‘BAIT, BOBBERS, & BULLHEADS’

          Growin’ up, a few of my buddies and me used to regard the Coahulla Creek, which runs through the upper part of the county, as our ‘exclusive’ fishin’ hole, as other than right around bridge crossings, we almost never saw anyone else fishin’ anywhere along the small creek’s length.

We spent many a spring and summer day there workin’ our way up and down the creek, outfitted with a cheap spinnin’ rod and reel combo from KMART, a container of worms, and a rope stringer each, in search of any ol’ kind of fish that’d bite, and we weren’t that particular back in them days.

In our minds, every bend of the creek or every bit of structure had the potential to hold a trophy fish that if caught, would guarantee the lucky angler a place in the Freshwater Fishing Hall of Fame. Not that it ever actually played out that way. LOL

          Our standard set-up was usually a fat, juicy nightcrawler impaled on a bait hook and suspended a foot and a half under a plastic bobber, that we’d float a couple or three times through each likely-lookin’ hole, and it was rare that a hole failed to yield up at least one or two eatin’-size fish.

          Rank amateurs, we’d make our casts upstream and overhead, often times windin’ up in an overhangin’ tree or some streamside brush. A jerk or two, and our bait would hit the water with a plop. The cheap, clear monofilament fishin’ line would stretch out across the water in tight li’l coils out to one of those ol’ red and white plastic fishing bobbers. Just a minute or so, and ‘ploomp’! Down would go the bobber, and up would go our adrenaline. Those creek fish were real scrappers, and they always put up a dang good fight! They’d do do-si-does ‘round and around, then suddenly dive deep, bowin’ the rod nearly in half, doin’ its durned level best to make for the nearest submerged downfall or snag. After finally bringin’ the thrashin’, splashin’, finny li’l creature to hand, our hearts would be poundin’ wide open from the excitement.

Sometimes it might be a big Bluegill or maybe even a small Bass that would take our offering, but most times it was a Bullhead… or what we commonly, and incorrectly, referred to as a ‘mud-cat’.

Now, none of the fish we were catchin’ were all that big, but that was okay, ‘cause as teenagers we were easily satisfied with quantity over quality. At the end of each such fishing trip, we’d come back proudly displayin’ a stringer full of fish, which would end up battered and deep fried to our satisfaction later that evenin’.

          Yep, that’s the way it was back then… back before any of us ever entered the first bass tournament or ever learned to cast a dry fly for a trout. It was simple fishing, simple fun. And, you know… a quarter century later, bait, bobbers, and Bullheads still sounds like some pretty good times.