Bats, Rats & Rattlesnakes

by: Jimmy D. Moore©

Hardy was sitting on an old nail keg just inside the front door of Newsome's Hardware reading a John Gierach fly fishing book and patiently waiting for his small group of trout fishing buddies to show up. They'd soon be traveling to their backcountry cabin to fish their favorite holes on Dutch Oven Creek. For about a half mile above and below their cabin,the Dutch has a series of shallow round pools with relatively flat bottoms, each lipping out on the lower end and rippling down to the next with a nice, long run.  

Hardy had checked and rechecked to make sure he had everything, his trusty old Leonard bamboo fly rod, his ample assortment of flies, his waders, vest, hat, sleeping bag and rain gear. It always rained on them when they went to the Dutch. Having found everything in order for the umpteenth time, he leaned back against the wall, below a Skoal Snuff sign and continued reading "Fishing Bamboo" by John Gierach.

Hardy Loudermilk was in love with his old Leonard fly rod and had used it almost exclusively, since his dad gave it to him for his twelfth birthday. The old rod was twenty-five years old now, but still looked new. Hardy took better care of the Leonard than he did his wife.

Gierach had just served up a minor profanity when D. L. Troupe came tromping into the store. " Whatcha doin, Hardy", he exclaimed as he filled his jaw with a plug of Black Moria, his regular chew. Hardy allowed that he was "learnin" how to fully appreciate cane rods. "Dammit Hardy, you been fishin bamboo all yore life, don't know as to how anyone could appreciate cane more than you do," retorted D. L.. Hardy gave D. L. a "go to hell" look and turned back to his book. D. L. walked over to Ollie Newsome, the store owner and asked if he'd heard anything from Steve Taylor. Ollie said he'd seen Steve earlier over at the Fly Shop talking to Leford Rains and Uncle Percy Williams. "She-ute", lamented D. L., who had a habit of adding extra syllables to his words, "we'll never get away now."

D. L. headed across the street to pry Steve loose from Leford's and Uncle Percy's "talkfest". Leford was an alright guy, but he just didn't know when to shut up, and Uncle Percy had been everywhere, done everything and had hundreds of T-shirts, buttons and patches to prove it. Steve wasn't about to hurt Leford's feelings for he'd had free hunting and fishing privileges on Leford's ranch for years. You couldn't hurt Uncle Percy's feelings no matter what. He always had a "Comeback" that'd make you feel worse than you made him feel and he
relished doing it.

D. L. made his entrance into the Fly Shop and hollered, "Steve, you gotta real important phone call from Cora over at Newsome's." "Better get over there Steve, Cora's probably gonna cancel your fishing trip", chuckled Leford. Steve winced, for he figured Leford was right. Cora was probably having trouble getting the Twins to take their nap.

As they hurried back to Newsome's, Steve said, "Did Cora really call me or is it one or your pranks?" " Naw, twasn't Cora, but I knew it'd get you away from Leford and Uncle Percy. Me and Hardy got tired of waiting on you and Jim's on his way to pick us up." Steve never could tell when D. L. was serious and had been set upon  by naivete more than once where D. L. was concerned. However, this time he didn't mind and thanked D. L. for helping him make a graceful exit from Leford's.

As they were crossing the street, Jim Wetland, the last member of their foursome was just pulling up in his old beat up F-350 four wheel drive crew cab pick up. He didn't even bother turning off the big 7.3 liter diesel and its steady thump, thump echoed his impatience. "We're burning daylight gang, if we're going to fish any today, we gotta leave right now", growled Jim.

Everyone piled their gear in the back of the pick up, stair stepped up into the truck cab and settled back for the hour long drive to their cabin on the Dutch. As Jim let out on the clutch and floor boarded the accelerator, D. L. and Hardy almost went through the back window. "Jim, we're going to be gone the whole weekend, why the hurry," gasped Hardy as he twisted his neck around trying to get the minor whiplash out. All Jim said was, "browns bite better at dusk and we gotta be on the stream before then."  

"You can fish at night if you want to Jim, but as warm as its been lately, I ain't gonna chance steppin on a rattler by walking down to the creek in the dark", countered Hardy. Nobody said anything else the rest of the trip. 

It was close to dusk when they arrived at the cabin. Hardy, Steve and D. L. headed inside to unpack and get supper started. Jim headed down the hill to the creek, saying he'd see them in a little while. About an hour later Jim burst into the cabin, as white as a sheet. "You were right, Hardy", he wheezed, almost out of breath. "Right  about what", asked Hardy. "Rattler", screeched Jim, son of a gun bit me and it hurts like the devil!"

Well, that scared the hell out of everyone. The fang marks on the back of Jim's right hip boot just above the ankle were plainly visible as Hardy and D. L. began to yank it off. Steve got out his snakebite kit and was ready to "cut and suck" if needed. Jim jerked down the sock on his right ankle and there it was, one tiny mark, no swelling, no redness, nothing but a tiny little pin prick and one little spot of blood. They all breathed a sigh of relief, especially Jim. He later said that as soon as he realized he'd gotten no venom, the pain ceased. Funny, how the mind can play tricks like that.

After a supper of Steve's famous Venison Stew that he'd frozen for the trip, the gang sat back and tried to relax. All were wondering if they were up to wading through the tall grass on the way to the river next morning. Jim had not killed the rattler. Well, a good night's sleep would weaken the excitement of the night - or would it?   

Hardy flopped down on his air mattress on the floor, while the rest of the gang climbed into their cots. They'd been in bed for maybe ten minutes, when Hardy blurted out, "What the hell was that", as something flew into his head. Just as Steve turned on the light, Hardy yelled, "look-out for the bat", which was swooping around the room. Jim opened the cabin door and out flew a terrified little bat. It took quite a while for the gang to get back to sleep, what with all the laughing and teasing of D.L.

Next morning, while searching around the ceiling of the cabin they saw two tiny bats, fast asleep, hanging from the rafters, midways of the cabin, not a whole bat air force like they thought last night. A breakfast of bacon, eggs, grits, biscuits and campfire coffee made everything okay. This was a new day, with lots of fish to catch.

After breakfast they carefully made their way to the stream, watching for rattlers with every step. They dropped off about two hundred yards apart as they walked down the path alongside the stream. As slow as they fished, two hundred yards apart was plenty for the fish and the mud to settle down. They always fished like this, with mostly good results. The biggest difference today was that they carried their two-way radios with them, in case one got bitten by a rattler.  They always had them along, but usually left them at the cabin.

Around noon they gathered back at the cabin for "cold cuts" and beer and a little siesta before heading back out. The rest of the day brought little excitement except for the nineteen-inch rainbow that Jim caught. He said it was Mother Nature's payback for him being bitten by the rattler. The rest of the gang caught assorted rainbows, cuttbows and a few browns mixed in with suckers, each keeping a few fish for dinner and releasing the rest.

D.L. was the "chef" for the bunch and was renowned for his tasty trout. Taking out a jar of his secret seasoning he called "dynamite", he mixed it with cornmeal and chopped green chilies and rolled the fillets in it, before throwing them into the hot grease of his big frying pan. After a sumptuous dinner of Troup's Trout, hushpuppies,
tossed salad, baked potato and green chilies on the side, and a beer or two, or three, they all settled back for an after dinner cigar and relived the day's events.

Wading a fast stream all day can make a person mighty tired and after the cigar, and a few lies about how big and how many fish they caught, everyone hit the sack. They'd been in bed harely ten minutes, when Hardy jumped up, hollering the same "what the hell was that?", that he'd hollered the night before. Jim flipped on the lights, and cowering over on the fireplace hearth not two feet from Hardy's air mattress was a frightened little deer mouse that had just crawled over Hardy's head. The poor little thing made no attempt to get away,
until Steve got after it with a broom, chasing it out the cabin door.

Everyone was laughing now, except Hardy, who remarked, "remember that Hanta outbreak at "four corners" a few years back?". "She-ute", proclaimed D. L., "you recon he had Hanta?"  With that, they all piled out the front door and climbed into the big truck, where they spent the rest of the night blowing their noses and worrying about whether or not they'd inhaled Hanta virus from the rat droppings on the dusty cabin floor.

Next morning, Jim went into town and bought five gallons of Chlorox and about twenty mouse traps. He also got some painter's masks, which they donned as they swept mice feces out of the cabin and mopped the floor with straight Chlorox. After that, they loaded the traps with cheese, packed their lunches and went fishing, expecting to return to a cabin full of dead Deer Mice.

After another successful day on the Dutch, they returned to find no sprung traps or dead mice anywhere. "Must have been a stray", chuckled Hardy. By late afternoon they were packed and already depressed by the thoughts of returning to their respective "Salt mines" on Monday.

On the way home they snacked on D. L's homemade beef jerky, sipped their long necks and relived and laughed about the events of the weekend. Just as Jim stopped at Newsome's to let everyone off, he winked at D.L and Steve as he remarked, "Hardy, you gonna take a cot next time?"