Cold, damp, dark days recently have kept me inside. I want to be at my turkey lease scouting roosting birds. I want to be up the Guadalupe River chasing white bass. But instead I just sat on the couch listening to the frigid Arctic wind blowing. But I have many great memories to rehearse while waiting. Many of them have to do with great hunting and fishing partners down through the years. The outdoors is greatly enriched when you “do the stuff” with good friends.
I have recently written about San Marcos bass fisherman, Bobby Whiteside, so I will bypass him in this story. He is still the best fisherman I have ever been in the boat with.
The one partner that really instilled the outdoor passion in me was my dad. He and I, along with my brothers, were squirrel hunting experts. We had the best squirrel dogs in Jefferson County and spent endless hours in the Big Thicket of Southeast Texas. Also many catfish nights on the Sabine River with Dad are vivid memories. But I got married to Beth at age 20 and left home. So my hunting and fishing time with Dad then diminished.
My lifelong friend, Wayne Smith, who now lives in Little Rock, Arkansas, and I began hunting squirrels, ducks and catching catfish together at age 16. We hoofed it through many coastal marshes with our double-barreled 12 gauge shotguns shooting at ducks. We weren’t deadly shots in those early days but eventually both became very skilled with a shotgun. We still hunt waterfowl every year and talk about the “good ole days” when we were just teenage kids.
One catfish memory with Wayne stands out. Beth and I had just been married one week. As the man of the house I wanted to provide some fish for the table. Maybe I just wanted to impress my new bride with some big catfish. So Wayne and I went to the city reservoir to set out some throw lines. We baited a long, four-hook line with live perch. A brick was tied to the end of the line for weight. I began to swing the line like a lasso to throw out the full length. I turned the heavy missile loose and as the last hook flew by it stuck in my wrist. The weight and the speed of the brick almost jerked me off of the bank into the water. The big hook went through an artery on the top of my wrist and embedded in the bone. Fortunately, the barb did not stick in the flesh. I pulled the hook out and a big hematoma rose up on my wrist as blood built up under the skin. It looked real bad. Wayne and I rushed to the doctor. When I returned to my bride with a bandaged arm I realized that the cost of my catfish per pound had greatly risen. And we had very little money.
My brother, Wayne, has become my primary fishing buddy at the coast. Wayne lives in Aransas Pass where we have a fishing cabin. Wayne’s son, Jon, is a fishing guide out of Corpus Christi. So between fishing with Jon and me he spends lots of time on the bays. Like me, he is not a bait fisherman. But with a soft plastic on a lead head, he is the best. He usually beats me in numbers of fish put in the boat. But not always. When I am ahead and he is fretting, I always say, “Every dog has his day.”
His reply is, “Yes, but it’s still painful.”
Mike Mosel of Kyle is my most unusual outdoor partner. Unlike Wayne, Mike is not competitive. He would rather put out turkey feeders, build blinds and “tinker” with equipment than shoot a turkey. He loves to experiment with a new gun. When he gets it all fixed up perfect, he will then trade it and start over.
Several years ago he bought an old boat. I would have had it in the water in two weeks. But not Mike. He studied and planned about the restoration for months. After spending too much money and time on the boat, it was at last ready for fishing. After only a few fishing trips he sold it to a man that wanted a boat to use in the Hurricane Harvey rescue in Houston.
He now has a classic wooden kayak that he is restoring. Maybe he will have it ready before Jesus comes again.
My most recent outdoor partner is my next-door neighbor, Tom Ray. Tom and his wife, Cathy, moved next door about 9 years ago. Tom was a pastor in Telluride, Colorado for 17 years and learned to hunt elk and fish for mountain trout. But that’s about all he had down. I quickly introduced him to bass fishing. It was a teacher-student relationship. But now he has become a good bass fisherman, especially with a plastic worm. He also loves to fish the white bass spawning run on the Guadalupe River in February and March.
He has also learned to love dove and duck hunting. He bought my Browning 12-gauge Silver Hunter shotgun when I got a new Browning.
Recently, he said, “I think I would like to try that spring turkey hunting.”
Looks like I am gaining a new turkey hunting partner.
