First Bass out of Bark Camp

This Saturday I fished with the guys over at Southwest Virginia Outdoors in their Dinkmaster single event for the Summer held at Bark Camp Lake, June 27th, Daylight-11am. I can say I had a good time and was able to catch my first fish out of Bark Camp. I had fish the lake a couple of times, but never had any luck at all landing anything outside of a bluegill.

I caught all my fish on a 7″ Cherry Seed lizard. The fish were just inhaling the bait as soon as it hit the water. I was about to pull in three fish that would have weighed in around 4 pounds total, but due to 11″ to 14″ slot limit none of them got to stay in the boat. Lynn was able to boat four fish just under 11″, and with a grand total of 2 lbs we won the Dinkmaster 2009.

Canoe Trip on the Clinch River

Dylan is my son. Stevin is his friend. They have been friends for all of  their 10 young years and Stevin has been visiting Castlewood/St. Paul since he was 5. For weeks I had been building up this trip to them: We are going
fishing and we are going to take our canoe!

We had a wonderful and relaxing morning just fishing and talking at the side of the river. Dylan and Stevin decided to move a little up-river to try their luck leaving my dad and I to continue fishing the hole where we started. We did catch a few fish, including a rather nice bass, but the fishing was actually secondary to just being there.

The shadows became shorter and the shade scarce. It was time to put the canoe in the water and make the trip from Castlewood to St. Paul. We put in just about where the old Castlewood Bridge used to be and the boys, wide-eyed with excitement, and I pushed away from the bank leaving my father to take the van to St. Paul to pick us up. Very soon, they spotted something on the water.

“There’s a turtle”, said Stevin, pointing a little to his left.

“Let get a closer look”, said Dylan.

As we drew closer, the “turtle” turned out to be a snake. We were already close enough in their opinion. That was all for the turtle but the boys did remain alert in case there was another “turtle”.

As we went under the Castlewood Bridge and headed around the hill towards the train-trestle I started telling them stories of colonial times and the importance of rivers for transportation, and commerce. They heard that canoes, much like the one that they were traveling in at that minute, were used to move people and supplies quickly and easily from one place to another. They learned that towns were built near the rivers for many reasons and that trade was one of the most important motives. Tales of Indians, before European settlers arrived, and stories of Daniel Boone and
his excursions into Kentucky added to the charm of the day. They listened to every word as if they were suddenly transported to a time more than 200 years ago and they were trappers and traders looking forward to the visit to
the big city after weeks in the woods trapping and living of the land.

Indeed, they were part of the stories as we were traveling in much the same fashion that hundreds before us have done for hundreds of years.

The sound of the River was increasing now. We were approaching what they called “the rapids”. (To a couple of 10-year old boys on their first river trip, they truly were “rapids”.) Aside from getting hung up on a large rock for a few seconds, we passed through and continued on.

Dylan and Stevin caught site of an egret feeding in the water ahead of us, and another on the bank. Soon thereafter, ducks appeared along side. This was a much different view of the river that what they were used to seeing. Instead of catching a glimpse of the river as we drove by at 20-30 miles per hour, we were now part of the river as it traveled to St. Paul and beyond.

“Catch anything?” a voice called out.

“A couple. Threw ‘em back” was the reply.

A few more twists in the river, more rocks and a “rapid” or two later, we pulled up to the bank in St. Paul . just above where the old bridge was located. It had taken an hour and a half to make the trip.

“How was it?” I asked the boys.

“Better than a roller coaster” they answered.

When I asked for an explanation they told me that it was just as fun an exciting and it lasted a lot longer. Then they asked “can we do it again”?

“Did you catch anything?” another voice called out.

“A couple” I said, looking at the boys. “I think I’ll keep ‘em.”

As we approached our preferred fishing hole, I noticed that someone was already there. A little disappointed, I asked if he would mind us setting up just a little up-river from him.

“Not at all. In fact, you two are welcome to join me right here. I would enjoy the company.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. I was more than ready and so was Dylan. After the proper introductions (he told me his name was ‘June Townes’) and a heartfelt ‘thank you’, Dylan and I baited our hooks and cast them into the water.

“You boys from around here?” our host asked.

I explained to him that we were from Atlanta and that we came to the Castlewood/St. Paul area to visit friends and family and to fish and that we were staying with my grandmother this trip.

He told me that he had been fishing the Clinch River for more than 75 years and proceeded to tell me how things were different prior to the chemical releases that had killed all of the fish in the 60s and later. He told me that he had worked his entire life in the mines and that he had been retired for some time now but that he had never lost his love for the river and for fishing. Not long after, he started telling me how much other places in the area had changed, including Dante, where he used to work.

“Yeah, I know. I was in Dante not too long ago. That place is slowly disappearing. They just tore down the old theater,” I said.

“Why would you visit Dante?” he asked, just a little surprised.

“My great-grandparents lived there,” I told him.

“Who were your great-grandparents?” he asked. “I might have known them.”

“My great-grandmothers are Lillian Griffith and Bessie Clay.”

“I knew them both. I knew Bessie quite well. I grew up with many of her kids. Which one are you kin to?” he asked.

“Josephine,” I told him.

“You mean to tell me that Josephine Clay is your grandmother?”

“Yes sir, and that is her great-grandson right there,” I said, pointing to Dylan.

“I grew up with Josephine,” he told me shaking his head in disbelief.

For the next hour he told me stories of my grandmother, her family, my grandfather (he was quite apologetic when he told me: “I didn’t like him, but your grandfather did save my life once when we had a big flood in Dante.”) and life in Dante in the 20s, the 30s and the 40s. I wish I had had some way to have recorded everything that he told me as this was a treasure that I never dreamed to have run across. For the first time I had an idea of what my grandmother might have been like as a young girl and as a young woman. That evening she would be surprised to hear that we had run
into an old friend of hers. (She was, and she told us a thing or two about him  just to get even.)

The next morning, Dylan and I headed to our favorite fishing hole again. We were both more than a little disappointed that our new friend was not there. But that feeling of disappointment changed very quickly when Dylan discovered that we were out of worms.

“Stay here, don’t get in the water and don’t even fish until I get back,” I told him and headed back toward St. Paul. When I returned, there was someone familiar there with Dylan.

“Good to see you again, sir,” I said to him.

“You know, I was just thinking how amazing it is what you might find fishing on this old river.”

“Yes sir,” I agreed. “I’ve been thinking the very same thing. Care to join us this morning? There’s plenty of room for you.”

Map to Old Castlewood. You should still be able to see the old bridge pilings if you look out over the “new” bridge when you cross the water.