Meandering

1,000 Words-Friends, Fish & Physics

Tue, January 24, 2012

“Date: August 15-17, 1985 Location: Big Creek at Pat’s.  John, Brent, Doug and I went camping for three days and two nights and set out bank poles and a throwline.  We started out with twenty poles and a ten hook throwline.  During our trip we ran our poles three times, twice the second day and once the last day.  We caught three on our first run (one hit a pole we had baited less than a minute and was about twenty five feet behind us).  On our final run we caught four (one on our throwline), including a small flathead.  The largest channel was 3.5 pounds; we also had a 1.75 pound fish and three or four 0.5 to 1.0 pound fish. Bait – used minnows and crawdads.” (This is the original log entry from my 1985 fishing log).

Beginning around 1984, this crew (and various other assorted characters) dove headlong into fishing (some of us quite literally at times).  Along the way, we also did our share of goofing off as big kids get distracted just like little kids.  The bulk of our “learning” took place at Lake Bracken although we also frequented Sperry’s Pay Ponds on occasion.  We put in a lot of effort targeting either carp in the Lake Bracken spillway or anything that would bite on the main lake.  All told we logged hundreds of hours rowing and beating the banks discovering a passion for fishing that remains with me to this day.

This particular adventure was concocted by four teenagers with a penchant for both the angling and the distractions.  But this time we took our show on the road for a three day/two night vacation shortly before three of us headed off for college: a time when real jobs and responsibilities seemed about as remote as our campsite in The Big Timber.

Starting from the left is John Junk who has been a friend since 1982 when we were teammates on the Galesburg High School sophomore basketball team.  Previously we had been junior high basketball and Little League baseball opponents.  We would later serve as co-captains for the Silver Streaks basketball team and then room together at Knox College where John continued his impressive basketball career.  We then spent several years renting a house along with John’s brother Mark/”Geek” and another buddy, Matt “Hacksaw” Reynolds, worked together at a local plant, took part in each other’s weddings and enjoyed more than a few beers along the way.  Though we rarely see each other these days, I’m proud to consider myself an honorary Junk and he will always be held in the same regard by my family.

Next up is Doug Dawson whom I also befriended during the same time period when we played together as freshman on the Galesburg sophomore baseball team.  I’d also known Doug as a rival during two seasons of the heated Lombard-Churchill basketball series.  We took part in the football rivalry only once as he and his buddies (primarily GHS Hall of Famers Joe Dennis and Bob Jackson, who would later become friends and teammates) convinced me that baseball and basketball were much less painful pursuits.  We’d also competed in Little League and Junior Hardball before teaming up in high school and American Legion baseball.  We also spent several summers working (most of the time) for the Galesburg Park Department.  Doug went on to play some baseball at Carl Sandburg College and Olivet Nazarene College and last I knew lived somewhere in Iowa.

I’m next and the kid with the tree branch in front of his face is my younger brother, Brent.  Growing up, we used to joke about one of our parents having a tendency to chop heads off in photos.  I’m not sure if she snapped this picture but it appears to be a similar mishap (if only we’d had the instant feedback afforded through today’s digital photography).  Anyway, I’ve obviously known Brent his entire life.  Our hardball careers started out as Little League teammates and would culminate in spending some time covering the left side of the infield together at Knox College.  Later we would play softball together for a number of years, serve as best man in each other’s weddings and spend considerable time pursuing various fish species. 

I only recently discovered a second photo but have grown too fond of the mistake after all of these years

At the time of this adventure, Brent and I must have sufficiently matured to the point that Mom and Dad felt comfortable allowing us to go camping together unsupervised.  For a number of years there was a distinct possibility that only one of us would have made it back home.  As further proof, I don’t particularly recall being forced to let my younger brother tag along, I think we actually welcomed his presence.  In fact, he was a more seasoned outdoorsman than any of the rest of us, having spent a fair amount of time hanging out with Dad and Uncle Dick as a youngster.  These days I could probably give him a run for his money when fishing or camping but I concede in the areas of hunting and trapping. 

The four of us camped in The Big Timber near a small creek that served as both a livewell and a baitshop (seining minnows and crawdads).  Each time we ran our bank poles and throw lines we would haul our catch back from Pat’s Creek and stash them in a shallow pool that was dammed up on each end with rocks in order to prevent the fish from escaping.  Fortunately, the raccoons didn’t get wind of our trophies as they would have had a fairly captive feast

Our campsite was not far from The Waterfall which served as a swimming hole for some relaxation.  I remember using BB guns to shoot snakes out of the bushes overhanging a portion of the pool prior to taking a dip, giving little thought to the prospect of the angry reptiles exacting revenge.  Yet it wasn’t all valor as we were later startled by a large snake while making our way to Pat’s Creek to run our lines.  I suspect that Doug was likely the most alarmed of the bunch since he was the one who actually stepped on it.

Checking and rebaiting our lines also held its share of adventures.  The incident mentioned briefly in the original log entry was rather unusual as I can’t understand why a catfish would have been anywhere near a group of wild teenagers noisily tromping through the creek.  I also recall the rest of us electing John to check several of the deeper holes when it appeared that we may have hooked a snapping or softshell turtle.  Often, a turtle will rest on the bottom causing a steady bend in the pole.  However, you can also be fooled by the hook or sinker catching on a root or snag.  You never really know until grabbing the pole or poking under the water with a stick or dipnet handle.  If it’s a turtle, things get quite exciting in the vicinity and equally amusing from a distance.  I guess we figured that John had the longest arms which gave him the greatest distance between another angry reptile and human flesh.  John was a good sport although I’m pretty certain that he wasn’t quite as fond of the arrangement as the rest of us.  Since we did not hook a turtle, John can still boast of his courageousness while I’ve always been left to wonder just how quickly he could have exited armpit deep water with or without an unhappy creature attached to some part of his anatomy.

Most of what the four teenage boys discussed has been lost in the passage of time but I surmise that the majority of topics would either be uninteresting or unfit for print.  Yet I do recall my computer genius/scientist younger brother schooling us in the laws of physics.  The middle of nowhere, starry skies and the meager light of a campfire provided an ideal backdrop for pondering the complexities of the universe.  I clearly remember his dissertation on inertia and momentum using the example of landing in the same spot when leaping upwards inside of a moving train.  There was also a discussion concerning the behavior of a ball shot from the back of a pickup truck moving at various speeds in the opposite direction of the projectile.  I believe he also explained why The Roadrunner cannot really avoid physical harm by simply stepping off of a plummeting rock platform just before it smashes into the ground at the bottom of a cliff.  Interesting stuff for sure but I’m pretty certain he left us baffled as he approached infinity.

As far as table fare and accommodations, I really don’t have a clue although we apparently had a plan as we all returned safe and sound.  I would have to guess that the meals were not too involved (read hot dogs, sandwiches and donuts) and shelter was probably somebody’s tent.  Whatever the case, I’m sure we felt pretty rough.  For me there was certainly a feeling of independence and investment as it was “our” fishing trip with the nearest parent some forty miles away.  That meant something as a teenager.

Beyond the adventures, the simple image of the four skinny guys always brings a smile.  Obviously, we’re no longer teenagers and if you’ve seen us, we’re also no longer quite as skinny.  The four men have probably “matured” enough that our additional weight could account for another skinny kid joining the photograph.  I am proud to say that through some hard work in the last couple years though, I’m only about fifteen pounds (as opposed to formerly about fifty pounds) heavier than that eighteen year old in the camo pants. 

I also can’t help but be reminded that nowadays I’ve got four kids I’d occasionally like to send out to the woods for a few days.  Too bad the oldest is only seven and the youngest is just working on crawling.  Talk to you later.  Troy

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