WIWAB ... Part 5 - Set the lines

We made our way downstream, putting out poles as we went. Soon the sandbar on our side disappeared against the tall bank as the river meandered to our left.

"Looks ok here. Shallow.", he said and we waded across toward the sandbar on the other side. He reached inside his waders and pulled out a kerchief. He mopped the sweat from his face and then with the kerchief hanging like a limp flag from his hand he pointed across the river to our right. "See the turtles?" I looked and looked. "Come on. We'll get closer.", he said. We baited a couple poles and splashed our way into the deeper water. In a few steps I said, "Oh, yeah! Three of them on the log." And with that all three seemed to look up at us, sigh, and then lazily crawled off their perch into the water. One was as big as a dinner plate. "Snapping turtles?", I asked and looked into the muddy water swirling around my legs. "Nah, softshell turtles, I think. No problem."

We were taking poles from the second bundle now. The river changed course again, this time making a big turn to our right. The water became a few inches deep at the start of the turn. The stream bubbled and gurgled over the rocks on the bottom. You could hear stones clattering along as the current relentlessly pushed them toward the Mississippi River.

Halfway across he stopped and pointed. Silent as a ghost a blue heron came flying toward us from downstream. He looked big as an airplane with his long neck and long sharp beak. His stick-like legs trailed behind him. We froze and the bird flew past within a few feet of us -- close enough to hear the snap of his flight feathers with each beat from his three-foot long wings. Gracefully he pulled up and gently landed on those skinny legs at the edge of the sandbar we'd just left. Cocking his head he seemed to tiptoe through the shallow water, then freeze like a statue, then tiptoe then freeze then. Zap! The curled neck straightened and the beak speared into the water. Out he came with a stuggling minnow clasped at the very tip of his beak. With a funny flip of his head the fish disappeared into his mouth. I could see his throat work as he swallowed. "Well, he got one. I hope we do." my father said and turned back across the little rapids.

We put more poles out along the big bend. The water was deep and fast. Some spots I couldn't wade to -- too deep. By the time we reached the end of the bend, we were back in the shadows of the trees again. Cooler. As the stream straightened the channel became shallower. We put the last of the poles out in that channel near a big pile of brush that had built up along the bank to our left.

"That's it. Fifty poles out. How yah doin'?"

"Great."

He took the minnow bucket and looked inside. Closing the lid he dumped half the water out. "Not many left in there. Might as well lighten the load." And handed it to me.

He scanned the bank behind us to our right. "Here's where we want to climb out next time." It was higher than where we'd first come down to the river -- maybe 10' from river level to where the corn grew. "Hoo. Big bunch of nettles up there." he said looking up and shading his eyes. He walked closer to the bank and along it for several steps. The river started to bend away to our left again. "Here we go." and he disappeared up the bank and into the weeds at the top. "Stay there. This is fine." I heard him say, then in a flash he was back down the bank and standing next to me. "Let's check 'em out on the way back." We started to retrace our steps back to our car.

As we walked the shore he said, "Ok, we've got ten right here by the brush pile. Twelve along the bend." He kept up a running commentary, fixing in his mind where the poles were. As we crossed the little rapids to the second sandbar, I noticed the heron was gone. We crossed over the river once more and at the far end of the sandbar I could see the second minnow bucket sticking from the water. We were back to the car. Two hours had past since we started.

Now it was time to make camp.