Off time and a good old Beaufort County river — let’s go fishing

Years go zipping by, but our good memories don’t fade away as time marches on.

Some of my favorite memories involve family memories, with a lot of them including my husband and my three sons.

My, my, I had all three of my sons at such a young age, it was like I grew up right along with them, spending time in the woods and in the river, being a tomboy at heart.

We spent our fair share of their childhood years in the woods squirrel hunting, and the other half in the river, be it saltwater or freshwater.

Back in the 1960s, when there use to be a windmill standing on private property where the entrance to May River Plantation is now on S.C. 46, just east of the Rose Dhu Creek bridge, my granddaddy, Dan Cooler, was the caretaker of the property.

I declare, I do believe that man, the river rat that he was, had saltwater running through his veins instead of blood. He had a handmade, dug-out pond at the end of the bridge that he kept live shrimp in to sell for fish bait.

“All Americans believe they are born fishermen. For a man to admit a distaste for fishing would be like denouncing mother-love or hating moonlight.” — John Steinbeck

When our boys were young and we didn’t have a boat to use or a dock to shrimp from, we’d go down the narrow path from granddaddy’s shrimp pond to the high bank of the May River and climb down the ladder he had made for himself to use as access to the creek to catch fresh shrimp.

Harry, me, and the boys tagging along, pulling a #3 washtub afloat in the water to hold our cache, would go “mud-bogging” on low tide, casting our shrimp net and emptying in the washtub till we had a good mess for supper.

That was fine and fun for the boys until one day the net snagged an unseen, submerged, three-foot-long alligator, which tore up our net and THAT ended our creek-bogging-shrimping days.

The two older sons didn’t let this incident tarnish their love for the river, though.

One summer day they begged to go “wet a hook” and “drown a few crickets” down at New River, a freshwater river just west of Pritchardville. Promising they’d keep a sharp eye out for their dad on his way home from work, to hitch a ride back home, I took them to the boat landing and dropped them off to try their luck standing on the bank. Lo and behold, two hours later the troupe returned home with a hungry appetite and fish to fry for supper. Wow!

As luck would have it, we finally became the proud owners of a small boat and motor, just the ticket to have some fun fishing days in the New River. Problem was, it only accommodated two fishermen, so one particular day husband and oldest son used the boat to fish out of and left youngest son and I to fish from the bank.

Not to be defeated, within about an hour, with us standing in the edge of the water with a fish stringer tied around my ankle for our catch, we ended up with a nice mess of fish, thanks to our diligent casting of baited hooks on our cane poles. Much to the fellas’ surprise on their arrival back to the landing, we had out-fished them three-fold.

Many more fishing trips were enjoyed from our small boat over the years. My favorite way to fish was with a cane pole, “hook, line, and sinker” in other words, “rat-on-da-bottom.” I didn’t care to watch for a cork to “bob.” I like to feel the fish nibble the bait and them hook-em.

“Time is but the stream I go a-fishing in. I drink at it, but while I drink, I see the sandy bottom and detect how shallow it is. Its thin current slides away, but eternity remains.” — Henry David Thoreau

Recently, after being homebound for over two months, thanks to the coronavirus, my oldest son invited me out for a morning of fishing in the New River and, believe you me, he didn’t have to ask twice because I was “ready, set, go” for a day of sunshine and water.

He had everything ready, consisting of two baskets of crickets, two rods with reels, and two cane poles with corks. Much to my dismay, he advised against my “rat-on-da-bottom” style fishing so as to not keep getting tangled with underwater roots. So my “cork-watching” fishing didn’t last that long and I just resorted to watch him catch all the fish while relaxing in the sunshine and taking photos of the scenery.

I have to say, he’s a natural-born fisherman, that any time his boat leaves the landing when it returns there will be fish in it to pan fry. A totally enjoyable morning!

“Time and tide wait for no man” — Geoffrey Chaucer

So, go wet a hook!

Jean Tanner may be reached at jstmeema@hargray.com.