THE FIRST TRIP
The knock on the door came at 5:00 AM.
“Kevin, time to get up!”
The door opened and the twelve year old boy closed his eyes for the first time that night, so that Granddaddy wouldn’t know that I hadn’t slept a wink the whole night, anticipating the day that was to come- my first fishing trip with my grandparents. Oh, I had been fishing before, but that was on a pond, or a dock, not in a boat. Going with my grandparents also allowed me to watch them use these magical long rods called “fly rods” instead of just “normal” spin casting rods and reels like I used. I got out of bed, put on my fishing clothes, and tried to walk normally into the kitchen, instead of listening to my emotions telling me to run to the kitchen. Grandmother and Granddaddy had a cup of coffee with their breakfast, despite the warm summer morning in Southwest Louisiana. I had a glass of orange juice with my breakfast and then we loaded into Granddaddy’s yellow Nissan pickup. I sat in the middle seat between Grandmother and Granddaddy and spread my legs wide so that Granddaddy wouldn’t hit my knees with the five speed’s gear shift.
We turned out of the driveway with the fourteen foot Jon boat, trolling motor, and twenty-five horsepower motor in tow. We drove through the empty Lake Charles streets, past the K&B drugstore, and then turned south on Louisiana Highway 27 into Cameron Parish. About an hour later, we arrived at the launch on the intercoastal canal. We launched the boat, put on our life jackets, started the motor and took off down the intercoastal in the early morning cool of a Louisiana summer morning. On the way to the “Big Burns” we passed several tugboats on the canal, a fascinating sight on my first trip. Suddenly, the boat veered to the side in a small cut off the intercoastal canal, and we sped down narrow boat lanes filled with vegetation on either side. The gators left a large wake in the boat lanes as they hurried to get out of the way, sometimes seeming so close that we might accidentally hit one. After a few minutes, the narrow boat lane widened into a large ditch about twenty to thirty feet wide. A couple of more turns and the motor stopped. We were finally there, the “sliding ditch”, as Granddaddy called it.
We very carefully rearranged the boat to where Granddaddy was in the front, running the trolling motor, I was in the middle and Grandmother was in the back. Grandmother and Granddaddy pulled out their fly rods, complete with a Peck’s popping bug and a trailer of a red four inch Crème scoundrel worm about two feet behind the bug. I got my spin cast rod and reel ready and got ready to cast. Yet before I could cast, Granddaddy grunted and he was hauling in a fat goggle eye on his eight weight rod. He took the bream off and told me to open the ice chest and the goggle eye flew from his hand into the cooler, a perfect shot. Then from the back of the boat Grandmother hollered and pulled a chunky largemouth bass about a pound out of the marsh and it also went into the cooler. I thought fly rods were magic fish catching machines! Most of the morning continued like that, and soon our cooler was getting full.
About mid-morning we came upon a rare tree in the marsh, surrounded by water. Granddaddy told me to cast my bait, a top water Smithwick’s Devil Horse, close to the tree. I did, and suddenly the water exploded! A big bass had taken my bait! After a fight, and quite a few yells of excitement, the three pound bass, pretty large for a marsh filled with gators, came to the boat. Granddaddy grabbed the net, placed it under the fish, and soon the bass was in the boat. I was so excited! The bass joined its friends in the cooler.
Soon it got hot, and we secured the rods, put on our life jackets, started the motor and headed back to the boat launch. We loaded the boat on the trailer and headed north to Calcasieu Parish and Lake Charles. After a busy day and a sleepless night, I fell asleep on the way back between Grandmother and Granddaddy, dreaming of fish that we had caught and fish that were yet to be caught on the next trip.
About Kevin Smith: Kevin is a United Methodist pastor in the state of Louisiana, currently living in the small town of Tangipahoa (Tan-gee-pah-hoe). Kevin is married to Jana. They don’t have any children but they are owned by a chocolate Labrador retriever, Rosey, and a cat, Sassy. When he is not involved in ministry
actvities, Kevin enjoys fly fishing, fly tying, watching LSU sports, and reading western fiction novels.
Kevin with a chain pickerel- age 12