Coons and Canoes #1338

A few days ago we traveled to Galveston for our annual June fishing trip and following are some of the high lights: Monday’s departure time coincided with a norther and heavy rain that stayed with us almost all the way. Our travel trailer wasn’t quite level enough at the campground to suit Jean and I had to raise up one corner and put one sheet of toilet paper under it. Not really. Fished Tuesday at Retillion Road Beach and used balloons powered by the north wind to carry our lines out several hundred yards to deeper water. Seaweed is very thick along the tourist favorite area of the seawall. The Houston Chronicle says it is the worst in history. Wednesday while getting ready we watched part of O.J. Simpson’s shenanigans on the twentieth anniversary. Has it been that long? Wow. At the beach we watched a woman fight and land a five foot long shark next to our camp. Jean caught a hard head catfish and a sting ray. Thursday the Spurs beat the Heat again in NBA playoffs. Friday saw my first ever hot dog buns that are split along the top forming right and left halves instead of a top and bottom. Have you seen hot dog buns with a vertical split? What is this world coming to? Bye, Galveston until September or October.

From my ledger: June 9, 1986. Monday. Had several catfish when I checked my lines south of Charleston. Eleven channels and one flathead from three to seven pounds. Strung them up on three nylon cords and tied them to side of boat. Can’t get pickup closer than three hundred yards because of a fence. Walked to pickup to go get help to carry them out. Went to Carl Worden’s house. Dan was there and called Steve Ingram for me. Steve came to help and brought Bart Peters. Back to the river and carried the fish out.

June 10, 1986. Tuesday. To Cooper to do a little shopping. Our pet coon, Buster, went with me and rode all the way on my shoulder. Stayed on my shoulder as I walked into Miller’s Drug store. Got up on the counter and walked around meddling with a bunch of pill bottles. Marion was really laughing. Home and to the river. Only a few fish on trotline so I threw them back. Stopped at store and talked to David Nabors who told of catching a forty pound ap, or flathead, catfish at Lake Crook a few days earlier.

June 15, 1986. Fathers’ Day. This afternoon Bret and I hauled two hundred bales of alfalfa hay from L.D. Malone’s meadow to Larry Calvin’s barn on Highway 19. Next day back to the meadow and got the last hundred bales. Stopped at the store to weigh one of the lighter bales on some cotton scales everyone uses around the store. I held up the scales with the bale underneath and Jack Scott put his thumb where the pointer was. It weighed eighty five pounds. Most are 90-95. Don Watson was at the store and went to help us unload. This afternoon Rio Ingram, Don Watson, Bret, Huck Elmore, Dale Elmore, Dean, and I went to the river grabbling. Found no fish. Rained on us a lot and we thought about getting out of the water before we got wet. (Now in 2014, reading the last sentence reminded me when John Morgan, Robert Wright, and I were grabbling near Longridge years ago. Rain was pouring as we stood neck deep out in the river. Huge drops hit the water and made big splashes. John had a big chaw of tobacco and it was running down both sides of his mouth. He was smacking that tobacco, looked at me and said, “What d’ye think it’s gonna do, Eddie, rain?”)

As we moved to another place to grabble, we came across Houston Elmore checking his trotline. His little boat had recently washed away so he was wading along belly deep checking his hooks while having three empty gallon milk jugs tied to his belt for a life jacket.

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