You Wouldn't Be the First to Drown Here

Small wedge-shaped park on the Big River now called Rockford Beach, where I had a secret spot for fishing, has a short run of rapids, and despite all the warning signs they have now, people keep drowning in it. Today although I saw no people in the grass the parking lot was full. It so happened that a whole line of like 25 men waist-deep on river's opposite shore were rescue-service workers being trained.

There's barely any "beach," and the wardens say not to eat fish out of the Big, but on hot days families wade there, splash around, and swim across although it's forbidden, aiming to climb the rocks into that eye-socket hollow in the photo -- that's private land -- and they get caught in the current. When I moved here (19 years ago, as of tomorrow) just above the rapids was the remnants of a grain mill. After the floods of '08 -- and the Big River is the first to flood and close the roads here -- the park land was gated and locked for years, I thought forever.

But one day it opened, with all traces of the mill erased. A sandbar "island" in the middle that had attracted too much attention has been replaced by riprap. But it still has, like, the smallest and mildest-looking rip-snorting rapids, for professionals to practice with.

Cops: 0; Me, 1

We got our colorful eastern Missouri autumn, beyond our wildest dreams, and today was its most gorgeous day. So I lunched in a little county park along the Big River, where I have a secret spot for fishing, and was at a picnic table being enriched by the view when up behind me comes a sheriff's deputy, a very handsome one, all in brown (I love a man in uniform) and surprises me when he says, "Maybe you didn't take the time to read the signs at the park entrance when you came in, but glass bottles aren't allowed in the park."

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said. I had half my sandwich and  two-thirds of a bottle of orange juice left. I picked up the bottle to surrender it.

"It's not glass, it's plastic!" I said.

"Sure looks like glass."

"It's plastic. Here, squeeze it," I said to the deputy. He hesitated but he did it.

He said, "Lotta people don't take the time to read the signs at the park entrance that glass bottles aren't allowed in the park." And he turned his attention to the folks on the sandbar, fishing, saying, "Wonder what they're catchin' today."

He wandered off to sit in his patrol car, and after lunch I took a little walk to see if my secret, small and narrow fishing spot down the bank was still there. It was.

Favorite Fishing Access

Six a.m. found me on the Big River at Byrnes Mill, Mo. (pop. 1339). What remained of the original mill was destroyed by the floods of ‘08. At what was my secret favorite fishing access there’s a new parking lot and picnic area. Catfishers reel ‘em in if they can get to the river’s cliff side.

From my muddy sandbar I caught a dozen bluegill, & let ‘em all go; here’s a pic of my best catch: Note the “blue gill” (duh). Hook, bait, place, and time made for ideal fishin. I’d be honored if next time you’d come with. Yeah, the rod is pink. The name engraved on my tackle box is “Bun Bun.” Deal with it.

What's Biting Today?

I fished today. At the local Shell I asked where I could buy bait. “You’re in the right place,” said the clerk, and sold me 2 dozen night crawlers $2.99/dozen. “I hope you catch a load,” she said, “and I don’t mean coal.”

So I get to the Big River (that's its name), dazzled & stupefied with the joy of first-fishing-of-the-year. About 60% of the time spent untangling, retying, cussing, getting hook out of bushes, etc. Thunder in the distance. An angler across the river caught a catfish. I want one. I won’t leave. Finally, God lets my old folding chair’s nylon seat rip in half, suddenly dumping my ass full-force on wet sand. I only hoped nobody saw this, because I bet it looked hilarious. Took this as a divine signal to go home.