Outdoors

There I was, pedaling my bike down that old country road as fast as I could go. I had just completed my swimming lessons and had passed my test, so now I was finally released to go fishing, and in general, explore the world through the eyes of an 8 year old. My first assault on the outdoor world was at Bears Grass Creek which was a shallow, narrow creek that wound through the farming community and eventually emptied into the Eau Claire River.

There wasn't much for edible fish in this creek, mainly shiners and horned dades and an occasional sucker or trout. But to any 8 year old, all fish are fun to catch especially if you're doing it by yourself with no pesky adults around! I arrived at the creek and I grabbed my can of worms from the handle bars on my bike and the fishing pole I had straddled on the bike as well, and headed out. You see, this was even before we had those wonderful bungee straps like we have today, and I had to hold the rod in my hand the whole way.

I headed out along the creek in search of the perfect fishing spot to begin my quest of catching so many fish that my parents would have to come and help me haul them home! I spotted a brush pile and decided that would be a good spot, as my Grandpa always caught fish by a brush pile. As I sat there, I smelled something that really wasn't all that pleasant, even to a very curious 8 year old who was caught up in the excitement of his first fishing trip alone. It was after catching several small fish near the brush pile that I spotted the dead deer. The deer had apparently tried crossing the creek and got tangled up in the brush and drowned.

I decided to move immediately, as even the greatest explorers would not fish by a dead deer. Besides, if you are going to do this wilderness thing you might just as well do it right. A short distance down the creek I found the perfect spot - a tree was down across the creek and it provided some shelter for the fish, shade from the hot sun, and most of all a chair for me. In my mind, I was sure I was the first person to have ever discovered this perfect spot. No doubt the Grand-dad fish of all fishes in Bears Grass Creek lived right under that log.

Normally the log would have been about three feet above the water, but due to all the rain we had been receiving, it was now just a few inches below the bottom of the log. The water raced under that log in a violent muddy turbulence as it carried away eroded Wisconsin farm land. I carefully crawled out on that huge log and sat down, dangling my feet in the cool water. I did it for several reasons, mainly because there were no parents around to tell me I couldn't do it, and it seemed like just the perfect way to fish this spot. Perhaps I was doing my best to present a picture of my own impersonation of the famous childhood hero Huck Finn. As I sat there on a log that I also felt God had placed there just for me, I am sure I day dreamed the typical 8 year old thoughts without a care in the world.

After carefully baiting my hook, I hung up my bucket of worms on a branch and went to fishing by floating a night crawler out into the muddy brown water. I hadn't fished very long when I felt a small tug on my pole, followed by a couple more sharp distinct tugs. I leaned forward and set the hook, and at first I thought I had snagged a log or something else floating down the creek.

Whatever it was seemed to be really heavy, and I had visions of having to go back home and get the big red wagon and tie it behind my bike just to haul this monster fish home. My Zebco 33 reel was screaming as I continued to reel in this heavy object, but slowly I was winning the battle. I was sure my dad who had bought me this reel, was going to be proud of me once I got that big fish landed.

Inch by inch I kept working my trophy towards the log I was sitting on, until a huge ugly head appeared on top of the water, about three feet from my feet that were dangling into the water. My customer was not very happy with me, as he opened his mouth and showed the hook hanging out of it. And to this 8 year old, what I had on my line, gave me the meanest look I had have ever seen.

It was a big snapping turtle, and he wanted nothing more than to climb up on that log and eat the young boy who had tricked him by putting a hook in his dinner. I was not quite sure how to handle getting this huge thing on shore without breaking my line, or getting eaten alive by the meanest turtle in the world. And the worst part of everything was, there were no parents there to help me! "Where was dad when I needed him the most?" I thought, as I pictured him there with his rifle gunning down the angry beast before that creature took his first bite of me!

Then with one powerful bite, the turtle snapped off my line and suddenly I no longer had that 20lb weight at the end of my pole. My rod snapped back and I lost my balance and feel into the water, where the meanest and angriest turtle in the world was now lurking. I floated about 20 yards downstream before I found a spot where I could crawl out onto shore, still clinging to my old Zebco fishing pole. I scrambled up the bank, dejected for losing my big turtle who was still going to be a problem for other people of the world in the future, but thankful I wasn't eaten alive by this monster.

I walked out to my bike and slowly pushed it along the road as I headed home weary and soaking wet right down to my good shoes that I had been wearing the whole time. Dad showed up before I got very far, after one of the neighboring farmers had stopped by and told him there was a very wet young boy pushing his bike along the road carrying a fishing pole. Dad was grinning from ear to ear as I told him about my adventure, but the true happiness I think he felt was in knowing that I had fallen in and survived the ordeal.

Since that time, dad no longer had any problems about me going fishing alone. And yes, usually I came back home just like the first time - soaking wet. Through the years I have captured or caught a lot of snapping turtles and have eaten them. Perhaps it is the taste that compels me to do this or maybe it is because of the mean Bears Grass Creek turtle that tormented me that summer day back in 1963. See you next week!