Dog Days Of Summer

                   Dog Days Of Summer





     Growing up in Mt. Juliet was the highlight of my youth. The Cedar Creek area was country and filled with the things that all kids should experience like fishing, hunting, swimming, exploring or just wandering aimlessly thru fields or woods.
     Brother Pat and I spent a lot of time on Old Hickory Lake.  I was more of the fisherman and adventurer, Pat was into football although I imagine that he has some fond memories of the lake.  Our range covered from Langfords Cove to the 109 bridge and every creek and cove in between.  My friend Donnie Odum and I knew where every crappie could be caught and how to follow a school of hybrid bass or the best places to just have fun.
     Dad had a flat bottom 12' fishing boat built and mounted a 12 hp motor to it.  It made a great fishing boat but we didn't limit it to just fishing, by the time Dad swapped it for a runabout a year later we had already learned to water ski behind it.
     The runabout was a multi-use boat as we not only used it for skiing but fishing as well.  The runabout had a 35hp Evinrude motor with electric start (when the battery was charged) and Pat and I both could ski at the same time.
     Old Hickory Lake played a big roll in my youth. What follows is a composite of the adventures I had. I think it appropriate to say I have found that things in my youth were much bigger or smaller than I remember so all lengths of measurement should be taken with a grain of salt.


     Donnie Odum was the first friend I made when moving to Mt Juliet.  Though we haven't always kept in touch over the years my thoughts often include him and the great fun we had.
     Donnie had a small fiberglass fishing boat with maybe a 15hp motor. Donnie was an animal lover, he had cats, dogs, chickens and peacocks and was always looking for more.  One day he, Pat, and I went to a cove up the lake where Mallard ducks were raising their young.  Donnie wanted pet Mallards.  The young ducklings were several weeks old but not yet flying and Momma and Pappa never strayed far.
     The plan was simple - I would operate the boat chasing down the ducks as they skitted across the water. Pat would hang on to the side of the boat holding on to an inflatable raft,  he would let go as I brought him alongside a group of ducks.  Donnie would be perched in the bow of the boat ready to leap out at a group of ducks.  Simple huh? but just remember that old saying about best laid plans that go astray.
     We made several passes at groups of ducks.  Pat would jump out from his raft and Donnie would perform death defying leaps but it seemed all we could get was close.  At one point Donnie was on the bow shouting to go right then left as we chased down a group of ducklings, when we got close his body stretched out with his arms in front of him as if he were diving into a pool, with a splash he hit the water flat just inches away from his target.  I looked back to see him stand up in water about knee deep, covered in mud from head to toe.
     Turns out Mallards were easier to shoot than catch and they probably thought we were nuts.  At best I think all we did was scare the hell out of them. We didn't catch any ducks that day but a few did find their way into Donnie's menagerie some time later.

    Dad, having grown up around the upper parts of the lake, knew where many obstacles were submerged and they made great crappie beds.  Dad was a creature of habit and he only fished those places where he had been successful in the past, though not successful every time he went out.
    One day he took Ronnie and I fishing to several of his favorite fishing holes.  Now Ronnie at this time was maybe five years old and his attention span was very short, to keep from wasting good bait on Ronnie, Dad would put dead minnows on his hook.
    After several hours of fishing and no fish Dad was ready to head home.  As we entered Cedar Creek I talked Dad into stopping at a long private boat dock at the bottom of a tall cliff.  Dad pulled up along side the dock determined this was a waste of time so he never got out of the boat but he did let me try.  I dropped my bait next to the one twig sticking out of the water between the dock and the bank, I quickly pulled out what was known as a slab crappie. This got Dad's attention though he proclaimed that was probably one that was passing by.  I rebaited and quickly pulled a twin to the first fish.  Now Dad was tying the boat up and getting his pole ready.
     Ronnie wanted to fish too but we didn't want him to mess up our spot so we put him at the end of the dock with a dead minnow on a 5' cane pole with maybe 20' of line wrapped around the tip. Ronnie was now happy and sat down with his legs dangling off the end of the dock singing to himself and waving the pole around.  Dad and I proceeded to fish with live bait.
     It is a mystery about crappies that they will take bait from a hook placed in the same spot but ignore bait just 6 inches away.  There I was pulling out big crappie from the left side of this twig in the water and just a few inches away Dad couldn't even get a nibble.  Ronnie on the other hand was on the end of the dock in about 40' of water jerking his pole from side to side, singing away, when all of a sudden he hollers out "Dad, I got a fish ".
     Not wanting any interruptions Dad hollered back and told him to bring it in. By this time Ronnie had inadvertently unwound all of the line from the end of the pole and couldn't just lift the fish out of the water.  Not to be discouraged, Ronnie laid the pole down on the dock, turned around to get up, then picked up the pole and started walking backwards.  Twenty feet of line later a nice crappie flops on to the dock.
     I went over and took care of Ronnie's fish and put another dead minnow on his hook as he sat down to dangle his feet in the water.  I handed him his pole and he was singing as I walked away. While I was taking care of Ronnie, Dad moved his bait to the left of the twig and finally caught one.
     We continued fishing this way for another 1/2 hour or so and when all was said and done Ronnie wound up catching about as many as we did.  So much for being quiet and still so you don't scare the fish away.


     There was a large oak tree on a steep bank in the Cedar Creek cove.  Someone had hung a rope from the first limb which was about 25' - 30 ' up.  There were several knots tied in the end of the rope to keep hands from slipping. The base of the tree grew from the water's edge and leaned slightly towards the water.  There was a large flat boulder, about as big as a VW, that was half in the water and rose steeply from the water's edge.  The bank, or rather the steep cliff, was covered in sapling trees and rock outcroppings.  Again, someone had carved a narrow path thru the saplings and used the rocks as steps and launching platforms.  In other words, we had a rope swing out over the water.
      There was a trick to this swing, if you didn't watch what you were doing you could get hurt. The trick was not to swing back in.  The only good thing was that the water was deep.  To climb the path you first had to stretch to grab the rope then using your free hand to grab the saplings to pull yourself up the path.  Once you reached the top you would be standing on a rock outcropping leaning forward while holding to a sapling behind you with the other hand holding on to the rope.  Once you got some courage up you had to quickly grab the rope with both hands and climb about a foot higher while simultaneously lifting your feet out in front of you.  Failure to follow this procedure would mean that your butt would scrape the rocks as you swung out over the water.
     Now, once you reached the apex of the swing you had to let go - swinging back to the start point was not an option as some found out. The drop to the water was maybe 15' but it sure looked a lot higher.  Some of the guys, like Donnie or Ricky Martin, would do backward flips, forward flips and other dives.  Most people just swung out and let go dropping feet first into the water.   I dove.
     Weekends during the summer drew large numbers of teenagers to the swing.  Mostly it was the guys who swung out and dropped but there were a few girls brave enough although most of the time the girls sat in the boats and let us guys impress the hell out of them.  As they say today,  the place was a "chick magnet".  There would be 15 - 20 boats staged around watching us kids swing from that rope.  Old people would watch us and reminisce about better times.
     I have to be honest here and tell you that my first time I was scared to death.  I had gone out with Donnie and Ricky and watched them swing.  When time came to go they beat me to the boat and moved it off shore and wouldn't let me in until I swung out on the rope.  I'm not sure what scared me more - the swing or the 1/2 mile swim to the other side of the lake - but with a lot of nagging and encouragement, I did it, from then on I was a regular at the swing.
     Brother Pat became a regular and one day we even got Dad to swinging.  Turns out Mom was across the lake and had borrowed binoculars to watch us.  She was not happy.
     One day a large group of kids was at the swing and we had a large crowd of spectators watching us.  In one of the spectator boats there were two couples who were quite vocal.  One of the girls finally shamed her boyfriend enough that he jumped in the water to give the swing a go.  He made it to the top of the path and we gave him the rope and told him what to do with final instructions being "do not swing back in".  The guy stood there holding on to the rope looking down at the water as he built up his courage.  After several minutes he reached out and grabbed the rope as we had told him.  When he reached the end of the arc he let go, dropped two feet, yelled an expletive,  and grabbed the rope.  He swung back in and we were unable to stop him as he busted his butt on rocks and swung back out.  We yelled at him to let go but he hung on tight and came back in.  This time when he went back out he let go but he was too close to shore and dropped about three feet off the big boulder.  Surely his butt slapped the rock under the water fortunately it was his butt. When he surfaced he quickly swam to his boat and climbed aboard.  His girlfriend was going on about what happened - was he hurt? the girl just wouldn't give it up so he told her to shut up as he started the motor and quickly left the scene.  Needless to say, we never saw them again.
     Kids did get hurt from time to time and the Coast Guard would shoot the rope down and someone would put up a new one.  It was a part of life on Cedar Creek.
     It has been a while since I was on Cedar Creek, I guess the swing isn't as popular anymore, the path was grown over, the rope cut, the site was even hard to find.  I guess jet skis are more fun now.
   

     As if swinging out of a tree was not enough, we also had cliff diving.  Down the river there was a cliff in the bend.  The cliff was tall and straight and the water was deep.
     Now as my memory serves me, that cliff was 50' - 60' tall,  maybe more.  Standing at the edge you could see forever and had the sense that the water was a long ways down.  In reality it probably is more like 25' - 30', things are never as big as you remember.  What I do know is that I could only make two dives and would wind up with a headache.
     To get to the top you had to jump out of the boat swim to the lower end of the cliff and then climb to the top.  Once at the top you could stand at the edge and jump or get a running start which was sure to get you far enough from the cliff.  I chose the running start.
     We were very safety oriented as we kept a boat in the water to pull us in if something went wrong.  Generally speaking, we would jump, then swim about twenty yards to the lower end climb up and do it again.
     For some reason cliff diving didn't go over as well as the rope swing so unless you brought the girls with you there was no one worth impressing.  Still,  it was something to do on a hot summer day.


     One nice spring day some time in late March or early April, Brother Pat and I were visiting Donnie.  The weather was great, the temperature was nice and warm and we were looking for something to do.  Dare I say mischief may have been afoot.
     We were on Donnie's boat dock looking out at the water and at the boats moored at Cedar Creek Boat dock.  There was one boat about 40 + ft.  I think it was known as the Merrimack.  It was moored in a totally covered shed and we never saw it on the lake and we wanted to check it out.
      The only way to see the boat without permission was to sneak in by water so we stripped off our clothes and buck naked jumped into the water.  I must say that the water in Tennessee lakes that time of year was damn cold.  Probably another reason I didn't have kids till later in life.
     We swam over to the boat house and once inside explored the boat.  While we were exploring Donnie's Dad came looking for us but all he found was a pile of clothes.  He was calling out our names but we couldn't call back or he would know we were some place we shouldn't have been so we kept quiet until he gave up and went away.
     We learned later that when his Dad got back to the house his Mom asked if he found us, his Dad said all he found was a pile of clothes laying on the dock.
     The swim back was just as cold as the swim over and we probably were turning blue -  but what the hell,  it was one of those things you do "just because".


       Brother Pat and I learned to water ski, and along with Donnie and others,  the antics we had constitute another posting .
    

We Were Family

                                               We Were Family




     Little sister's recent posting about family vacations reminded me of a few times we spent as a family away from home and, yes, it was a vacation of sorts depending on who you asked .
     Prior to living in Mt. Juliet Dad was the only one in the family working therefore he was the only one to take a vacation.  Dad's idea of a vacation was to go fishing and if the fish didn't bite then there was always a good reason to take a drink or two or three.  Once we moved to the country Dad had a friend make him a boat - the fishing was more interesting and fun.
     Vacations always start with plenty of preparation.  In the case of the Riggan vacation that meant that, come January, Mom started buying up extra bread, lunch meat, milk and any other perishables and tossing them in the freezer.  Once the freezer was full she was ready for camping on Old Hickory Lake for two weeks.
     When the big day came Dad loaded up the car and boat and made several trips to the end of the road at Cedar Creek - about three miles from home.  We set up our canvas tents and laid out our sleeping bags or blankets, iced up the coolers and assembled the grill.  For the next two weeks we became water babies deeply tanned to a dark brown.
      Dad always put out a trot line to catch catfish and limb lines to catch turtles and there was always a rod and reel laying on the bank with a line in the water.  To round off the day we fished for crappie.
     Dad's bootlegger friend, Grady Campbell, would come out and set up camp.  Along with him would be his wife, his daughter Sadie and her son whose name escapes me at the moment but it may have been Junior.
     Now Grady was Dad's bootlegger and he was also a commercial fisherman - which job was his main source of income was a matter of conjecture.  Grady would put out a snag line on which he would catch spoonbill catfish.  Spoonbills were not like regular catfish, they would come to the surface at night and feed on insects and whatever.  Grady's snag line would foul hook them. Spoonbills had no bones and were delicious.
     The first year we camped out Dad had a 12 ft john boat with a 12 hp motor that we fished and water skied from.  We also used it to make freezer runs back up the creek to the house.   It was only a couple of miles by water and it didn't matter that things would thaw out on the way back.  During one of these freezer runs Dad, brother Pat and I were in the boat.  Dad was driving when we reached the old bridge and had to slow to a crawl because the water was shallow and full of stumps.  Dad slowed down and then cut the motor off and we thought he had sheared a pin on the propeller but he whispered and told us to be quite as he sculled the boat towards a sleeping turtle.  All of a sudden Dad reached in the water and grabbed the turtle by the tail and pulled him in the boat.  Naturally he threw turtle in the front of the boat.
     For those of you not familiar with wooden john boats let me tell you that they are the most simplistic of boats in that they have a hull and two or three boards to sit on.  We had three if you counted the bow.  When Dad threw the turtle up front he did so that the turtle landed on it's back. There was brother Pat and I barefooted and trying to squat on our seats and there was this turtle trying to flop over onto it's belly and Dad yelling at us to not let it flip over.  Did I mention that this was a snapping turtle better than a foot in diameter?  This thing was huge.   It not only had a sharp beaked mouth that chewed thru a wooden boat paddle, it also had long claws.  By the time we got the things Mom needed back to the boat the turtle had flipped over and he wasn't about to be flipped again.  Pat and I road back to the camp holding the turtle at bay with a boat paddle.   Dad seemed to think it was funny watching Pat and I fend off an angry turtle.  Did you know fried turtle taste like fried chicken?
     Dad always had some of his buddies stop for a beer or two so there was always plenty of people around and of course southern hospitality said you had to offer them to stay and eat.  Mom always seemed to be cooking something and taking care of Ronnie and Vickie (they were not in school when we first started camping).  She always said she had fun but I think she was glad to be back home when it was over.
     The next year Dad had traded the john boat for a wooden ski boat with a 35 hp motor.   This was great as it was faster and could pull us up on one ski or pull up Pat and I at the same time.  When we weren't fishing we were skiing or swimming or swinging from the rope swing.   The sun was warm the water cool and the days were long.  Tom Sawyer had nothing on us.
     Now little brother Clint, who was six years my junior, was at the stage that he was no longer a little kid but he really was just a little kid and he had to try to keep up with his big brothers.  We tried to teach him to ski and he must have swallowed a big chunk of the lake.  We didn't drown him although it was not because we didn't try.
     Our family vacations continued on until we moved to Hermitage Hills in 1965 and I went off to the Navy.  They were good times and I look back with fond memories because for two weeks every year for four years we were a family and did things together.
     I am glad to hear Vickie had a family vacation that harbors good memories, everyone needs good times to remember.