ROCKWALL, TX (March 16, 2015) I’ve had a quest: to provide more honest food for our table—food I’ve caught, killed, or grown. There’s something pure about it, wholesome, and when you’ve been involved from field to feast, a deeper appreciation brews and wasting is sacrilege.
A couple of years ago, I heard of the white bass (sand bass) that run in area creeks just as winter subsides – thousands of white bass jam into the lake tributaries to spawn – and I wanted to be there so some of them could make it to my table. Sadly, though, the water levels were so bad that the parts I visited were dried up or puddles.
Soon after, I hunted turkey and fished in central Wisconsin. After bagging my first gobbler, my buddy and I met up with a retired fishing guide on theWolfRiver. I didn’t know what to expect as Butch Owen shook my hand and asked me if I could sing like Vince Gill (the rumor is, he’s my second cousin, and no, I cannot sing), but it took no time to befriend this fellow angler. Butch was a retired city employee and professional guide, the quintessential salt-of-the-earth. He wouldn’t take money for the job, he just wanted to show off the river he’s fished nearly every day of his life. I wondered if we’d be hauling walleye or the pre-historic sturgeon, but Butch had a different plan—the water temperature was perfect and the white bass spawning. “We can’t miss this opportunity,” and we headed to the river. After having been skunked on myTexaswhite bass run, hope sparked as my freezer screamed for fish.
Butch insisted to bait our hooks and remove the catch. It felt weird; I pride myself in being my own man, independent, but he was the boss on this trip and wanted us to have “full service.” Yet his rule went immediately challenged; the moment we casted our bait, my buddy and I hoisted fish after fish over the side. We hit schools so big that Butch looked like Lucille Ball in the chocolate factory so we had a little fun removing fish while he was busy “complaining” how he’d fallen down on his job. It was so fun that we nearly forgot the cold wind and the livewell population and realized we’d be filleting for the next two hours.
I find it crazy that I had set my sights on white bass, experienced huge disappointment, yet went to another state and had one of the biggest fish hauls of my life of no other than—white bass. Spring is like that, full of surprises and new life and my family celebrated it for weeks over hot bowls of fish chowder and crunchy fish sandwiches. But I had achieved more than just an honest meal or twelve, I gained new friends and had added another great adventure to my memories, and that alone is enough to thaw any winter and bring light for all sorts of dark days.
By Blue Ribbon News guest columnist Scott Gill of Rockwall, a teacher, coach and author of Goliath Catfish. Follow Scott’s blog at scotttgill.tumblr.com and read all of his “Front Porch Ramblings” at BlueRibbonNews.com.
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