Happy Fathers Day, “Pa POW!!!!!!”
My dad, also known as “The Judge” gave us boys one hell of
an upbringing. It was 1965 and our station wagon was a flat lime green with
some sort of “wood paneling esk” down the sides of the car. We would load that
sucker up and head to the “Rivah” for the weekends and stay on our 23 foot
Owens named the “Cee B”. The weekends were jam packed with croaker fishing in
the York River, catching crabs on dock pilings, and char broiling steaks on the
wooden docks. When we weren’t picking fresh beer steamed crabs, we were off
finding new adventures in our leaky ten foot aluminum boat powered by a 9.9hp
mercury. Yes, the weekends on the Rivah is what shaped my childhood and gave me
a lot to look forward to as an adult.
Fishing was always a family priority and we did not always
wait until the weekends to get our thrill of the hook and line. The Judge had a
buddy that owned a nearby farm and that farm had some woods. In those woods was
an old dirt road that led to a small pond that rarely was ever fished. The fact
is that pond was loaded to the gills with bass and brim. The Judge would haul
us boys in the old wagon pick up some blood worms and bobbers and head to the
pond. On arrival we quickly readied ourselves for the onslaught of brim that
we were about to catch.
“Jimmy… yall get outta the car grab your cane poles and head
over to the backside of the pond. I’am gonna fish right here by the weeds. Yall
holler when you’re hooked up!”
So, my brother and I gathered our things and began to walk
around the pond. I looked back at my dad as he prepared himself for fishing.
First thing the Judge does is strap his sidearm to his
side, it was a big holster with a big pistol that was strapped around his waist
by a thick brown leather belt. Next, he grabs his cane pole in his right hand,
and a beer in his left hand. There goes dad, walking down the bank with his
shirt off wearing shorts, a fishing rod, sidearm, and a can of beer. He looked very
happy.
I walk around the pond and found a great little spot to
float my blood worms. This was a great little fishing hole and was quite a ways
away from the Judge and far enough away to where I could not see him, but I
could hear him.
Next thing I knew the brim where going after my bloodworms
like white on rice. I just knew that the Judge would be so proud of me for the
stringer that I was going to end up with. After about five fish I hear this
loud crack in the air as two shots ring out…
“Pa POW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
Then the Judge yells out, “Goteem!!”
My bobber quickly disappears underwater and I am hooked up
again. Brim after brim after brim, then finally a large mouth bass swims right
up to my blood worm and I am hooked up! My stringer is now half full! Then
another crack in the air…
“POW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
The Judge yells, “Got um again”.
By now I had about filled up my stringer and my brother had
been catching his fair share as well. I began to put away my cane pole and…
“POW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
This time there was silence after the gunfire. My brother
and I walked over to where the Judge was fishing and dad was so happy, he had finally
caught the elusive “Big Sam”. Big Sam was about a five pound largemouth bass
that dad had been trying to catch for years. He showed us the fish, then
released it back to the pond. At that time, it was the largest fish I had ever
seen.
I remember looking at the gun securely strapped in the
Judges holster and I ask my father,
“How many did you kill dad?” The Judge replied,
“Two for Four”.
This meant two dead water moccasins, four shots. The Judge
was quite a marksman just like his father, my grandfather who was also, Judge
Baugh. Grandpa use to go Dove hunting and be 12 for 12. Twelve shots, twelve
birds.
While I knew my dad was super excited about finally catching
Big Sam what I really found out that day was that what my dad liked even better
than fishing was shooting poisonous snakes. For him, being able to hit the head
of a swimming water moccasin with one shot from a far distance gave him a sense
of pride as a marksmen. Dad was a great shot, and a great dad.
The Judge and us boys gathered up our cane poles and threw
our string of fish in the Styrofoam cooler we got from the 7-11 drove out the
dirt road and headed home.
Drinking beer, catching fish, and shooting snakes.
That was on a Wednesday…
…We leave for the Rivah on Friday.
Jim Baugh
Jim Baugh Outdoors TV
Author of “HOOKED”
