Me 'n Poot Go Fishing

In all my days, I ain’t never seen nobody who could catch fish like my friend Poot. The first summer we got our mopeds, we swam the river, fished, and smoked cigarettes like we was trying to set a world record. To make things even better, our dads didn’t care how much we stayed gone as long as we kept up with yard cutting and brought home fish at the end of the day.

We started that summer with a big argument over where to set up fish camp. I wanted to go to the swing over the Tallahatchie bridge where me n Poot hung out the whole summer before. But Poot said too many people came down there and it would mess up the fishing and the quiet. And besides that, they would bum cigarettes and chewing tobacco from us and we would wind up poor. I wasn’t famous anymore and folks had stopped giving me stuff like they did when they heard how Mrs. Sylvanus had grabbed my goober when we was in the sixth grade. I was just another guy now.

Next, I suggested we go to the Yazoo across from downtown, between the two bridges but on our side of the river. Nobody ever went down there. But he said that was too visible and we couldn’t smoke cigarettes without somebody telling on us. Seems like all my ideas was bad.

He wanted to go to the Yalobusha River off old Highway 7. His dad had taken him camping there and they set out lines and caught fish and cooked hotdogs on a fire. So I said that sounded pretty good and that’s what we done.

We made plans for the first Wednesday morning of our summer break. The reason we had to wait till Wednesday was I had to mow a yard and get my five bucks so I could buy cigarettes and sardines at Jacks’ Store. Not only that, but I bought some candy and a quart of beer, Schlitz. In those days I could buy beer and cigarettes at Jack’s store. The cashier always asked, “For your parents?” All I had to do was nod ‘yes.’ We already had fishing stuff, hooks and line and bobbers, and I could always get all I needed out of my dad’s tackle box. We would take stuff with us and then rig up poles and throw lines after we got there. That way we could travel light.

Both of us loaded our Boy Scout packs the night before, so we was ready to head out at daylight that Wednesday morning. We met up at Little Red School House, headed out Grenada Blvd, and then north on Highway 7. When we turned off the highway onto the gravel road that I now know is the old highway, we stopped at that little lake to smoke a cigarette. Already my white T-shirt was sticking to my sides and you could tell it was going to be one of those delta summer days when the wind refused to blow and the air was so hot birds wouldn’t even fly. We didn’t care. We was free for a whole day.

We started back up and got on the river levee. Huge cotton fields were on our right and even the cotton looked hot and sad. We motored along until we came to some swampy looking water on our left that was covered in lily pads. We went around the side of that to the woods behind the swamp. When Poot stopped and got off, I could see we were on the river bank.

First thing we did was clear sticks off the bank so we could sit down and watch the water flow by. And that’s what we did for a long time. We just smoked and watched the water. Me n Poot didn’t have to say words to be happy. Then we got all the stuff out of our packs. We wasn’t in no hurry. We laid out our tobacco in one pile, food and drink in another, and fishing equipment in a third. We was well supplied.

I asked Poot whose land this was. He said it was somebody’s cousin’s grandmother’s. We could camp and fish as long as we didn’t hurt nothing. Heck, there wasn’t nothing around there to hurt unless we set the woods on fire. We did that somewhere one time. Maybe I’ll tell you about that one day. Anyway, we didn’t even have our guns and the closest house was over a mile away. When me n Poot carried our .22s, chances were pretty high we was going to shoot something we wasn’t supposed to. That’s one of the things I like about Poot. Besides fishing, he liked to shoot stuff just like I did. One time we shot a car. Well, I better tell you about that one later.

Poot pointed across a little ditch that ran into the river and said there was some canes on the other side and if I’d cut some poles, he’d rig them up. I found the canes and cut five. I figgerd if I didn’t cut a bunch, he’d want more. So I come back with five and he rigs them all. That’s when we realized we didn’t have no bait.

We had line, hooks, sinkers, bobbers, and stringers but no bait. We got in a yelling fuss about whose fault that was. I said it was his because he was the best fisherman. If we took our guns out and didn’t have no bullets that would be my fault because I was the one who always wanted to shoot something. Poot said since he got the place, I could have got the bait.

After a bit we give up on fussing and took our knives and went out to dig worms. We poked around and dug holes until it looked like a heard of gofers had come through. We finally found a few beetles and some skinny worms in a rotten log.

Then we set the poles to fishing while me n Poot had fun. We started with throwing rocks. We was about a hundred yards from the road but we walked back and forth picking up rocks and toting them to the river bank where we threw and threw and threw. Then we searched the woods until we found good sticks and we started hitting rocks. I always liked to hit rocks and when I finally won the world series, it was time to hit some grub.

We ate sardines and moon pies and crackers and drank pops. We had Sweet Tarts for dessert and smoked another cigarette. We each had brought one Swisher Sweet Cigar that we vowed not to smoke until we caught a fish.

The fish weren’t biting and we were thrown out, hit out, and smoked out so we started swimming. First we raced across the river. Then we tried to swim upstream. I could do it, but Poot couldn’t. Next, we swam down the river a long way and walked back. Since we were barefoot and had walked back and forth to get rocks, our feet were getting sore so when we got back we was pretty much tuckered out with everything.

It was still another two hours before we started catching fish and we only got a few mud cat then. We strung then and put them in the water. It started getting late in the day and we hadn’t drunk no beer so we hid the quart of Schlitz in the rotten log where we dug the worms. Nobody would ever find it there. Then we built a fire and soaked our shirts in river water. We dried our wet shirts over the fire so they would smell so strong of fire smoke that our parents would never suspicion us of smoking cigarettes. And we had a few Sweet Tarts left for our breath.

We rode home when the sun was low but there was still plenty of light. We each had a little mud cat tied to the rear fender of our moped. All the way back, I was thinking about me n Poot yelling at each other and how it didn’t even make me mad, just mad that we didn’t have no bait. That was the first time Poot had ever raised his voice at me, just as if I had never whupped him when we were in the sixth grade. I guess that’s a good thing because I always felt a little bad about smacking his head the way I did. Maybe that’s why some cats won’t beat your hand up when you try to play with them. But if you hang out with a cat long enough, they will always beat up on your hand and your whole arm even if you don’t want them to.