OVER MY SHOULDER

Although sometimes, events are difficult to believe, I assure you that the following is an accurate account of one of the “fun” activities that I shared with my Father, my brothers and a college roommate (J.E. Pogue).

While home one Sunday morning in early May of my Sophomore year in college, Dad suggested that we go “sucker snaring”. Certainly, I was aware that my father was not above tricking someone when he thought of it or thought that he could get away with it. (you know maybe a snipe hunt, and someone other than Dad would end up holding the sack at the end of the row).---However, in this case it was a chance for an outing with Dad and my brothers.

We loaded the needed equipment into the old Chevy------the cane fishing poles, a roll of copper wire from an old model A (I think) coil, and a gunny sack in which we would carry the suckers, and headed for Uncle Oat’s place out on Wall Street road. Uncle Oat really was Dad’s cousin-----and his name was not Oat---his real name was Giota Essington Brock, but he preferred to be called Oat. (wonder why)

Uncle Oat, as we boys called him, was a quiet man with a low whispering voice-----which I always thought was a result of being in the trenches in Europe during the time that he was in the service in World War I. Uncle Oat had a quick wit and was full of good humor and fun---and boy did he enjoy eating fish. He and Dad shared a lot of family experiences and it was entertaining and great fun to sit around and listen to them swap stories----when they chose to talk---often they simply sat and enjoyed each others company in silence.

In any event we eventually arrived at Uncle Oat’s house, and along with he, Dad and my brothers, we wound our way down through the timber to Buck Creek. Buck Creek was one of those little creeks that was beautiful in the spring when the red bud is in blossom, and the leaves are just starting to show.

Most of the little creek was no wider than about twice the length of a cane pole (a cane pole is 12 to 14 feet long)-----at the narrow parts, one could jump across the creek. However, some of the little holes were 3 to 3 1/2 feet deep and up to 30 yards long. The creek was spring fed, and between the snow run off and the many springs running into it, the water was crystal clear. Usually in late summer the creek would be much lower and the livestock would keep it muddy.

Having grown up and hunted and fished this area all of his life, Dad knew something that we did not know----that in early spring the red and black suckers would shoal in these little rock bottom creeks. When the water was running, they would hunt the shallow rocky areas of clear water to lay their eggs.

Some years the water is clear enough and if one is in the right place at the right time, they can see these fish floating suspended in the water, hardly moving, either having laid their eggs, or waiting for the right time to lay their eggs.

On this Sunday morning, we had picked the correct day. We could see dozens of red and black suckers drifting suspended in about 3 feet of water. The sunshine gave the water and the fish a sparkle.

Dad formed a lariat type of loop on the end of about 4 feet of the small copper wire, tied the other end to the cane pole, eased up to the bank, very carefully worked the loop into the water around in front of the fish over the fish’s head---back to the side fins and with a quick jerk soon had a 15” or 16” sucker on the bank ready for the gunny sack.

In a matter of minutes, my brothers and I had “rigged” a cane pole, and were also catching suckers. We had a great time working up and down the creek through several small holes of water and by noon had a sack heavy with fish.

Now at our house, we never ate suckers----they have too many small bones. At Uncle Oat’s house, however, to was different. He and Aunt Lucille would cook the suckers in a pressure cooker, and eat them like salmon. He said that they were just as good as salmon. We helped him dress the fish, swapped a few stories about the big one that got away and about how much fun that we had and returned home.

The next week, I related the entire story to J.E.-----needless to say he nor the other guys in our rooming house believed the story----”what did they know, they were from Stella, Missouri---trout country”. In any event J.E. was not to let me off easy, and called my bluff---he would go home with me the next weekend and see how we caught the fish.

The next weekend, J.E., Dad, my brothers and I returned to Buck Creek which fortunately was still clear and still had suckers available. We ‘rigged” a pole and handed it to J.E. to give it a try----now J.E. was a sharp young man and was not about to “bite” on something as wild as snaring suckers, so he handed the pole back to me with a wide smile and a “show me”------which I did, and it did not take J.E. long to repossess the pole.

We had another fun day, a great experience together and Uncle Oat had another mess of fish----The guys in the rooming house still did not believe me or J.E.

My college was interrupted by a two year hitch in the service---J.E. graduated from college, taught a few years and then made a career in the National Guard. We would see each other on rare occasions------would exchange Christmas cards each Christmas----and drifted off into our own families and career.

Then several years ago while I was at a basketball game in Caney, a tall lanky man walked up beside me and said “Let’s go sucker snaring”----J.E. had retired and moved to Coffeyville. We had a good visit and promised each other that we would get together sometime for a meal and/or a game of golf. Through mutual friends, we kept making this promise, but never quite made the actual date and connection.

Then last Spring as I was approaching my retirement, I was returning home from a committee meeting and made a promise to myself that I would call J.E. that very evening and make a date to get together---------------imagine my dismay when I returned home and found on the kitchen table a telephone message that J.E. had died of cancer the day before.

Sometimes, we wait too long to do some of those things that are important to us. We procrastinate and just never seem to get around to it----it is spring again---about the first of May---the redbuds are in bloom---Dad and J.E. have gone to be with our Heavenly Father,----but I can still find my way to Buck creek----I wonder if I will get around to it? L.D.Curran