Editor's note: Joy Long of Fayetteville is the winner of the 2017 Northwest Arkansas Democrat-Gazette fish story contest. Her story, along with other entries from the contest, are published below.
Catfish comes to dinner
My father, Dr. Ross Bizzell, and yours truly, Joy Bizzell Long, were fishing for bream on Lake Maumelle just outside my home town of Little Rock.
We'd caught our limit, which was more than we could eat, when my dad's rod bent down into the water. Knowing his heart condition, I helped him reel in a big catfish. He landed it into the boat. We let all those bream go and returned home to enjoy a delicious catfish dinner made by our neighbor, Mrs. Hellums -- fried catfish nuggets, hush puppies, french fries and coleslaw.
I have a picture of the fish and my dad. It must have been 4 or 4 1/2 feet long. I would have sent it with this story, but it is very precious to me since it was the last time my dad and I went fishing before he passed away shortly after.
-- JOY LONG, Fayetteville
No rod needed
It was 1948 or 1949. I was in the Navy stationed at Naval Air Station in Kodiak, Alaska.
The station had a recreation camp at a lake on Afognak Island just north of Kodiak. I was sent to replace the radio operator by means of the only helicopter ride of my lifetime. The radio operator only had to contact base a couple times a day, so I was free to do what I pleased the rest of the time.
Some people fished on the lake from small boats. Others fished the creek which ran three or four miles to the sea. The first day I checked out a rod and reel. Not one bite all day.
The second day an experienced fly fisherman taught me how to fly fish. I got to where I could place the fly exactly where I wanted it on the creek. However, the fish didn't cooperate, and I didn't get a bite fly fishing either.
The third day I went back to rod and reel. I was standing on the bank when I saw a great big fish alongside a big rock. I didn't think. I dropped my rod, extended my hands and waded into the stream, trapping the fish against the rock.
I never weighed it, but it was the biggest fish I'd caught in my life. The camp kitchen cooked it and we had salmon for supper.
-- EDWARD MICHAU, Sulphur Springs
Shark wants that fish
I cast my lure and something yanked the rod, pulling line until it snapped off the reel.
The culprit was one of many hungry fish chomping the seafood buffet courtesy of the anchored shrimper. Five of us floated in a small boat 12 miles offshore in the Gulf of Mexico near it. The fishermen picked their nets clean, throwing back everything but shrimp. We bobbed next to them, making bets on who could catch the biggest fish.
After getting spooled, a friend handed me a pole with heavier line. Every cast yielded a bite. Not tiny nibbles either. Monsters lurked in the turquoise water. I hooked a big one that nearly ripped my shoulders out of the sockets. While my arms cramped from exhaustion, I reeled in the catch. With help, I held it up for a Kodak moment.
My brother, Ricky, hooked one too. The fish thrashed, threatened to break loose, so we drove the boat around, chasing it. We never got it in because a giant hammerhead shark took notice, circling us. When Ricky's fish slipped free we zoomed to shore before the shark flipped the boat. We didn't want to be part of the buffet.
-- ELLEN MUELLER, Fayetteville
Bass bites twice
My wife, Billie, and I were fishing our favorite lake, Lake Eucha on the Beaty and Spavinaw creeks. Billie preceded me in death at age 91 in 2014. I am now 90.
We were both casting blue tiddle-tail worms on the point east of Hare Cove. I was fishing from the front chair of our bass boat. Billie was in the rear seat. I cast my worm to the left near the bank and caught a bass of good size, maybe 4 pounds. The fish was a fighter and broke my hook off near the boat.
My wife, an excellent fisherman, cast her blue worm to the same place and caught the same fish. My worm was still in its mouth. So we now have the fish in our livewell with two worms in its mouth.
-- MARVIN WILBER, Maysville
Two for one trolling
I am retired now, but I will never forget a fishing trip to Canada with my father and brother.
We rented a small aluminum fishing boat and went out on a rather large lake which I believe was Red Lake. As a boy of about 11 I remember my dad steering the small boat into some rather large waves. We eventually got to a calmer part of the lake and began to troll for walleye.
I was using a Flatfish lure with a treble hook on either side. We had not been out long when I got a strike that I was sure was a whale. I fought the catch for what seemed like a very long time. With my father's help we finally netted not one, but two, walleye.
There must have been a double strike as there was a fish on both of the outrigger hooks. I have never duplicated that feat. In retrospect, we concluded that we must have trolled through a school of walleye.
-- RICK TRAMPOSH, Bella Vista
Lucky trout lure
As time goes by, I have discovered the beauties of catch and release. Like a dog wagging its tail, the fish always waves its tail good-bye as it's released back into the river. Once released, in my mind's eye and certainly my boastful mouth, the fish seem to get larger each time the story is passed on.
Watch what you say. My true fish story starts from the counter of my tire and auto center in Springdale, a great place to talk about my three favorite subjects, the love of God, His creation and fly fishing.
I was showing a customer Dave Whitlock's method of creating a knotless, loopless fly line system. This system reduces casting and wind knots, thus fewer leaders, saving time and money. It also improves your presentation. I was blessed to have Mr. Whitlock show me this system when he lived in Midway, Ark. Fly fishing and Dave Whitlock are synonymous.
While building the fly line, my postman came in to deliver our mail. While there, he must have heard me boasting. "I could catch a trout on a rubber band." Watch what you say.
The next day when he left our mail he also left a package of rubber bands. I think I may have offended his namesake, heritage or ancestry because I have since found out my postman's name is Geary Trout! Imagine that. Here I go again, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut. Watch what you say.
Inside my fly box was a time tested fly called a San Juan worm. Fortunately, one of the rubber bands my postman left me matched the color of a San Juan worm and easily ties. I was off the the White River below Beaver Dam for some trout fishing.
It was midday with high sun. I was fishing down and dirty under a strike indicator, normally 1 1/2 times the water depth. Second cast and "fish on." I was blessed with a beautiful brown trout caught with my San Juan worm crafted from the rubber band.
The moral of the story, watch what you say, can be found throughout the scriptures. Be slow to speak and quick to listen.
-- LES GARRETT, Springdale
Magic bamboo rod
It was a dreary, overcast morning in the month of September. It had to be a Saturday. Otherwise my dad would have been at his job. He tended irrigation canals for Cameron County Irrigation District in rural Brownsville, Texas.
With mom as the supervisor, dad and my older brother and sister were rearranging the whole house in preparation for the newest addition to the family. Baby Elidia was due at the end of the month.
I was only 9, so no help at all. On the contrary, I kept getting underfoot. After many warnings from mom, she seized the "switch" and was prepared to administer to the offender. Dad put a stop to that by ordering me to go fishing for the family. He added that later we'd all welcome a tasty fish dinner.
I'd only attempted fishing once before, and it was a disaster. I gave the excuses, "I don't like fishing and I don't have a fishing pole." Dad came back with, "Take my pole or a whipping. What's it going to be?'"
I'd always admired dad's beautifully made bamboo fishing pole. The choice was easy. I was going to use dad's fishing pole. Wow! Not even my older brother, Joe, had been allowed to use this marvelous piece of work.
Off I went, confident all the fish in the lake would be mine in short order. I calculated I needed at lease one fish for each member of the family. That comes out to nine fish.
Shazam! Immediately a fish. Small, but no matter. Then another and another, bigger and bigger. Dad's pole was magic.
When I got to nine fish I didn't stop. In my daydreams I'd determined that dad, mom and my older siblings required two fish each because they'd been working hard rearranging the house.
The memorable episode happened in 1953. Dad has since passed, but his words as I walked out of the house to go fishing are still with me. "Who knows, someday you may write about this. Americans are crazy. Everything is a competition to them. Go out and break the record."
ROSS SANCHEZ, Bella Vista
Sports on 06/27/2017