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 .