Trout Fishing Fools

Trout Fishing Fools by Gary Benton
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My cousin Bubba and I go back for years hunting and fishing together, starting when we were just young kids. We grew up on farms that were close to each other, about two miles a part, and spent a lot of time goofing off together. Now, often we’d usually mess around in the barnyard, out by the pond, or in the woods. I guess you could say that by the time we were adults I could sum up all I knew about the man in one sentence– he was cheap, dumb as a cow pie, fat and ugly. But, nonetheless, he is my cousin so I love him, sort of.

I can remember, oh, a few years back, sitting on his front porch in front of his mobile home one cold morning in February drinking coffee as Bubba said, “Cold out here today ain’t it?”

Shaking my head at the depth of his perception (realizing it was very cold), I replied, “Yep, usually is durin’ February.”

“Yep, it usually is.”

“What’s on your mind Bubba, besides your cap?” I asked as I raised the steaming cup of hot oil Bubba called coffee to my lips.

“Trout’s.” Was his simple response as he pulled his cap off and scratched his bald head at the very crown.

“Catchin’ or eatin’?”

“Catchin’, because I can’t eat what I don’t have.” He said as he put his hat back on, adjusted it for comfort, and then continued with, “let’s go to the river tomorrow and get some.”

Now, Bubba doesn’t like to get up early unless it’s for a good reason, like the outhouse is on fire, a fox is in the henhouse with the chickens, or maybe a hunting or fishing trip. Even during those times he’s a might slow when compared to most folks. So, I knew just getting him to the river near dawn would be a chore, but I decided quickly that a trout fishing trip would be great, so I replied, “Ok, I’ll be up an hour before dawn and you pick me up.”

Bubba gave me a big tooth gapped grin and said, “Nope, I ain’t got no gas in the truck and no money until payday.”

I thought for a second and then replied, “Well, then how are you going to get into the Springs then? You know they charge five dollars a head and you got to have some money for lunch, hot drinks, and such.”

“Oh, I got that much. I have ten dollars, but I don’t have enough to pay to fish and for gas. So, if ya want to go, you’ll have to drive.”

Well, see, I knew this was the way it would end up eventually. Now, you may be wondering how I knew? Because it always ends up like this, I drive, pay for the gas, and Bubba sleeps to and from our activities. Always.

I arrived at Bubba’s mobile home at four in the morning and the first thing I noticed as I pulled in his rutted driveway was the place was as dark as a lawyer’s heart. Yep, not a light on in the house. I walked from my truck, stepped up on the wobbly cinder blocks he had stacked as steps and knocked on the door. An old beagle suddenly ran out from under the porch and growled at me, as if she was going to gum me to death. See, she didn’t have any teeth.

I shivered in the cold, knocked once more, and listened to the beagle growl. A few minutes later, getting impatient, I knocked louder and finally heard Bubba yell from inside, “Jess a minute! Dog-gone-it, I . . .” And I heard a crashing sound from inside the trailer.

The door opened a few minutes later with Bubba holding a broken lava lamp in is left hand, his long johns were on, and one boot and one shoe were on his feet. He wiped the sleep from his eyes with his big right hand, threw the broken lava lamp into his front yard and asked, “What in the world are you doin’ heah this time of the mornin?”

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