Bobby Joe 'N Me

By Will Bayless

Bobby Joe and Billy Earl are two good ol country boys that live in the Foothills of the Ozarks. Related as cousins, they are as close as any brothers. Bobby Joe is the adventurous one, while Billy Earl "tries" to be the "voice of reason". Whenever Bobby Joe gets an idea, it sounds good at the start, which surprises Billy Earl as he knows how his cousin's "luck" can be most of the time. Still, he goes along to see if he can avert disaster before it happens. But Bobby Joe isn't going to listen to reason, and when things get twisted around, the boys find themselves wondering what they got themselves into.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 27, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483682440

Will Bayless

Born in 1957, William Bayless could be considered a "well-traveled". His younger years were spent in a military family that moved from base to base with each new assignment issued to his father. In 1970, William's father retired from the Army and moved his family to the foothills of the Ozarks in north central Arkansas. Living ten miles from the nearest town can be quite boring to a city raised boy. To escape his boredom, William would explore the rolling hills of Izard County. He made many friends with the “Spit and Whittle” crew of old men that would sit on the court square and tell tall tales or relate past experiences, which prompted William to start writing. He started on the book in 1996, “based” on personal experiences and the stories he heard from his friends, and has work on it ever since.

Book preview

A Fish (y) Story

1.jpg

Now I’ve heared a lot of them tall tales ’bout how thin’s are ’spose to grow big in Texas, and granted, there may be some truth in those yarns, but I’m here to tell you we got us some purdy big critters here in Arkansas, our own self. I mean big enough to make a strong man die of fright. Like the one that almost got my cousin, Bobby Joe, the night he went fishin’ and almost didn’t make it back to tell of it.

We got us some awful purdy country we call the foothills of the Ozarks, and cuttin’ through that country; we got us this river called the White River. This river is one of the best fishin’ spots in the world. There’s been some record fish caught outta that river and I ’spect more will be sooner or later.

But as I wuz sayin’, my cousin, Bobby Joe, put his boat in at Jack’s Boat Dock there in Calico Rock and with his little Mercury 5 horse outboard, putted upstream. It was a perfect evenin’ for fishin’. Those big ol’ bluffs towered over him and that starlit sky was bright and clear with a big ol’ full moon shinnin’ so’s it was almost as bright as day. My cousin listened to the frogs and crickets singin’ their twilight songs and the whippoorwills was callin’ to their mates. All in all, you could call it a gentle night. The only thin’ breakin’ the serene calm was the muffled putt-putt of Bobby Joe’s Mercury. (That’s an outboard boat motor to you non-fishin’ folks) Well, ol’ Bobby Joe is floatin’ along, enjoyin’ hisself and all of God’s wondrous works, when he comes up on this likely lookin’ spot.

I guess I better ’splain somthin’ right chere. In Arkansas, we do our catfishin’ a little different than most folks. We got us this process for gittin’ the big’uns, called hoggin’. Now what you do is find yourself a place where you got a shelf of rock that’s right at the waterline and where it’s shallow enough to go waddin’. You set your anchor so’s your boat don’t float away and then slip, quietly, into the water. You edge up to that rock shelf, keepin’ the noise to little or nothin’ at all, then you run your hands up under it and feel around ’til you latch onto one of them big ol’ catfish that likes to bed down in them places and haul him out. Now I know what you’re thinkin’, you’re thinkin’ that a feller would have to be down right crazy to do somethin’ this foolish, but let me tell you; sometimes the catch is worth the risk more often than not.

Well like I said before, Bobby Joe finds his self this real good spot and shuts down his motor. He moves to the front of the boat and takes hold of the anchor line. He lifts the anchor, which ain’t nothin’ more’n a three pound coffee can filled with hardened concrete with an eye bolt set in it to tie the rope onto, and slips it into the water. I keep stressin’ the quiet thin’ cause iffen you go splashin’ around and makin’ all kinds of noise you skeer away the big’uns. Bobby Joe feeds out the line ’til it goes slack and then ties it off to his boat. From knots tied in the rope ever foot or so, my cousin can tell the water is only ’bout four foot deep. Bein’ six foot five inches in his sock feet Bobby Joe grins to hisself and peels off his shirt then slips into the water without barely makin’ a ripple.

That rock shelf ran upriver for a good two hunderd yards so Bobby Joe figgers he’ll start at one end and work his way to the other. He siddles up to that shelf and dips his arms into the water. For the first six or eight feet he don’t feel nothin’ but rock, then, his hands find a hollowed out spot. He has to bend over until his chin is right at the water to reach back into it, and he was just about to give up and move on when his fingers finds the smooth skin of a catfish. He brushes his fingertips along the side of that fish lookin’ for its gills and can tell that this is a good’un. He finds the gills and works his way around to set his self. When he was ready, he jammed his fingers into that catfish’s gills and clamped down tight. Now you gotta have a purdy strong grip when you go hoggin’ cause a good size fish will give you a good fight. (Seems they don’t take to folks jammin’ fingers into their gills)

Well, that ol’ catfish began to fight, flippin’ this way and floppin’ that. But Bobby Joe hung on and after a good five minutes he hauled it out of its hiddy hole. That ol’ catfish weighed a good fifteen pounds if it were an ounce. Bobby Joe carried it back to his boat and tossed it inside. Feelin’ right proud of his self, my cousin turns and starts back to the shelf. He can hear that fish floppin’ and thumpin’ around in the bottom of his boat as my cousin made ready to find another big ol’ fish. I guess that thumpin’ is what attracted the gator.

Now I knowed that you’uns has heared tales ’bout how there be gators in our rivers here in Arkansas, and you’ve heared true. Granted they are rare and the reason for that I will bring to light here in a little bit.

Bobby Joe was just a few feet from the shelf and a good twenty feet from his boat when he hears somethin’ splash into the water from the bank. Well, it sounded too big to be a beaver, so my cousin takes hisself a look and seen that ol’ gator headed straight for him. He was a big’un folks, eight feet from nose to tail. Now ol’ Bobby Joe was raised up in the woods so’s there not be to many animals that skeer him and that included gators. So he just calmly turns around and heads back for the boat. When he sees he ain’t gonna make it to the boat afore the gator gits to him, he reaches into his breeches and pulls his ol’ Buck lock blade, (that’s a pocket knife to you non-knife-tottin folks) and faces that gator.

That ol’ gator is ’bout twenty feet away from him, when Bobby Joe catches this swirlin’ in the water out of the corner of his eye. Like somethin’ has swum out from under that rock shelf. Now, Bobby Joe figgers he’s got his self two gators to fight and starts to git a might worried. But it didn’t go after my cousin. Instead, it arrowed straight at the gator. Suddenly, the water exploded and that gator took to thrashin’ about as if somethin’ had a hold of it. Course, Bobby Joe didn’t see the whole thin’ too clearly, cause as soon as whatever it was attacked the gator, my cousin headed for his boat. He wern’t waitin’ around to see which one came out on top. What he did see was from looks he was throwin’ over his shoulder. He said that the water was flyin’ everwhere and even though he couldn’t swear by it, Bobby Joe said that he coulda sworn that gator sounded to him like it was cryin’ out in terror.

Bobby Joe finally reached his boat and was gittin’ ready to heave his self over the side when all of a sudden like, it gits real quiet. He turned to take his self a look and the gator was gone, the only evidence that anythin’ had been there at all was a ripplin’ as the water settled down. Well, ol’ Bobby Joe didn’t figger the water was the safest place to be right about then, so he heaves his self over the side and lands smack dab right on that catfish he’d throwed in there earlier. Now bein’ barbed by a catfish is painful to say the least but bein’ barbed in the butt by a catfish is just addin’ insult to injury. Well, he comes up offa that fish rubbin’ his butt and scratchin’ his head. (Kinda like that rubbin’ your belly and pattin’ your head thin’ that you city folks is always tryin’)

My cousin gives the moment a thought or two and figures that the good Lord didn’t intend for him to be fishin’ tonight, and that one fish was better than none at all, so he decides to pack it in and head on to the house. My cousin moves to the front of the boat and starts reelin’ in the anchor, then, all of a sudden-like, the line goes tight like somethin’ has a hold of the anchor and is runnin’ with it. It pulls a good three or four feet of line through Bobby Joe’s hand afore he can let go, givin’ him a purdy good rope burn across his palm. While Bobby Joe is blowin’ on his hand, the line goes tight, the boat jerks, and whatever has a hold of the anchor, starts towin’ the boat upstream. Well that sudden movement causes my cousin to loose his balance and he sits down hard… right on top of that catfish in the boat catchin’ a barb in the other cheek.

Ol’ Bobby Joe comes up hollerin’ that enough is enough. Now miracles upon miracles, Bobby Joe still has hold of his Buck-knife. He brings that razor sharp edge down on that rope and it parts like a hot knife goin’ through butter. The boat slows to a stop and then starts driftin’ with the river’s current. My cousin, with his butt cheeks burnin’ and ten years growth skeered outta him, lets her drift awhile.

When he finally gits his wits about him, Bobby Joe works his way to the back of the boat, careful to avoid that fish that has twice injured his pride. He didn’t wear no life jacket but the game and fish commission says he has to have one in the boat. I can tell you right now that my cousin never gave it no mind before but he was shore glad of it now that he needed somethin’ a little softer to sit on instead of that ol’ river boat’s hard metal benches.

Bobby Joe breaths a sigh of relief as he settled his self down on that make-shift cushion then turned to start his Mercury, and freezes. There, in the water, close enough so’s he could reach out and touch it, was an eye the size of a dinner plate. And bein’ the fisherman that my cousin is, Bobby Joe knew without a doubt that he was lookin’ at the he-papa, break-all-records, granddaddy of them all catfish.

It was ever bit of twenty feet long and it drifted with the current wallowin’ there eyein’ Bobby Joe. Suddenly, it rolled and its head came up outta the water. That gappin’ mouth closed over Bobby Joe’s Mercury and jerked it clean off the boat takin’ a good portion or the rear wall with it. Bobby Joe started backin’ away from the rear of the boat that was takin’ on water purdy good now, and tripped over his gas can. He sat down on that catfish in the boat catchin’ a third barb in the butt, but didn’t pay it no mind. He was more concerned with gittin’ away from that monster that had just et his outboard. Bobby Joe made to the front of his boat without addin’ too much more damage to his already wounded pride and was wonderin’ what to do next, when that gee-mo-nellie size catfish came shootin’ up outta the water, straight into the air. (That’s how he found out how long it was) It seem to stand on its tail for just a second and then it started to fall toward the boat. Its massive head slammed into the tail-end where the motor use to be and drove it into the water. The other end, where my cousin was sittin’, flipped up into the air and sent my cousin flyin’. He hit the water and came up spittin’ and gaspin for air.

It was about now that Bobby Joe’s luck took a turn for the better, cause he landed just a few feet from the bank. Bobby Joe splashed onto the shore and collapsed onto his back gulpin’ air like he’d done run twenty miles. After a while, he sat up and tried to see if he could spot anythin’ left of his boat and sucked in a breath when he sees that humongous catfish eyein’ him from the edge of the water. He craw fished back a few feet, (that’s crawlin’ backwards for you non-crawfishin’ folks) from the water’s edge and sat eyein’ that catfish his own self. When he sees that ol’ catfish ain’t agonna come outta the water after him, Bobby Joe gits up and brushes his self off and strikes out walkin’ back to the boat dock where he left his truck. While he’s walkin’, my cousin can see that catfish trailin’ along with him, but when he reaches the dock, it disappears. Bobby Joe lost his boat that night, but he didn’t mind too much cause he made it out with his life.

Now think what you like but my cousin’s never lied to me and I believe him when he tells me that the reason there’s no gators in the White river is cause the catfish keeps ’em cleared out. And I’ve often wondered iffen that big ol’ catfish, that trailed along with Bobby Joe didn’t go back and tell it’s friends ’bout the one that got away.

Honey Huntin’

Now that you’uns have heared ’bout how my cousin almost got et by that big ol’ catfish, I have a few other yarns to throw your way. I gotta admit that story sounded a bit wild but as I live and breathe, it happened. Not all us country folks live lives of high adventure like that all the time but we do git into sitcheations that do git a might hairy from time to time. Like the day ol’ Bobby Joe talked me into goin’ honey huntin’ with him.

Usually I try to steer clear of any of Bobby Joe’s wild ideas, but on that particular day Bobby Joe got to talkin’ ’bout hot-outta-the-oven cat-head biscuits drippin’ with real butter, (not that margarine stuff you city folks eat) and slathered over with fresh wild honey. Now I’m here to tell you good folks that there ain’t no better eatin’. I can make a meal out of biscuits, butter and honey and never complain.

I was sittin’ on my Granny’s front porch, hullin’ peas when Bobby Joe came tearin’ into the yard scatterin’ rocks, gravel, and chickens ever-which-way and makin’ a dust cloud so thick it would choke a horse. He brought that ol’ 69 GMC pick-up to a skiddin’ stop and jumped outta the cab. Granny just frowned at Bobby Joe’s drivin’ antics and told him what she thought of his upsettin’ her chickens, while he stood there toein’ the dust with his boot, his hands in his hip pockets, and lookin’ rightly chastised. When she finished chewin’ him out he mumbled an apology and then turned to me. It was like Granny hadn’t said a thin’ to him cause that big ol’ easy grin spread across his face and he started yammerin’ ’bout how he’d been out to see this guy what had a bee farm and how that guy had told him how to find a wild hive. He picked up a couple of pea pods and absently started to hull them as he finished up his story. . . . come on Billy Earl. You can help me carry the hive back. I chanced a quick look at Granny cause I promised her I’d help hull them peas and was kinda wishin’ I hadn’t. Pea hullin’ ain’t exactly the kinda job you’d want to do full time, but sittin’ on the porch and listenin’ to Granny talk about the ol’ days made it passable. But Granny hadn’t been talkin’ much today, and the hours had started to grow long.

Bobby Joe caught the look and throwed in his appeal on my behalf. Can you spare ’im, Granny? We’ll bring you back a whole bunch. Ol’ Bobby Joe licked his lips with anticipation. Just think of it Granny, hot biscuits with butter and wild honey, its lip smackin’. I got to admit when he started talkin’ like that my mouth got to waterin’ and just to make it short, he flung a cravin’ on me as a famous comedian is fond of sayin’. Granny sat and didn’t say nothin’, she just rocked back and forth in that favorite rockin’ chair of hers, lettin’ the silence hang for a long time. (It didn’t do no good tryin’ to rush Granny into anythin’.) Me? I got to thinkin’ what I was lettin’ myself in for, knowin’ my cousin’s luck and all. I kept hullin’ them peas and began to git second thoughts ’bout runnin’ off with Bobby Joe when Granny finally spoke up. I’m aguessin’ we got enough peas hulled to start my cannin’. You go ahead Billy Earl and try to keep your cousin outta trouble, ya-hear? I sat my bowl of hulled peas next to Granny’s and mumbled a Yes’sum. Ol’ Bobby Joe was grinnin’ like a possum eatin’ green persimmons. Don’t you worry none, Granny, we’ll bring you a whole passel of honey. You just have them hot biscuits ready and awaitin’. He starts for his truck and calls to me over his shoulder. Come on, Billy Earl, I knowed where we can find a whole herd of them honey bees.

I followed him to his truck and climbed into the cab on the passenger side. Bobby Joe cranked up the motor and cast a wink my way. We gonna eat like kings tonight, cuz. With that, he dropped the tranny into reverse and gunned that ol’ truck backwards onto that country two-lane black-top that runs in front of Granny’s house. He slammed on the brakes and speed-shifted into first, then put the spurs to ’er. I swear we burnt an inch of rubber offa them tires as we took off. I was beginnin’ to think that goin’ along with Bobby Joe weren’t the smartest thin’ I ever done, but it wern’t the first time and I s’pect it won’t be the last.

The foot hills of the Ozarks is a beautiful place. In fact, I think it’s one of the most beautiful parts of this good ol’ U.S. of A. Course, I wouldn’t be a bit partial since I was borned here. We had had a wet summer and the fields were dotted with flowers of every color of the rainbow and a few colors a rainbow probably never thought to produce. As for me, I was to busy just hangin’ on for dear life to enjoy the rapidly passin’ scenery. I finally found my voice and hollered at Bobby Joe to slow down, that them dad-blamed bees wern’t gonna go nowhere and I’d like to live to eat some of that honey he’d promised. Well he grinned at my bein’ skeered and let up offa the gas until we was travelin’ a comfortable fifty miles an hour.

Now iffen you folks have ever traveled the back-roads of the Ozarks, you would agree with my Daddy when he says them roads were laid out by a drunk surveyor on a blind mule. Friends, I’m talkin’ as crooked as a dawg’s hind leg. But most of us country folks learned to drive on these ol’ roads and know them like the back of our hands. So, when I say a comfortable speed, I’m talkin’ just barely on the safe side.

Needless to say I survived the ride or I wouldn’t be here tellin’ you good folks about it today. Bobby Joe slowed down some more when he got to the spot where he decided to go huntin’ honey. He kept lookin’ off to the side of the road then all of a sudden-like, he gives out a hoot and the steerin’ wheel a twist. I was about to question his sanity as we headed for a wall of trees until I saw an ol’ loggin’ trail nearly growed completely over with weeds and such. We