Bubba Jones Locker Part 2

When we last saw our Heroes, they were fishing in the Bayou of Doom and having a great day! Let's see how they're doing now...


Captain Jack and I were having a great day fishing. We'd had some promising bites and a few lip outs, but our spirits were high. Suddenly however, things went sour. I started snagging on hidden logs. We'd ease the boat over and my snagged bait was magically hanging limp in the water. Captain Jack began getting wind knots in his braided line with no wind blowing. Our once perfect casts were now catching limbs, getting caught in the stems of lilly pads and rigging into Spanish moss causing them to clump into the water and being brought to the boat on our retrieves. This went on for hours.
Captain Jack looked at me and stated flatly that he was done. He'd just pilot our craft and enjoy the boat ride. This shook my soul to the core. Captain Jack hanging up the hook for the day? His internal warning alarm had obviously gone off and he picked up on it. Me? Nope. Not one sound, alarm, bell or whistle. I held up my best fishing weapon, squared my shoulders and defiantly cried out, "Not me!" Yep. I've never been the sharpest saw in the shed.


Captain Jack positioned the boat further back into the bayou and I became a fiend. I was casting at every stump, clump, and log I saw. I was on a mission! I could not or would not be defeated! How wrong I was.  The next few minutes are chiseled into my heart. A horror I will never forget. Captain Jack was standing on the fore deck watching me and making supportive comments. At one of these I looked at him to reply something. As I was opening my mouth I was also making an off hand cast. I'd done this a million times. No big deal. Then as if pulled or rather being snatched from my hand, my best and most prized fishing weapon launched itself into the air! It flew 5 or 6 feet from the boat! I froze. I couldn't speak or think. The rod landed on top of the water and hung there a second, a minute, a lifetime. But I was powerless to move.


After staring at the dark murky water for 5 minutes without saying a word, I sat down. I'd been defeated. Whooped. My fishing heart laid open for the world to poke at. Captain Jack started the boat, eased back to the channel and we began the ride out. Bouncing on the water I looked back over my shoulder into the bayou and for a moment, just a brief glimmer of time, I saw a ragged arm cold and dead holding my rod high in the air. I whispered to myself, "Bubba Jones."

- JD

Bubba Jones' Locker Part 1

In years past when men traversed the oceans using sails and oars, there was the tail of Davy Jones' locker. When a ship or its crew went down, it was said they became prisoners in Jones' locker along with all the treasure the vessels carried. This tale is nothing new. However, very few have heard of Davy Jones's brother, Bubba Jones.
Bubba resides in lakes, rivers, and streams. He is not as wealthy as his brother, however he is just as viscous and cold blooded. This is a tale of my latest run in with Bubba.


I recently took a trip back to Oil City to fish on Caddo lake. I'd lain out the tackle I needed. I had changed the line out on my best fishing weapon. I had even planned the area I would fish and how I was to fish. Captain Jack was to be my fishing partner as usual and he'd done the same. Even his wife, Cheryl (one of the best cooks in the area) had prepared our typical fishing meal which consisted of hard boiled eggs, sliced pepperoni, cubed cheddar cheese and a sleeve of crackers. Captain Jack and I were ready for battle! I just didn't realize who we'd be battling.


Captain Jack and I hit the water around 6 am. We motored over the lake to a bayou hidden in the darkest recesses of Caddo Lake. The area we were going to fish was laden with lilly pads and cypress trees. The Spanish Moss hung from the branches of the tress like funeral shrouds on the faces of weathered old women. This was truly an amazingly eerie place. I had but one thought, "Let's fish!"


We began systematically casting at different areas. There were casts made into the heart of lilly pads. Casts made into clusters of cypress trees. Casts made skipping baits under the moss hanging. It was a great start to the day. Then it started.


Join us tomorrow fearless readers for the conclusion of "JD and Bubba Jones' Bayou!"


- JD

The Literal Minnow

There are few fishing trips that can compare to the magic of fishing with minnows! The chant of, "Go Shiner, go!" is a mantra that poured from my mouth on more than one occasion. But there is one occasion that sticks out in my mind more than others.


When I was around 15 my buddy John and I received a gift from a gentleman who knew of our love of fishing. He had in his possession a life raft that had once been naval issue. It consisted of a body of rigid plastic filled with styrofoam and there was no real bottom. Attached by nylon ropes were wooden slats that made up the "floor" of the boat. So obviously it was open to the water beneath the body. You could sit on the side with your feet resting in the bottom. Of course everything else you had rested in the water as well. Not a great or even good fishing vessel, but to us it was a yacht.


One perfect summer day, John and I stopped at the bait store and loaded up on minnows, or shiners as we called them. We bought a bucket full; must have been a hundred! We then bolted to the lake with our mighty vessel in the back of John's truck. When we arrived to the lake (really just a cattle pond) we threw the raft into the water from the shore and we took turns passing the bucket of minnows back and forth as we got into the wonderful gift we'd received.
Paddling around the lake, we rigged up our lines with bobbers and split shot. Placing our minnows on the hooks, we would cast them out and watch the bobbers slowly meander around the lake. We would get visibly excited when the bobber stopped meandering and started moving in a straight line very quickly. A bass was chasing our minnow! The magic chant was then started. "Go Shiner, go!" We were willing the minnow to entice the bite of the bass that would plunge the bobber into the brown lake water. Suddenly the bobber would plummet under the water! We would set the hook and bring out our prize. It wasn't always a nice bass, but that didn't matter. We had caught a fish. I imagine for someone standing on the shore the chanting and then the yelling of two teenage boys must have been a sight.


After catching a nice eating bass, I needed to rig up another minnow. I asked John to hand me the bucket. He reached into the water filled bottom of our raft and went to hand me the minnow bucket. I'm not sure what happened next. I remember his bobber going under and him jerking around to snatch his pole up to keep it from going over board. And suddenly, inexplicably his foot struck the bucket knocking it over. The lid to the bucket balanced just for a moment on the top and then slid off under the force of the shiners slamming into it as it fell over onto its side. When it landed half submerged into the bottom of the raft, the minnows saw their chance. Freedom had arrived on the foot of a teenage boy! They saw the open water under the raft and with one accord they dispersed out of the bucket, between the slats, and then out into the open waters of the lake.


John and I sat there silently and watched all our minnows swim away. The fish on the one baited pole got away. We had two baitless poles and an empty minnow bucket. We were done. The magic had backfired. After a few minutes of silence I looked at John and said, "Maybe we shouldn't say go shiner, go." He looked at me and asked why. I replied, "Because those minnows took us way to literal."


- JD

Big Joe's Imperial Flounder

Okay Hooks, it's time for another recipe. This one comes from my buddy Big Joe Ross. Sadly Big Joe has passed, but he was quite an amazing guy.


Big Joe Ross was actually on the USS Indianapolis. For those who don't know, the Indianapolis was the naval cruiser that delivered critical parts for the first atomic bomb used by the United States in its war against Japan during the War in the Pacific. As the Indianapolis was returning to port it was torpedoed by the Imperial Japanese Navy and sunk in 12 minutes. There were 1,196 crewmen aboard and approximately 300 went down with the ship. The other 900 men went overboard. These men were adrift on the ocean for 4 days with almost no food or water. Many were seriously injured and died within the first 24 hours. The others faced exposure to the sun, dehydration and shark attacks. Of these men only 316 survived. Big Joe Ross was one of those men.
Big Joe never went into great detail about what happened. He only stated he served on the Indianapolis and lost some close friends. He did however give me this great recipe for stuffed flounder!


2 lbs flounder fillets
1 lb lump crab meat (real please)
1 tsp of butter
1 cup chopped green pepper
1/4 cup chopped onion
1 cup mayonnaise
1/4 cup heavy cream
1-2 tsp Old Bay Seasoning


WARNING: DO NOT mess with the crab meat. You want it in large clumps!!!!!
In a skillet heat up your butter then add your onions and green peppers. Don't over cook the peppers. You want them crisp. Now put that to the side.


In a large bowl beat the cream until it is almost firm. Ease in the mayonnaise. Place the seasoning, peppers and onions, and the crab mesh into this mix. Stir GENTLY until the goo is well mixed.
Spoon out (heavy amounts please) the crab mix onto the fillets of flounder. Now, roll up the fillets and put wooden toothpicks to hold them together. Bake the fillets for 30 minutes at 350 degrees.


To Big Joe and all our service men and women, we at Southern Hooks thank you!


- JD

The Oil City Outlaws

I was driving down to Mobile the other day, and as usual once I was on the road good my mind went on autopilot and started free ranging inside itself.  A song came on the radio and my ears automatically picked it up and my brain ran in a different direction.  I was suddenly back in Oil City sitting on the banks of Caddo Lake hearing, seeing and smelling a way of life that is uniquely Southern.  Let me take a moment to explain.

A typical Southern Saturday on the lake went down like this.  I would ease out onto the lake for some early morning fishing.  After allowing the sun and the water to awaken me, I would head back in to see what was cooking for the day.  Now I have a very eclectic group of friends there.  I took to calling my circle the Oil City Outlaws after a comment my mother made one day, but I'll relate that story another time.  Invariably the plans of the day led to us all convening later in the day for an eating.  You see here in the South whenever a group of people get together there has to be food involved.  I think it was written into the bylaws of the Southern Tradition Handbook somewhere.  It's not just relegated to social events.  The tradition is found recognized by church functions, work holidays and even upon the death of someone.  There is always food. 


Once the menu had been approved by all (it was usually a fish fry or shrimp boil), preparations started.  There was fish (most always having been caught and donated by a member of the Oil City Outlaws) or shrimp (having been bought at the seafood market) to be battered or cleaned.  And of course potatoes, corn, sausage, and beverages.  Oh, and usually a cake or pie made from scratch by one of the wives or girlfriends.  You know how we Southern folk eat! 


Everyone would convene at the lake house and then fun started.  As the food was being prepared (Thank you, Captain Jack and Teddy) the pre-meal beverages (Thank you, Jayci) were served.  Rum drinks, bourbon drinks, and cold beer all around please!  In the background Buffett, Marley, Hank Jr., and Willie would preform for us.  There might have even been some spontaneous dancing here and there.  After everyone had a full belly and as the sun began to set and the moon showed its shy face, the celebration of our Southern lives began in earnest.  Now I can't go into detail about a lot of things that occurred, at least not until the Statute of Limitations runs out, but let's just say there were Turkey Walks in the kitchen (Thank you, Kevin), screen doors being made where there were none (Thank you, Teke), and partial truths and half fictions being told and retold (Thank you, Brent and Missy and Clint Paul and Cheryl), and of course lots of bad jokes and fun poking at each other.


As the night worn on and our bodies wore out, slowly people would drift back to their homes.  Full of the day and grateful for the fellowship,  there would be plans laid for the next convening of the Oil City Outlaws.  And if you listened real close to the night sounds, you could hear the voice of the South whispering goodnight and the waters of Caddo Lake singing everyone to sleep.



- JD