiian shirt seeming only slightly out of place. A clear glass jar half full of a clear liquid rests in his anvil sized hands. Looking back at his approaching friend a wicked smile creeps across Bubba’s face.
”I see you’ve been up to the house already, been here long?”
Taking swig from the glass Frank sucks in air through pursed lips giving his voice a timbre of crushed gravel.
”Nah not long…Long enough for your grandmamma to scold me for not eating enough and pour me a drink. Your grandmamma makes some mean shine!”
”OH grandmamma shared her shine with ya? You lucky bastard! She don’t share that stuff with nobody! Its good ain’t it? I stole some when I was a kid once…she liked to cane my backside till there weren’t nothing left!”
Laughing at his own misfortune Bubba and Frank take turns talking about their past adventures as Bubba finishes preparing this fish. As they enter the run down blue house with the catch of the day they are pleasantly assaulted by the smells of down home cooking, fresh Polk salad and wilted lettuce sit on the dining room table The aroma of scrambled eggs, Polk plant and bacon grease hang thick in the air. Suddenly a slight elderly woman bursts through a doorway a spatula in one hand and a mixing bowl in the other. Her light floral patterned dress liberally dusted with flour and…spices she scurries barefoot across the room to snatch the fish out of Bubba’s hand, her shrill southern accent a mirror of Bubba’s deep drawl.
”There you are! I’ve been waitin all afternoon for these Bream now give em here!”
Ducking his head to hide his smile Bubba lets go of the bag of fish as his grandmamma grabs them, taking a step back he looks up and smiles even bigger at Frank as they watch grandmamma fly back into the kitchen. Tilting his head in her direction Bubba and Frank enter the kitchen to the sound of several women bustling about the process of making a true southern delicacy. Clearing his throat Bubba gets the attention of every woman in the room except the one he was intending to, trying again with a louder clearing of his throat the women all look around confused at their odd acting cousin…brother…uncle…what have you. All of course except for grandmamma.
”Ya know grandmamma that fishin and preparing those fish…that was thirsty work…a man could die of the thirst I’m holdin onto right now…”
His last comment garners a snicker from the assemblage including his tag partner. Stopping her mixing Bubba’s grandmamma turns and locks a cold stare onto Bubba piercing his heart and turning his blood to ice water.
”I know what your fishin for now young man, and I suppose you done good with what ya brought me. You can get a glass of my shine, but only one! And bring me one while you’re at it too! Oh and Frank too he needs a refill!”
Hearing his name called Frank smiles and nods to grandmamma as he passes his now empty glass to Bubba. Disappearing into the basement Bubba calls up.
”Hey Frank is your lady friend gonna join us?”
”Nah…she isn’t into rustic living like we are.”
”Well fine that leaves more for us then…Ya know Frank I have a sister that lives not far from here, you want a real southern belle she’s your gal!
Smiling seeming unfazed by the offer Frank takes the glass offered to him by Bubba as he returns from below quickly bringing it to his lips tipping it back.
”Now grandmamma I really don’t think Frank wants to go courtin crazy great aunt Cora…”
”She ain’t crazy! She just outlived six husbands that’s all…”
”Yep and each and every one of them ended abruptly and mysteriously…No I like my tag partner just the way he is thank you.”
Clinking their glasses together in a toast Frank and Bubba each take long pulls from their glasses both men sucking in air afterwards, tilting his head in the direction of the living room Bubba and Frank exit the kitchen and begin strategizing for their upcoming tornado tag match. The sounds of frying fish and other delicious sounds and smells fill the evening only adding to the anticipation of an incredible meal to come.
“Here we go baby! By the way this pole is bending it might be a good one!”
Bubba’s now familiar southern drawl adding a sense that this could only happen in the Deep South! Line drawn tight and pole bent at a sharp curve Bubba struggles to land whatever is on the other end of the line, slowly he begins to pull the underwater dweller to the surface made all the more difficult with no modern rod and reel setup just a line in the water tied to a bamboo pole one step above hand line fishing. As the creatures head nears the surface Bubba gets a quick look at his adversary. Long snout like mouth, needle sharp teeth, broad head and bright silver scales…
”Yep alligator gar! And judging by the width of his head it’s a BIG one! Gotta be careful with this one…Gars this size can flip a small pirogue like mine. Luckily the pond here isn’t too big.”
Stealing a glance at the shore Bubba notes trees running right up to the water’s edge of this “Small” pond more than 100 meters away from where he now fights a denizen of the deep. Then his eyes light on the small makeshift dock he and his family built many years ago, this…this will be his refuge if his boat gets knocked over. As the gar’s head breaks the surface of the churning bubbling water it spins violently and dives back down pulling the tip of Bubba’s pole 6 inches into the water before he can right himself and regain some control. Just when Bubba feels he has control his dinner proves him wrong, slowly the fish begins to circle the boat spinning Bubba and the precarious pirogue in ever accelerating circles.
”This must be what it feels like to be in a tornado! Heheheee!!! Yeah buddy wear yourself out! You ain’t got nowhere to go but up in this boat! Ya know what fish…this is exactly what I’m gonna do at Trauma! I’m gonna wait, I’m gonna be patient just like my Papaw and my daddy taught me, and then when my opponents have relaxed and begun to think that they have an easy meal I’ll come up swingin and battle and beat them down and wear them out Just like I’m doing to you!! WHOA!!!
With his last comment the muscular fish on the other end of the line makes a sudden dive to the bottom nearly pulling Bubba into the water with it. Righting himself and almost over reacting sends the boat rocking violently sloshing water over the side threatening to sink it where it floats. Giving a calculated tug on the pole Bubba begins to haul the gar fish back to the surface. Sweat beginning to trickle down his brow Bubba swipes at it with his shoulder effectively smearing sweat on both his shoulder and his face…
”Well that was pointless…look here fish I’m gonna let ya go anyways….your too big for this boat and my grandmamma wanted Bream not gar for supper! I just need you to slow up a bit and slide up here by the boat all nice like that’s all!”
Shaking his head and laughing Bubba renews his battle with the fish eventually tiring it out and removing the hook with a pair of pliers sitting on the bottom of the boat. As a last insult the gar fish flicks it tail as it slips back to the depths of the pond splashing Bubba with cool pond water soaking his head and torso. Heaving a great sigh he wipes water from his eyes and feeling suddenly refreshed he takes up a longer bamboo pole and begins easily guiding his boat over to a fallen tree that has been resting in the water for generations its two main branches cutting a “V” shape in the water. After tying the boat off to the snag Bubba quickly baits his hook again and after positioning the boat to sit between the two large branches he drops his baited hook into the middle, its two large branches forming a coral to trap any fish in.
”Now we’re talkin! Hey this sort of looks like a wrestling ring!”
Before he can finish his thought his pole begins to dance again, this time it’s different, softer than before. Where there was a sharp tug to the line this time there is only small quick jerks letting our fishy wrestler know he has indeed found the Bream his grandmamma is looking for! Again patiently Bubba waits for his time to strike, and strike he does with an expert snap to his pole he quickly lifts a large oval shaped fish from the water, its dark colored, banded body wriggling on the hook. A blaze of orange on its throat and the unmistakable blue on its gill plates positively identify it as a Bream or more commonly called in the North and elsewhere a Bluegill.
”There you are you beauty you! Let’s get you off the hook and in the bottom of the boat…there ya go. Now let’s get a couple dozen more of your relatives shall we? They ain’t got nowhere to go, just like some wrestlers I know back at PCW come Trauma! I’m gonna serve them up just like I’m gonna serve you up fishy…worked over and cooked to perfection! Tornado or no tornado Frank and Me are gonna lay waste like a tornado! The nobodies are a comin and hell is comin with us.”
Fishing the lazy afternoon away Bubba indeed fishes another two dozen Bream out of his fishing hole, some a couple pounds, others only a few ounces but still they came in and do not leave the boat again. Not surprisingly Bubba finds a couple black bass in the bottom of his boat at the end of the day as well. With a smile on his face Bubba takes up his long bamboo pole and begins guiding his pirogue back to the dock where he and his family created more memories than functioning portage. After tying off the boat he slips his catch into a burlap sack and carries them to a small table set up with a manual water pump fed by a spring hidden deep underground. Pulling out a filleting knife Bubba dumps the bag on the table and three strong pulls from the water pump later begins cleaning his catch, preparing them for the feast to come. Slowly from behind him a hulking figure steps forward, Frank Merritt dressed in his baggy jeans and Hawaiian shirt seeming only slightly out of place. A clear glass jar half full of a clear liquid rests in his anvil sized hands. Looking back at his approaching friend a wicked smile creeps across Bubba’s face.
”I see you’ve been up to the house already, been here long?”
Taking swig from the glass Frank sucks in air through pursed lips giving his voice a timbre of crushed gravel.
”Nah not long…Long enough for your grandmamma to scold me for not eating enough and pour me a drink. Your grandmamma makes some mean shine!”
”OH grandmamma shared her shine with ya? You lucky bastard! She don’t share that stuff with nobody! Its good ain’t it? I stole some when I was a kid once…she liked to cane my backside till there weren’t nothing left!”
Laughing at his own misfortune Bubba and Frank take turns talking about their past adventures as Bubba finishes preparing this fish. As they enter the run down blue house with the catch of the day they are pleasantly assaulted by the smells of down home cooking, fresh Polk salad and wilted lettuce sit on the dining room table The aroma of scrambled eggs, Polk plant and bacon grease hang thick in the air. Suddenly a slight elderly woman bursts through a doorway a spatula in one hand and a mixing bowl in the other. Her light floral patterned dress liberally dusted with flour and…spices she scurries barefoot across the room to snatch the fish out of Bubba’s hand, her shrill southern accent a mirror of Bubba’s deep drawl.
”There you are! I’ve been waitin all afternoon for these Bream now give em here!”
Ducking his head to hide his smile Bubba lets go of the bag of fish as his grandmamma grabs them, taking a step back he looks up and smiles even bigger at Frank as they watch grandmamma fly back into the kitchen. Tilting his head in her direction Bubba and Frank enter the kitchen to the sound of several women bustling about the process of making a true southern delicacy. Clearing his throat Bubba gets the attention of every woman in the room except the one he was intending to, trying again with a louder clearing of his throat the women all look around confused at their odd acting cousin…brother…uncle…what have you. All of course except for grandmamma.
”Ya know grandmamma that fishin and preparing those fish…that was thirsty work…a man could die of the thirst I’m holdin onto right now…”
His last comment garners a snicker from the assemblage including his tag partner. Stopping her mixing Bubba’s grandmamma turns and locks a cold stare onto Bubba piercing his heart and turning his blood to ice water.
”I know what your fishin for now young man, and I suppose you done good with what ya brought me. You can get a glass of my shine, but only one! And bring me one while you’re at it too! Oh and Frank too he needs a refill!”
Hearing his name called Frank smiles and nods to grandmamma as he passes his now empty glass to Bubba. Disappearing into the basement Bubba calls up.
”Hey Frank is your lady friend gonna join us?”
”Nah…she isn’t into rustic living like we are.”
”Well fine that leaves more for us then…Ya know Frank I have a sister that lives not far from here, you want a real southern belle she’s your gal!
Smiling seeming unfazed by the offer Frank takes the glass offered to him by Bubba as he returns from below quickly bringing it to his lips tipping it back.
”Now grandmamma I really don’t think Frank wants to go courtin crazy great aunt Cora…”
”She ain’t crazy! She just outlived six husbands that’s all…”
”Yep and each and every one of them ended abruptly and mysteriously…No I like my tag partner just the way he is thank you.”
Clinking their glasses together in a toast Frank and Bubba each take long pulls from their glasses both men sucking in air afterwards, tilting his head in the direction of the living room Bubba and Frank exit the kitchen and begin strategizing for their upcoming tornado tag match. The sounds of frying fish and other delicious sounds and smells fill the evening only adding to the anticipation of an incredible meal to come.
