Andy never tires of fishing!!!
The 32nd Short Story
Fishing Follies, Part 2: Foxy Playmates
"Fishing Follies, Part 2: Foxy Playmates"
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 32nd Short Story
I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
"Fishing Follies, Part 2: Foxy Playmates"
“You never can tell what you’ll run across on a fishing trip.”
--Andy Skrzynski
After settling into my job at IBM in Austin, Texas and meeting several new friends, Steve asked me to join him on a fishing trip. I had no clue what to expect, but I jumped at the opportunity.
The next Saturday, we packed our gear into his yellow clunker of a station wagon. When done, my new buddy patted the bow of his modest 16-foot, tri-hull boat. “Well, what do you think of Minnow? She’s a beauty; isn’t she?”
Slowly scanning the deck and cream-colored exterior of the well-kept fish-and-ski craft, I grinned. “Not bad. I’d love to have a boat, but I've been stuck fishing from the shores.”
He chuckled. “We’re going to have lots of fun with this thing. You’ll see.”
We climbed into the Ford station wagon and met up with some of his other friends in a Kmart parking lot. After our introductions and brief exchanges, we all caravanned east, toward Lake Toledo Bend, on the border between Texas and Louisiana.
The passengers in each vehicle carried a walkie-talkie to communicate with the others along the way. We hadn’t traveled very far before the chatter continued non-stop. Being a young blood, I hadn’t heard so many grown men gossip the way they carried on.
I shook my head and glanced at my fishing partner. “Man, they sure like to talk up a storm -- don’t they?”
He grinned. “Yep, that’s the way it always is with these guys.”
As if their blabbering wasn’t enough to drive me batty, someone’s ear-shattering singing just about pushed me over the edge. Steve must have sensed my growing aggravation as he turned his head toward me. “You want to drive for a bit?”
“You bet I do. Any distraction from all that noise has to be an improvement.”
He chuckled. “We’ll switch at our next break.”
It wasn’t more than 10 minutes before the caravan pulled into the parking lot of a Carl's Jr. hamburger joint. Some of the guys popped in to buy a cup of coffee, while the rest of us became more acquainted.
When we were ready to resume our trip, I slid in behind the steering wheel of my buddy’s vehicle and maneuvered my way to the back of the caravan. While I had pulled wagons and such with slow-moving tractors, I never towed anything at 70 mph before. Somewhat leery, I kept watching the boat behind me to make sure I hadn’t lost it while barreling down the road.
It appeared as if the thing had a tendency to sway back-and-forth, so I turned toward my companion. “Seems like your boat trailer likes to fishtail a bit.”
“Nah, that’s just because you keep looking at it in the rearview mirror. It’s only natural for you to keep trying to adjust to it. Just relax and stop looking at it so much, and everything will be fine. Trust me.”
Sure enough. As soon as I stopped peeking at the thing so often, it settled down. Relieved, I sighed. “It worked. How did you know?"
“It happens to a lot of folks the first time they tow something at higher speeds. When you’ve been on as many trips as I have, you learn a lot of tricks. Just stick with me, and I’ll teach you more than you care to know.”
Nodding, I smiled. “Alright. I’m going to hold you to that.”
He laughed and joined the chatterboxes on the walkie-talkie. Before long, some impatient driver, who must have been stuck behind our caravan, got antsy and attempted to pass all 5 of our vehicles. It took him forever to get by all of us and our boats, on the two-lane highway with no shoulders.
My heart pounded as I held my breath, hoping he didn’t cause any trouble. The maniac barely swung over into our lane ahead of the lead truck, just before a semi came barreling down from the other side. Someone in our party hollered, “That guy’s an idiot, but lucky for us, we now have someone trolling for smokies.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but cheers filled the airwaves. Immediately, the caravan picked up the pace.
They must have figured the speedster ahead of us would certainly trigger any patrol car’s radar well before we’d encounter any speed traps. Sure enough, about 15 minutes later, a police cruiser with flashing lights had pulled the sucker over in a school zone.
A big smile crawled across my lips. “That’ll teach him.”
Steve nodded. “Yep, but now we lost our troller.”
As the caravan slowed a bit to just over the speed limit, it allowed me the chance to look at the surroundings. The spring colors along the route were magnificent.
There were 15 to 20-foot-tall trees with bright white blossoms in many of the fields, not far from Crockett, Texas. The wild flowering trees were particularly abundant along Hwy 79, near the small town of Franklin.
We eventually hooked a right down Hwy 7 and continued through the Davy Crockett Forest for quite a way. Then, the caravan turned onto 103 and traveled through Lufkin.
After zooming past a huge paper mill that stunk to high heaven, I delighted in observing quite a number of white dogwoods and pink redbuds. The stunning trees stood out among the shadows of pines and hardwoods, along the side of the road.
I quickly learned not to take my eyes off the road for too long when a logging truck, stacked with lengthy pine logs, inched ever so slightly over the centerline. Our lead driver laid on the horn while swerving to avoid it. Gasping, I quickly followed suit to keep from getting hit myself.
It took a while, but my heart finally settled down as we continued past the Sam Rayburn Reservoir to Hemphill. Many of the old houses of the quaint, little town were accented with gorgeous hedges of azaleas, showered with blossoms of every color found on a painter’s palette.
I kept thinking to myself. This is paradise. I’ve got to move to East Texas someday -- no doubt about it.
After witnessing the most beautiful assortment of wild trees and bushes in my life, we headed south along the Sabine National Forest to within a few miles of the dam at the southernmost tip of Lake Toledo Bend. Though the drive was a bit long, the 6 hours didn’t feel so bad with all of nature’s wonders to behold. We arrived at our destination late that afternoon, and our party of 12 checked into a huge cabin with 8 bunk beds and one bathroom.
I surveyed the place and shook my head. It didn’t take a brainiac to realize the inadequacy of our meager accommodations. One bathroom for 11 men and a woman? How’s that gonna work? As it turned out, most of us guys found relief among the nearby pine trees.
While the structure may have been lacking, fortunes abounded in other areas. Two of the men owned a restaurant, and they brought along their griddle and plenty of food.
Better yet, one of them loved cooking and announced that he’d be fixing breakfast before we all headed out fishing each morning. The good-natured man must have weighed every bit of 350 pounds, and every ounce of jolliness bore witness to his propensity to sample bits of his tasty cooking.
The rest of us agreed to pitch in and make sandwiches for lunch on the boats each day. In the meantime, our amazing cook planned to quit fishing around 3 pm and prepare dinner. Those not cooking would take turns cleaning up afterward.
It was the perfect setup for an area with nary a town within decent driving distance. The few businesses in Hemphill usually shuttered their doors around 5 pm, before we usually got off the lake.
That first night of our arrival was interesting, to say the least. I hadn’t slept in the same bedroom with so many males, since my time in the orphanage. One thing was for sure; I didn’t remember ever having to endure so much snoring and farting, after my head hit the pillow.
The obnoxious noise crashing my ears from all directions made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. I couldn’t tell whether the lone woman, across the room, contributed to all the commotion, and I really didn’t care to know. Holding my breath and pulling the covers over my head, I finally dozed off.
The next day turned out to be rainy and cold, with none of us faring very well out on our boats. All-in-all, we only caught nine largemouth bass among us.
I felt especially bad for two brothers of our bunch, who never got to fish at all that fateful day. After they hooked up a charger to their boat battery the evening we arrived, a nosey raccoon knocked it into the lake.
Both of them took turns trying to start their boat, but the battery only groaned and eventually gave up the ship. When they borrowed someone else’s charger and finally got the cranking battery fully charged, they still couldn’t get the engine to start. They reluctantly spent a good deal of the afternoon tinkering with the outboard, until they finally got it purring.
Well, wouldn’t you know it. That old superstition about bad things coming in threes burned them good. The next day, they piloted their boat out to point, near a cove, and tied up to a stump. Their luck appeared to have changed for the better, when they caught a slew of crappy in that same spot all day long. Such fortunes can be quite deceptive.
Ready to return to the marina, the older of the brothers began untying the rope, when the younger one accidentally goosed the throttle. The boat jolted forward and struck a stump. His brother sailed through the air and splashed into the lake. Being the middle of March, that water was mighty cold, even in Texas.
When he finally climbed onto the boat and made it back to the cabin, his clothes dripped all over the floor, while his teeth chattered up a storm. Madder than a hornet, he cussed his brother a few times, as he stuffed his suitcase and stormed off down the road -- never to return.
His forlorn brother stuck it out for the remainder of our stay, but none of us saw hide nor hair of either of them on future trips. Can’t say I blame them. They were probably quite embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
After the rest of us enjoyed better luck during the remainder of that trip, we topped it off with a wonderful fish fry, during our last evening together -- the perfect way to end our outing. I loved getting to know some new friends and looked forward to the annual trip every spring.
Unfortunately, one of the restaurant owners, who was the main organizer of our fishing expeditions, lost his life on a ski slope in Colorado one winter. Sadness overwhelmed us, and the enthusiasm across the group waned to the point where only a few people showed up for the next trip. It never felt the same after that.
Being a diehard fisherman, I wasn’t about to give up visiting such a beautiful location in Texas. After convincing another friend of mine to take the trip to Toledo Bend the next spring, we had a blast.
Sure, it wasn’t quite the same without all the fishing tales amongst a dozen companions, but Rick and I were having the time of our lives. We caught plenty of fish and shared tales of our own.
Enjoying it so much, we returned each year, between mid-March and the early part of April. On one such occasion, my friend was backing the boat away from the marina, as the morning sun barely poked above the horizon. The reddish-orange glow from a nearby cluster of clouds took my breath away. The colors across the skyline were absolutely glorious.
Between the gorgeous sunrise and the gentle rocking of the boat, as we idled out of the cove, my heart and soul melted into a peaceful resolve -- ready for a great day of fishing. I turned toward my buddy. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
He smiled. “That’s for sure.”
As my middle-aged friend piloted the boat between a couple of coves, I spotted movement along the shoreline and pointed. “Hey, take us over there.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“I see a couple of fox pups playing on the beach. Let’s watch them for a while.”
He eased back on the throttle, and the boat slowed in the shallows. Sand flew in all directions as the furry playmates charged each other, and at the last second, jumped high in the air, while batting at each other with their paws. When they tumbled to the ground, they’d attacked each other again.
Amazed at the spectacle, I turned toward Rick. “This is fun! I’ve never seen red foxes this close before.”
The carefree pups latched their jaws around each other’s neck, while wagging their heads in a playful exchange of chomping their sibling until they yelped and ran off. They continued chasing each other back and forth across the shoreline, non-stop.
We enjoyed their acrobatic feats so much, Rick lowered the anchor, and we watched them play for at least 20 minutes. Finally, the pups wore each other out and plopped onto the sand for a rest. With our entertainment sadly coming to an end, we picked up anchor and headed out to deeper waters.
Even though we caught plenty of fish for the remainder of the day, nothing beat the beautiful sunrise and the mesmerizing antics provided by those foxy playmates. As was often the case, our day on the water provided experiences so much more rewarding than simply catching a few wiggly things at the end of our lines.
The love of my annual trips to Toledo Bend lived on for decades and included taking three different fishing buddies over that period of time. When it came time to ponder where to live after I retired, the allure of the beauty of springtime and the call of the bountiful lakes and forests led me to one place -- and one place only -- East Texas.
**********
That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed the latest of my experiences.
Unfortunately, I didn't bother to take my camera, and I was too busy fishing or enjoying nature's wonders to bother with snapping pictures anyway. I'm stuck with sharing some of my more recent pictures, when I used the camera more frequently. I'll also include pictures of the amazing flowering trees and bushes in East Texas as examples of the sights I enjoyed during my annual trips to Toledo Bend.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
ANDY'S LESSONS FROM LIFE
My 32nd Short Story
I hope you enjoy more of Andy's life experiences and the lessons that come with them.
"Fishing Follies, Part 2: Foxy Playmates"
“You never can tell what you’ll run across on a fishing trip.”
--Andy Skrzynski
After settling into my job at IBM in Austin, Texas and meeting several new friends, Steve asked me to join him on a fishing trip. I had no clue what to expect, but I jumped at the opportunity.
The next Saturday, we packed our gear into his yellow clunker of a station wagon. When done, my new buddy patted the bow of his modest 16-foot, tri-hull boat. “Well, what do you think of Minnow? She’s a beauty; isn’t she?”
Slowly scanning the deck and cream-colored exterior of the well-kept fish-and-ski craft, I grinned. “Not bad. I’d love to have a boat, but I've been stuck fishing from the shores.”
He chuckled. “We’re going to have lots of fun with this thing. You’ll see.”
We climbed into the Ford station wagon and met up with some of his other friends in a Kmart parking lot. After our introductions and brief exchanges, we all caravanned east, toward Lake Toledo Bend, on the border between Texas and Louisiana.
The passengers in each vehicle carried a walkie-talkie to communicate with the others along the way. We hadn’t traveled very far before the chatter continued non-stop. Being a young blood, I hadn’t heard so many grown men gossip the way they carried on.
I shook my head and glanced at my fishing partner. “Man, they sure like to talk up a storm -- don’t they?”
He grinned. “Yep, that’s the way it always is with these guys.”
As if their blabbering wasn’t enough to drive me batty, someone’s ear-shattering singing just about pushed me over the edge. Steve must have sensed my growing aggravation as he turned his head toward me. “You want to drive for a bit?”
“You bet I do. Any distraction from all that noise has to be an improvement.”
He chuckled. “We’ll switch at our next break.”
It wasn’t more than 10 minutes before the caravan pulled into the parking lot of a Carl's Jr. hamburger joint. Some of the guys popped in to buy a cup of coffee, while the rest of us became more acquainted.
When we were ready to resume our trip, I slid in behind the steering wheel of my buddy’s vehicle and maneuvered my way to the back of the caravan. While I had pulled wagons and such with slow-moving tractors, I never towed anything at 70 mph before. Somewhat leery, I kept watching the boat behind me to make sure I hadn’t lost it while barreling down the road.
It appeared as if the thing had a tendency to sway back-and-forth, so I turned toward my companion. “Seems like your boat trailer likes to fishtail a bit.”
“Nah, that’s just because you keep looking at it in the rearview mirror. It’s only natural for you to keep trying to adjust to it. Just relax and stop looking at it so much, and everything will be fine. Trust me.”
Sure enough. As soon as I stopped peeking at the thing so often, it settled down. Relieved, I sighed. “It worked. How did you know?"
“It happens to a lot of folks the first time they tow something at higher speeds. When you’ve been on as many trips as I have, you learn a lot of tricks. Just stick with me, and I’ll teach you more than you care to know.”
Nodding, I smiled. “Alright. I’m going to hold you to that.”
He laughed and joined the chatterboxes on the walkie-talkie. Before long, some impatient driver, who must have been stuck behind our caravan, got antsy and attempted to pass all 5 of our vehicles. It took him forever to get by all of us and our boats, on the two-lane highway with no shoulders.
My heart pounded as I held my breath, hoping he didn’t cause any trouble. The maniac barely swung over into our lane ahead of the lead truck, just before a semi came barreling down from the other side. Someone in our party hollered, “That guy’s an idiot, but lucky for us, we now have someone trolling for smokies.”
I wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but cheers filled the airwaves. Immediately, the caravan picked up the pace.
They must have figured the speedster ahead of us would certainly trigger any patrol car’s radar well before we’d encounter any speed traps. Sure enough, about 15 minutes later, a police cruiser with flashing lights had pulled the sucker over in a school zone.
A big smile crawled across my lips. “That’ll teach him.”
Steve nodded. “Yep, but now we lost our troller.”
As the caravan slowed a bit to just over the speed limit, it allowed me the chance to look at the surroundings. The spring colors along the route were magnificent.
There were 15 to 20-foot-tall trees with bright white blossoms in many of the fields, not far from Crockett, Texas. The wild flowering trees were particularly abundant along Hwy 79, near the small town of Franklin.
We eventually hooked a right down Hwy 7 and continued through the Davy Crockett Forest for quite a way. Then, the caravan turned onto 103 and traveled through Lufkin.
After zooming past a huge paper mill that stunk to high heaven, I delighted in observing quite a number of white dogwoods and pink redbuds. The stunning trees stood out among the shadows of pines and hardwoods, along the side of the road.
I quickly learned not to take my eyes off the road for too long when a logging truck, stacked with lengthy pine logs, inched ever so slightly over the centerline. Our lead driver laid on the horn while swerving to avoid it. Gasping, I quickly followed suit to keep from getting hit myself.
It took a while, but my heart finally settled down as we continued past the Sam Rayburn Reservoir to Hemphill. Many of the old houses of the quaint, little town were accented with gorgeous hedges of azaleas, showered with blossoms of every color found on a painter’s palette.
I kept thinking to myself. This is paradise. I’ve got to move to East Texas someday -- no doubt about it.
After witnessing the most beautiful assortment of wild trees and bushes in my life, we headed south along the Sabine National Forest to within a few miles of the dam at the southernmost tip of Lake Toledo Bend. Though the drive was a bit long, the 6 hours didn’t feel so bad with all of nature’s wonders to behold. We arrived at our destination late that afternoon, and our party of 12 checked into a huge cabin with 8 bunk beds and one bathroom.
I surveyed the place and shook my head. It didn’t take a brainiac to realize the inadequacy of our meager accommodations. One bathroom for 11 men and a woman? How’s that gonna work? As it turned out, most of us guys found relief among the nearby pine trees.
While the structure may have been lacking, fortunes abounded in other areas. Two of the men owned a restaurant, and they brought along their griddle and plenty of food.
Better yet, one of them loved cooking and announced that he’d be fixing breakfast before we all headed out fishing each morning. The good-natured man must have weighed every bit of 350 pounds, and every ounce of jolliness bore witness to his propensity to sample bits of his tasty cooking.
The rest of us agreed to pitch in and make sandwiches for lunch on the boats each day. In the meantime, our amazing cook planned to quit fishing around 3 pm and prepare dinner. Those not cooking would take turns cleaning up afterward.
It was the perfect setup for an area with nary a town within decent driving distance. The few businesses in Hemphill usually shuttered their doors around 5 pm, before we usually got off the lake.
That first night of our arrival was interesting, to say the least. I hadn’t slept in the same bedroom with so many males, since my time in the orphanage. One thing was for sure; I didn’t remember ever having to endure so much snoring and farting, after my head hit the pillow.
The obnoxious noise crashing my ears from all directions made it nearly impossible to fall asleep. I couldn’t tell whether the lone woman, across the room, contributed to all the commotion, and I really didn’t care to know. Holding my breath and pulling the covers over my head, I finally dozed off.
The next day turned out to be rainy and cold, with none of us faring very well out on our boats. All-in-all, we only caught nine largemouth bass among us.
I felt especially bad for two brothers of our bunch, who never got to fish at all that fateful day. After they hooked up a charger to their boat battery the evening we arrived, a nosey raccoon knocked it into the lake.
Both of them took turns trying to start their boat, but the battery only groaned and eventually gave up the ship. When they borrowed someone else’s charger and finally got the cranking battery fully charged, they still couldn’t get the engine to start. They reluctantly spent a good deal of the afternoon tinkering with the outboard, until they finally got it purring.
Well, wouldn’t you know it. That old superstition about bad things coming in threes burned them good. The next day, they piloted their boat out to point, near a cove, and tied up to a stump. Their luck appeared to have changed for the better, when they caught a slew of crappy in that same spot all day long. Such fortunes can be quite deceptive.
Ready to return to the marina, the older of the brothers began untying the rope, when the younger one accidentally goosed the throttle. The boat jolted forward and struck a stump. His brother sailed through the air and splashed into the lake. Being the middle of March, that water was mighty cold, even in Texas.
When he finally climbed onto the boat and made it back to the cabin, his clothes dripped all over the floor, while his teeth chattered up a storm. Madder than a hornet, he cussed his brother a few times, as he stuffed his suitcase and stormed off down the road -- never to return.
His forlorn brother stuck it out for the remainder of our stay, but none of us saw hide nor hair of either of them on future trips. Can’t say I blame them. They were probably quite embarrassed by the whole ordeal.
After the rest of us enjoyed better luck during the remainder of that trip, we topped it off with a wonderful fish fry, during our last evening together -- the perfect way to end our outing. I loved getting to know some new friends and looked forward to the annual trip every spring.
Unfortunately, one of the restaurant owners, who was the main organizer of our fishing expeditions, lost his life on a ski slope in Colorado one winter. Sadness overwhelmed us, and the enthusiasm across the group waned to the point where only a few people showed up for the next trip. It never felt the same after that.
Being a diehard fisherman, I wasn’t about to give up visiting such a beautiful location in Texas. After convincing another friend of mine to take the trip to Toledo Bend the next spring, we had a blast.
Sure, it wasn’t quite the same without all the fishing tales amongst a dozen companions, but Rick and I were having the time of our lives. We caught plenty of fish and shared tales of our own.
Enjoying it so much, we returned each year, between mid-March and the early part of April. On one such occasion, my friend was backing the boat away from the marina, as the morning sun barely poked above the horizon. The reddish-orange glow from a nearby cluster of clouds took my breath away. The colors across the skyline were absolutely glorious.
Between the gorgeous sunrise and the gentle rocking of the boat, as we idled out of the cove, my heart and soul melted into a peaceful resolve -- ready for a great day of fishing. I turned toward my buddy. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
He smiled. “That’s for sure.”
As my middle-aged friend piloted the boat between a couple of coves, I spotted movement along the shoreline and pointed. “Hey, take us over there.”
“Why? What’s up?”
“I see a couple of fox pups playing on the beach. Let’s watch them for a while.”
He eased back on the throttle, and the boat slowed in the shallows. Sand flew in all directions as the furry playmates charged each other, and at the last second, jumped high in the air, while batting at each other with their paws. When they tumbled to the ground, they’d attacked each other again.
Amazed at the spectacle, I turned toward Rick. “This is fun! I’ve never seen red foxes this close before.”
The carefree pups latched their jaws around each other’s neck, while wagging their heads in a playful exchange of chomping their sibling until they yelped and ran off. They continued chasing each other back and forth across the shoreline, non-stop.
We enjoyed their acrobatic feats so much, Rick lowered the anchor, and we watched them play for at least 20 minutes. Finally, the pups wore each other out and plopped onto the sand for a rest. With our entertainment sadly coming to an end, we picked up anchor and headed out to deeper waters.
Even though we caught plenty of fish for the remainder of the day, nothing beat the beautiful sunrise and the mesmerizing antics provided by those foxy playmates. As was often the case, our day on the water provided experiences so much more rewarding than simply catching a few wiggly things at the end of our lines.
The love of my annual trips to Toledo Bend lived on for decades and included taking three different fishing buddies over that period of time. When it came time to ponder where to live after I retired, the allure of the beauty of springtime and the call of the bountiful lakes and forests led me to one place -- and one place only -- East Texas.
**********
That's it for now. I hope you enjoyed the latest of my experiences.
Unfortunately, I didn't bother to take my camera, and I was too busy fishing or enjoying nature's wonders to bother with snapping pictures anyway. I'm stuck with sharing some of my more recent pictures, when I used the camera more frequently. I'll also include pictures of the amazing flowering trees and bushes in East Texas as examples of the sights I enjoyed during my annual trips to Toledo Bend.
Thank you so much for your wonderful support!
Andy Skrzynski
Reid was a great fisherman who taught me lots of wonderful angling tips.
Me and my Louisiana Fishing t-shirt that my lovely wife bought me during a Toledo Bend trip together.
This was the last time I got to spend fishing with my wonderful buddy, Reid. He brought his son along for this trip on Lake Brenda. At that time, Reid was undergoing intensive chemo and radiation therapy for several brain tumors, and he wanted to escape. My heart broke when my great fishing companion died the next month in 2010. I miss him a lot!!!
Red and White Azaleas
Pink Azalea
Coral, White and Pink Azaleas
White and Pink Dogwoods with Lake Brenda in the background
Redbud Tree and Azaleas
Dogwood and Red Azaleas
Many snow-white Dogwoods
White and Red Azaleas
Bonnie and our dear friend, Becky, standing in front of the humongous Wisteria vine on the back corner of Becky's property. This Wisteria has thousands of purple blossoms that must serve every beehive in Wood County. This thing is so big that it extends another 15 feet on each side of this picture. It is about 25 feet high and more than 60 feet wide and when the breeze is blowing from the east, we can smell the fragrance from these flowers a half a block away.