As usual, it was the weekend between Mothers’ Day and Memorial Day. A good time to fish trout. The water was warm enough to only be cold but not too warm as to get the scissorbills off of their bar stools and chase away the fish. Cousin Bob and I met Black Bear, also known as Jim Brown, in St Johns on the way north. Not too far north though, just up to the state park in Harrison. The Group was small that year. As I recall it was 1979; the year before Mt St Helens blew. We went back there the next year, the three of us and Roger Stowe.
Getting up to the camp grounds was quick, leaving us time enough to set tents and start a fire. Dinner was had in St Johns so there was nothing else to do but breakout the beer. Black Bear broke out his guitar, he was good at it. A couple of beers and we were singing “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” and other such songs. A quiet night.
After the usual breakfast of bacon and eggs, we headed down US127 to the Mannsiding Rd exit (168?). Just about four mile east on Mannsiding bought us to the bridge over the North Branch of the Tobacco River, a small stream just big enough for two. Bob sent Black Bear and me upstream, which he had fished the summer before, while he went downstream to scout the stretch which was new to him. A nice mild May day and hungry browns led to each of us pitching in some trout for a good mess for our Saturday night dinner and a few to take home. A real nice, easy going, good time fishing trip. Not for long.
We had a great dinner. Trout fried in bacon grease, boiled redskins, big salad and a couple of beers. Clean-up and a good fire set as the sun went down. Plenty of time for more beers, songs and tales about previous trips to the Crocket Rapids stretch of the Black well into the night. Then we noticed a car pulling into a spot about 75 yards across the campground, there were so few groups camping that night that it kind of stood out.
A little while later a somewhat scruffy, thin, forty something guy came over to our fire and said howdy and asked how things were. We allowed as how things were fine and offered him a seat, which he took. He was driving across-country from California, low on gas and short on money, or so he said. I could tell that he was very aggitated, shaking/wringing hands and jettery speech. After a few minutes of chewing the fat he left and walked back to his campsite.
We talked about him for a while, letting the fire burn down a bit, and finally decided to drive by his camp to see what he might be up to. Saw nothing unusual; it appeared he was inside. We went back, threw some wood on the fire and cracked some more beers. Soon he was back. This time lighting his way back with a big, aluminum 5 D-cell Mag-Light. He sat down. “Boys” he said as he tapped that big light in his hand, “I really need some money.” Now Bob was 6’ 4” about 230, I was 6’ 1” 165 and in great condition (not like that today) and Black Bear a little shorter but well put together. This guy was short, skinny and looked like a mild breeze would knock him over. But he sat there tapping the flash light in his hand and saying he needed some money. We all said that we too were low on cash, which was not true for Black Bear and me. After several minutes Bob finally took out his wallet and opened it showing that he only had $10 left. He gave it to the guy who promptly left never to be seen again. Black Bear and I reimbursed Bob and we put out the fire and went to bed for a good night’s sleep.
The trip home on Sunday morning was nice, with fish in the cooler.
Mike Hunter
Getting up to the camp grounds was quick, leaving us time enough to set tents and start a fire. Dinner was had in St Johns so there was nothing else to do but breakout the beer. Black Bear broke out his guitar, he was good at it. A couple of beers and we were singing “Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain” and other such songs. A quiet night.
After the usual breakfast of bacon and eggs, we headed down US127 to the Mannsiding Rd exit (168?). Just about four mile east on Mannsiding bought us to the bridge over the North Branch of the Tobacco River, a small stream just big enough for two. Bob sent Black Bear and me upstream, which he had fished the summer before, while he went downstream to scout the stretch which was new to him. A nice mild May day and hungry browns led to each of us pitching in some trout for a good mess for our Saturday night dinner and a few to take home. A real nice, easy going, good time fishing trip. Not for long.
We had a great dinner. Trout fried in bacon grease, boiled redskins, big salad and a couple of beers. Clean-up and a good fire set as the sun went down. Plenty of time for more beers, songs and tales about previous trips to the Crocket Rapids stretch of the Black well into the night. Then we noticed a car pulling into a spot about 75 yards across the campground, there were so few groups camping that night that it kind of stood out.
A little while later a somewhat scruffy, thin, forty something guy came over to our fire and said howdy and asked how things were. We allowed as how things were fine and offered him a seat, which he took. He was driving across-country from California, low on gas and short on money, or so he said. I could tell that he was very aggitated, shaking/wringing hands and jettery speech. After a few minutes of chewing the fat he left and walked back to his campsite.
We talked about him for a while, letting the fire burn down a bit, and finally decided to drive by his camp to see what he might be up to. Saw nothing unusual; it appeared he was inside. We went back, threw some wood on the fire and cracked some more beers. Soon he was back. This time lighting his way back with a big, aluminum 5 D-cell Mag-Light. He sat down. “Boys” he said as he tapped that big light in his hand, “I really need some money.” Now Bob was 6’ 4” about 230, I was 6’ 1” 165 and in great condition (not like that today) and Black Bear a little shorter but well put together. This guy was short, skinny and looked like a mild breeze would knock him over. But he sat there tapping the flash light in his hand and saying he needed some money. We all said that we too were low on cash, which was not true for Black Bear and me. After several minutes Bob finally took out his wallet and opened it showing that he only had $10 left. He gave it to the guy who promptly left never to be seen again. Black Bear and I reimbursed Bob and we put out the fire and went to bed for a good night’s sleep.
The trip home on Sunday morning was nice, with fish in the cooler.
Mike Hunter