I must share this short story that treads and wades deep within my mind. I still chuckle to myself when I think about it. First, I must share a little of my family's past history in regards to our/their fishing. This was our favorite fun past-time, the love of the fish fry. As far back as I can remember, my father, mother, brother and several uncles had many fishing experiences.
In this story, my favorite Uncle Marvin, one of my cousins and myself was involved. Many times when I got home from school, there was a call from Uncle Marvin, and his words were always the same "hey, have you got your fishing britches on?" I was always thrilled and knew exactly what was on his mind. You see, living in mid-Georgia, we have many choice places to go fishing. One of our favorites was known as "Gum Swamp," a dark water creek with plenty of good fishing that fit our style. Uncle Marvin and I had "swamp stomped" this creek many times before this particular story unfolds. What made this day different was my cousin was with us, one who had little fishing experience in "Gum Swamp." Because of his lack of experience, we led him to one of our spots that was easy to access, and required little wading into the creek. This would allow the use of a can pole to reach the stumps and underwater brush for our best chance at catching any fish.
Most of the time our tackle only consisted of one can pole, extra hooks, sinkers, corks, and a cricket box slung over our shoulders, as well as, a stringer for the catch, which we carried in our blue jeans pockets. Also, keep in mind that this is a swamp full of many of God's creatures other than fish. After setting my cousin up in an area and giving him a few pointers, Uncle Marvin crossed the creek in order to follow the run up-water, while I proceeded down creek to the main run toward deeper water that was more familiar.
I had only been fishing about an hour, with a few perch on my stringer, when I heard a faint shaky voice coming from up stream. I stood still trying to make out the word, when I heard it again, a little louder this time, a name, shaky and strung-out like Marrrrrrrrrrvin!!!! Realizing that it was my cousin, I took in my pole, grabbed my fish and headed his way. By this time, he had gained my uncle's attention when answered "boy, what is the mater with you?" Marrrrrrrrrrrrrrvin, was the only response, but only this time in panic rather than normal voice. By the time I made it back to my cousin's location, my uncle has already arrived on the scene.
My cousin was standing in the water above his knees, with his arms out-stretched, left hand holding his pole, while in his right hand, he was holding his cricket box. He was looking downward and obviously in distress, when once again one name came from his lips, Marrrrrrrrrrrrrrvin. At that time, I saw what the problem was a very large snake, a cotton mouth.
Picture this if you can, my cousin is standing knee deep in the middle of the creek, and the snake is slowly moving in an out between his legs, only going maybe 4-5 feet, before returning to slide between his legs again. "Marrrrrrrrrrrrvin" was the only sound you could hear. Calmly, Uncle Marvin assessed the situation and told my cousin to just stand still and the snake will move away shortly. That shortly seemed much longer, more like forever, but finally the snake did move a little further out may 5 or 6 feet, but that was far enough for my cousin. Suddenly, I saw a cane pole flying through the air, tackle flying in the opposite direction, with my cousin running, stomping and splashing, coming out of the creek, flying by my uncle and myself and continuing on up the trail, or maybe he cut a new one through the bush, straight to the truck. The next sound I heard was the slamming of the truck door.
Not only did this end the days fishing, but as far as I know, it also permanently ended my cousin's swamp stomping trips.http://workingseniorsmoderntechnology.blogspot.com/
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