GONE FISHING
Some Old, But True Fish Stories
Tilden Morton and Terrell Brown
Hardly anyone who has ever baited a hook, cast a line or reeled in a big fish does enjoy a good fish story. Not being a fisherman of any worthiness, I dare say that fishing, whether in a creek, pond, lake or river is, or has been, the favorite pastime of Laurens Countians for centuries, first as a means of gathering food for the family, then as therapeutic recreation for the stressed out and currently for the best of us as a dead serious sport. Here are just a few of the fishing stories from the days when fishing stories appeared in the paper on a regular basis.
During the 19th Century when there was virtually no pollution of our natural waterways and alluvial sand and mud were foreign to crystal clear streams, fish of all sorts were abundant. Bob Mattox was a regular angler in the waters of Rocky Creek. In 1883, the editor of the Dublin Post upon seeing Mattox’s buggy load of fish, said “fish taken from this stream are said to be better than any other fish, accounted for by the great purity of the water in a stream completely floored and walled with rock, not a particle in it.”
People fished anywhere where there was water. People fished alone and in large groups. There were overnight frolics and weekend expeditions. Seining with a large net was an easy way to quickly capture large amounts of fish. The men of the Beacham, Wilkes and Branch families of the Rockledge area went seining in Dead River in the summer of 1879. They hauled in 436 fine ones, 126 coming with one sweep of the net. Every once in awhile, seines scooped up something more than fish. In 1878, a seining party in Big Blue Lime Sink hauled in a sixteen- pound blue catfish and a four-foot long alligator. John Woodward was so incensed at the number of trespassers who were coming on to his property dynamiting and seining fish, that he took out a newspaper advertisement forbidding the practice in the spring of 1887.
Sometimes fish literally jump right into the fisherman’s hands. Earlier in 1882, G.M. Howard was floating down the river in his boat, when he paused to take a drink. Just as he dropped his oar into the river to resume his journey, a large trout jumped into his boat. Nearly a year later Howard was relating the story to a somewhat doubtful Dr. G.F. Green. Green became a believer when once again Howard threw out his oar and again a six-pound trout flounced into the boat.
Pierce Bell didn’t wait for such measly sized fish to jump his boat. He was what we used to call “hand fisherman,” a skill that runs through the genes of my own family, but somehow skipped me entirely. Bell’s specialty was fishing for sturgeon. One of Bell’s favorite spots was near Skull Shoals, just a few miles above the ferry in Dublin. Bell would scan the shallow waters near the rocks for signs of the massive fish. He would cautiously approach the reposing sturgeon, leap and stick his hands in each of its gills, thereby securing his catch. It was claimed that Bell caught as many as thirteen of these fish aggregating seventeen hundred and thirty seven pounds in just one night. His luck turned sour one day in 1881 when the startled sturgeon bolted out into the deep river giving Bell the ride of his life. The fisherman hung on for dear life until the sturgeon rammed his head, gills and all into a rock vice. Bell and the fish remained locked together for days. The fish didn’t survive. Bell did. He drank water from the somewhat unpolluted river and ate a part of the fish’s back until he was rescued.
Catfish were among the fisherman’s biggest prizes. Some, like Cupe Blackshear, fished the regular way. Cupe hauled in a 35 pounder one night. Others nets like J.S. Drew, who hauled in a 34 pounder in 1884, fished with gill nets. Messers Scarborough and Perry hauled in a 38 pound catfish on their set hooks in 1879. The duo claimed it was the largest catfish caught in the river, but Eli M. Keen, a long time resident of the area knew of a 44 pounder caught near Carr’s Shoals opposite the current Dublin Country Club. The Dublin Post reported that the actual count of set lines within a half mile of the ferry stood at 750 in the spring of 1886. Shelly Wyatt took an much more laid back approach. He dropped a basket in the river about four miles above the ferry. When he extracted the basket, he counted one hundred and thirteen catfish weighing just over one hundred pounds. Pope Stanley set out some trot lines near his Dudley home in the late winter of1931. Upon his return to the scene, he found a catfish and a good size owl, which was presumed to have been after the same catfish and found itself entangled in Stanley’s snare.
Rockfish were among other large prize fish in this region. They are regarded as superior in flavor to the usual trout and perch found in the area. The fish was usually taken by striking it with a stick or rod of some sort. In May 1931, Foy Clark, W.W. Bush and George Bush were out fishing in the waters of Turkey Creek when they spotted a large rockfish splashing in the water. Clark maneuvered the fish into shallower water with his boat paddle. He drew back the paddle and slammed into the spine of big fish just hard enough to stun it. Clark jumped into the water and grabbed his prize, which he flaunted before a large crowd of admirers.
One day back in the good ole’ days, Roy Orr and his son Tal were out working on the family farm. Young Tal’s mind began to turn toward the cool waters of the nearby creek. He secreted off to the branch, his hammer still in his hand. The elder Orr suddenly became terrified when he heard the screams of his young son emanating from the woods. Fearing the worst, Tal’s father rushed to rescue his son only to find that the young boy struck a large fish with his hammer and was only summoning his father to view his fine trophy.
I was fortunate to be the son of good fish tale teller. Some of those tales I can print and some I can’t. My all time favorite is a true story. My father Dale Thompson granted a friend permission to allow her son to invite his friends to fish in one of the smaller ponds on his place. After a long day at work, my father traveled down to the farm to see for himself how they were biting. When he arrived, he asked the lady if the little boys were catching any fish. She delightfully boasted that the boys had caught 93 fish. Thompson asked, “where are they?” The lady responded, “well, they’re over there in that milk jug.”
When the Laurens County courthouse was under construction in the winter of 1963, construction was delayed. However, the ground was excavated to a depth sufficient to construct a jail in the basement. Winter rains were not delayed and the resulting hole quickly began to fill with water. James Perry was hired to pump out the water before construction began. Knowing that the opportunity to pull an outrageous prank was within their power, two well known pranksters hired an old fisherman to go out and catch them a dozen live catfish. The duo, under cover of darkness, placed the fish in the water so that two of the county commissioners and their wives, all of whom were known to be big fisherman, would have a place to fish when they were in town for meetings. The Dublin Courier Herald article did not speculate on the identity of the jokers, but upon reading the account, I immediately knew that one of them was my father (he confessed to the crime after thirty five years). His partner in jest was Clerk of Court, Brantley New.
Now is the fisherman’s favorite time of year. The weather is cool and the fish are starting to bite. Good luck to all fishermen. Hope you catch a big one.
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