The Adventures of Jack and Billy Joe (5 page)

“I won’t be but he did promise,” Jack reminded him.

“Okay, let’s call him,” his father said as he walked to the phone in the living room.

He picked up the phone and waited for the operator to come on the line.

“Operator,” a soft female voice said.

“Long Distance, please,” he said.

“Long Distance—how can I help you?” another soft female voice asked.

“Meridian, please. I want Poplar Springs 5-3369.”

“One moment, please.” There was a click, a hum and a pop and a ring.

“Hello,” Red said.

“Red—Jess. You doin’ okay?”

“Well, Bert still won’t let me far off the leash but other than that, I’m good. What’s up, Jess?”

“Do you remember when you were down here you told Jack and his friend Billy Joe that if they would dig a keg of worms, you would come take them fishing?”

“Uh, yeah,” Red said tentatively.

“They have a keg of worms out under the back steps and they asked me to call you.”

“How in the world did they do that so soon?” Red wondered.

“They dug up all their old worm diggin’ places and scouted a lot of new territory. They’ve been at it every day. Millie has been kept busy washing the black dirt out of Jack’s pants and shirts.”

Both men laughed.

“I said I’d do it so I will,” Red said. “My last customer next Friday is in Heidelberg. If it’s all right with you, Bert and I will just drive on down to your house that evening. The boys and I can be on the lake early Saturday morning. I’ll bring my little five horsepower motor and we can rent a boat at the lake.”

“Thanks, Red. The boys will appreciate it. We’ll see you Friday evening then.”

“Okay, Jess. Good talkin’ to you,” Red said before they both hung up.

Jess grinned, thinking to himself, “Ole Red got caught in his own big talk.”

He related to Jack what was said and Jack, of course, wanted to call Billy Joe to tell him.

On the phone, Jack related the entire story to Billy Joe in machine-gun fashion, hardly taking a breath until it was all out and said.

“We gotta get our tackle boxes straightened out and cleaned up,” Billy Joe said. “Also, our rods and reels are not the best for real shellcracker fishin’. We need some cane poles.”

“Where we gonna get cane poles?” Jack asked. “Them things cost about a dollar apiece.”

“I’ll buy you some poles,” Jack’s father said on overhearing his dilemma.

“You hear that?” Jack said into the phone. “My daddy’s gonna buy us some poles.”

The next morning, Billy Joe was at Jack’s house before Jack and his family had finished eating breakfast. Jack’s mother made Jack stay at the table until he had finished all his oatmeal, bacon and toast. She offered Billy Joe breakfast but he declined, saying he had already eaten. He did, however, accept a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice.

“Let’s get this fishing pole thing over with,” Jack’s dad said. “You boys hop in the pickup. I saw some good cane poles down at the hardware store yesterday. They just came in and were selling for seventy-five cents each. Now, I want you to get one for each of you, one for Red and one extra one in case one breaks. That way, when this fishing trip is over, you will each have two good poles. While we’re at the hardware store, I want you to buy four of those already made-up rigs with fishin’ line, hook, lead weight and bobber. You boys can rig up the poles and have them ready to go before Red gets here.”

The boys looked at each other and grinned from ear to ear. This was perfect. How could anything go wrong?

For the remainder of the week, the boys stayed busy.

They attached the made-up fishing lines to the new poles, tying them first about midway of each pole and then tying the line again at the tip of the pole. That way, if a big fish should break the pole tip, they would not lose the hook, bobber and line because it would still be tied in the center of the pole.

After the line was tied to the pole, they wound the remainder of the line on the red wooden ladderlike frame that the made-up line had been on when they bought it. That they secured to the tip of the pole with a rubber band.

“We better do something about these worms,” Billy Joe pointed out. “We can’t keep tripping over each other to get worms out of the keg when we are in the boat.”

“We can get three cans out of the trash barrel,” Jack said.

“Nah, them things are too little and they have sharp edges on ’em,” Billy Joe observed. “Let’s go to the school kitchen and get them to save us three syrup buckets. They empty several of those every day. Syrup buckets have smooth edges and a bail to carry them by. We can punch holes in the top for air and leave the top on when we are just carrying it, not fishing.”

“Why would the school empty so many syrup buckets?” Jack wondered.

“I don’t know for sure,” Billy Joe said, “but I guess college students eat a lot of syrup.”

They took out every piece in their tackle boxes and made sure they were clean and in good working order. They also cleaned up their rods and reels in case they decided to try for some largemouth bass. To that end, Jack went to Branch Creek and dip-netted as many crawdads as he could for bass bait.

It was determined that it would be more convenient for Billy Joe to spend the night with Jack so they could load the car and leave before daylight Saturday morning.

All day Friday, the sky was overcast as if it were going to rain at any minute, but it never did. Hopefully, the clouds would be gone by Saturday morning. They weren’t. Rain seemed to still be a likely prospect when they loaded Red’s car at five AM.

“You still sure you wanna do this, boys?” Red asked with a smile.

“Yes, sir,” they answered together.

“Okay, let’s do it then,” he said. “We’ll probably have fisherman’s luck anyway. I’ll tell you what that is when we are out of earshot of the women.”

“We know what it is, sir,” Jack assured him. “It’s ‘an empty gut and a wet butt.’”

“You do know,” he said and roared with laughter. “Anybody who is old enough to know that and goes fishing with me calls me Red—okay?”

“Okay, Red,” Billy Joe said with a grin.

“Yes, sir,” Jack said, not quite able to call him Red yet.

At the concession stand at the lake, Red rented a boat. Always the salesman, he bought a cup of coffee and chatted with the men standing there. The boys had a chocolate milk and impatiently waited.

Finally, Red and the concessionaire walked down to the dock for Red to pick out the boat he wanted. The boys started to unload the gear onto the dock.

Having selected a boat and made sure it had a good anchor and anchor rope and paddles, Red opened his car trunk and took out the outboard motor, closed the trunk and lugged the motor to the boat.

Jack and Billy Joe loaded all the other gear. They had to carry the worm keg together. It was heavy with worms and rich soil. They both hoped that they could lighten it a lot by using the worms before the day was over.

Red finished attaching the motor to the back of the boat, placing the gas can at his feet and hooking up the gas line to the motor. He also made sure the safety chain from the motor was hooked into the metal “eye” of the boat.

“Everybody ready?” Red asked.

“Yes, sir,” they both answered.

Red pulled the motor’s start rope and it started on the first try. He shifted into reverse, turned the handle a little to give it more gas and smoothly backed out of the parking place. Cutting back on the gas, the engine slowed so he could shift into forward drive. He again gave the little engine more gas and they headed out into the lake.

“There should be more light by now but I guess this overcast sky will keep it dark a little longer. I hope it doesn’t start rainin’,” Red said.

As if in defiance of Red’s wish, a big raindrop hit Jack’s cheek, then another and another until there was a steady rain.

“What do you wanna do, boys?” Red asked. “It’s your fishin’ trip.”

“I say we go on,” Jack voted. “The fish don’t know it’s rainin’.”

“Yeah,” Billy Joe added, “and I’ve heard the fish bite better in the rain.”

“Okay. Hope we don’t get pneumonia,” Red said.

Red did slow down a lot so the raindrops wouldn’t sting so bad when they hit soft skin. He also had the boys cover the keg with their tackle boxes to keep from drowning the worms.

Not knowing this lake, Red was happy that some daylight was filtering through the clouds by the time they had crossed to the backside of the lake.

“Now, you boys tell me what you’d rather do, search around through the tree stumps and the bank for likely places for shellcrackers or go up the creek that feeds the lake and float back down it with the current. Floatin’ the creek will get us a lot of bream and some shellcrackers but searching the banks will get us mostly shellcrackers.”

“We fish creeks all the time,” Jack pointed out. “I had rather look for shellcracker beds around the stumps.”

“Can you smell the beds?” Red asked.

“I can sometimes if the wind is still but Billy Joe always can,” Jack said.

“Well, Billy Joe, you’re in the front of the boat,” Red said. “Let’s test your nose.”

Red guided the boat around the stumps close to the bank and waited for Billy Joe to locate a bed for him.

“I smell one,” Billy Joe said. “Go a little to the left.”

Turning a little to the left, Red slowed the engine to a crawl and waited for Billy Joe to give him another course correction, but it never came.

“Stop right here,” Billy Joe commanded.

Red reached out and grabbed a tree trunk. Using a short rope that was tied to the transom, he tied the boat to the stump, killing the motor at the same time.

“Where’s this bed?” Red asked in a tone slightly over a whisper.

“Right there,” Billy Joe said, pointing to the left of the boat.

Squinting, Red could barely see the water slightly boiling. He knew this was from a fish tail fanning the shallow bottom to make the bed.

The rain had subsided to a drizzle.

They each selected a cane pole, unrolled the line, baited the hook and eased it down in the water over the bed.

Within a minute, they each had a big shellcracker. Being careful not to put too much strain on the cane poles, they played the big crappies to tire them before bringing them in the boat.

Jack, who was sitting in the center, opened the live-well so they could throw their fish in there to keep them alive and fresh.

After they had each caught about six or seven fish, there were no more bites.

“I think we have caught this bed out,” Red said. “Think you can smell out another one, Billy Joe?” Red asked as he untied the mooring rope and started the motor.

The rain had completely stopped now and the sky looked as if it was going to clear up. “A little sun would feel good and dry us off,” Red said.

He eased the boat around to continue in the same direction they had been going before Billy Joe smelled the shellcracker bed. After about twenty-five yards, Billy Joe held up his hand to slow down. He pointed to the left and Red slightly turned the boat in that direction. After a few feet, Billy Joe held up his hand, palm toward Red as a signal to stop.

Red stopped the motor and grabbed another stump and tied to it.

“You’ve got a million-dollar nose, Billy Joe,” Red said. “You can fish with me anytime.”

Just as they were getting their fishing poles ready to go again, the sun peeped out of the clouds and lightened the world.

“That feels good but I hope the fish don’t stop biting because of it,” Jack said.

As if in answer to that hope, Jack’s bobber went under and he pulled out the largest shellcracker of the day.

They continued to pull in fish from this bed, but a clay bank with willow trees growing from it caught Red’s eye.

“Jack, in those crawdads you have—are there any small ones?”

“Yes, sir, I think so,” he said, passing the crawdad bucket to Red.

“Oh yeah, some nice ones,” Red said. “Let me borrow your rod and reel.”

Jack passed him his rod and reel, which was already set up with a small hook, a lead shot weight and a clip-on bobber.

“Have you got a little larger hook?” Red asked.

“Yeah,” Jack said and handed Red his plastic hook box.

“Good. Can I cut the hook and weight off?” Red asked.

“Yes, sir—sure,” Jack responded.

With his pocketknife, Red cut the line. He tied on a slightly larger hook, baited it with a lively crawdad and cast it to the edge of the willow trees. The bobber rode lightly on the water since there was now no weight on it. That allowed the lively crawdad to move around a little.

Red kept fishing for and catching the shellcrackers but he kept one eye on the little bobber over by the willow trees.

After catching an exceptionally fine shellcracker, Red glanced at the bobber by the willows. It was gone. He dropped the cane pole in the boat and grabbed the rod and reel just in time.

The line was tightening. He set the hook and started to reel. The rod bent double. “I think I’ve got an alligator,” Red joked, thinking to himself that it might be true judging by the pull he was getting.

He stood up to better lead the fish where he wanted him to go, which was not into the roots of the willow trees or the stumps.

“Did you bring a landing net, boys?” Red asked.

“No, sir,” Jack answered. “We’ve never needed one for shellcrackers.”

“I was trying for a white perch over there but I think what I got was a big bass.”

“Bass do like those little crawdads,” Jack agreed.

“What’s the test on this line, Jack?” Red asked.

“I don’t know, sir, but it’s braided silk so I think it will hold anything you could’ve caught there—unless it is an alligator,” Jack assured.

“Okay, here we go then,” Red said as he started to pull the fish in to land him. “When I get him up close to the boat, I’m gonna hold the rod with my right hand and try to grab the fish in the gills with my left. That’s the only way I’m gonna get him in the boat.”

“You want me to help you?” Jack asked.

“Just come back here to the back. Grab my belt in the back so I won’t fall in the water.”