Foggy River Adventures (Jan 2010)

Foggy River Adventures…INCORPORATED!

By Ed “illinoisdeerhunter” Smith

“Dang Clay! That was a wall hanger monster crappie for sure!” Clay and I were fishing over our, as of late, favorite Foggy River honey hole when Clay lost the crappie of a life-time. The look on his face got me to reminiscing.

Clay was as devastated as he was after four years of not-so-loyal service at Bob’s Tire and Ice Cream Expo and Cash Advance Store. Clay had showed for work, his usual 20 minutes late, only to find an empty building and a note on the door explaining that “Bob” was actually Raymond Newkirk, the famous Big Apple (that’s what I heard they call New York City) gangster of the FBI’s most wanted list. Yup, “Bob” was in jail and Clay was out of a job with nothing more than a worthless pay check for the last three weeks of work, IF that’s what you want to call what Clay did at Bob’s T&I, as Clay called it.

Fortunately for Clay, Linda, his wife, recently got a promotion at the Foggy Bottom Hospital and Retirement Home as a “hygienic specialist” She now gives sponge baths to those who can’t bathe themselves and a few who I swear, are just a couple of old codgers who get a kick outta havin’ Linda given ‘em a bath. Even so, it didn’t take long for Clay to realize that fat, semi-drunk and laid out on a recliner from the Good Will, watching W.W.E. is no way to live. Especially when Linda put her foot down …right on his uh …well, let’s just say, Clay was singing soprano in the church choir for a few Sundays.

I recall the conversation as if it were yesterday. “Jed, I gotta do something for some income! Linda is gonna make my retirement miserable.”

“Retirement!” was my ever so quiick witted reply. “Why I thought you just lost your job. Anyway, you’re only what, thirty-eight years old? Heck you can’t retire at thirty-eight.”

With seriousness I have never before, nor since witnessed from Clay’s soul, Clay replied, “But, Moses Brown over at Catfish Bend retired at thirty-five! Why can’t I say I’m retired!”

“The only ‘re-tiring’ you need to do is BEG Burt Sanderlund for your old job at HIS tire shop over in Catfish Bend!”

“Yeah, I guess your right, I do need a job but, I really don’t want to be a tire jockey the rest of my life!”

That’s about when that the latest edition of Alabama Outdoors was delivered in the mail. What a coincidence, the front cover of A.O. featured a spread on professional opportunities in the outdoors of our great state of …ALA--by God--BAMA!

“I GOT IT!!!! Why didn’t I think of this sooner! Jed, I’m gonna start an outdoor business! It really is the latest rage! Look,” Clay thumbed through to the middle of the magazine, “right here, this feller outside a Seattle, Oregon (I know, Clay still thinks Seattle is in Oregon) he started a guided elk hunting business, and, and this feller here, he opened a bait shop right smack dab in the middle of ‘Chicagger, Illini-noise’. Why can’t I start something’ like that here in Foggy Bottom?”

“Clay, I really don’t want to discourage you but, don’t forget what happened to your Doe-Bot Industries Fiasco.” I had to mention the “Doe-Bot”.

Thelma still shudders when she hears that phrase. It has been permanently banned from the English language in my home, but, I digress.

“Dang it, I’m not talking about selling a product, I’m talking about selling a service, an experience….an ADVENTURE!!!! That’s it, Foggy Bottom Adventures!”

Over the next few weeks Clay did his usual thing, he took a half-baked idea and ran, no, sprinted, full speed ahead with it. I’m not saying it couldn’t have worked. I’m just saying, Clay has, shall we say, a ‘track record’ of his many ‘near misses’ in the world of corporate America. The main problem Clay began to first encounter was his ability, or inability as it may be, to come up with a solid idea of just what he would offer.

Today Clay was all about importing some crazy looking Giraffe/Zebra looking critter from Africa called an Okapi for guided hunts. It didn’t take long for Merl Dozard, the as of late, newly elected county sheriff, to inform him that the idea was not only impractical but likely illegal on multiple fronts, as the Okapi was endangered and nearly extinct.
Strike One.

Next, Clay figgered he’d open something called a sportin’ clays range. It’s some kinda fancy trap range as far as Clay explained it to me. “Clay’s clays” on paper was to be placed in the back yard of Clay’s place. Again…a slight hitch in the ‘program’ threw Clay for a loop. He’d misread the stuff he found on his comm-puter internet hook up. Once Clay gets an idea in his head it won’t leave until it is rudely and at times, seemingly physically, evicted from his cranial crevasse. Well, what Clay’d misread was the simple fact that in order to have a sporting clays range, one needs at least 100 acres of land not, ONE ACRE as Clay so stubbornly stuck with for so painfully long.
Strike Two!

Ya know, even a blind pig gets a little corn now and again and Clay…well, he actually came up with what I thought was a purty neat idea on his third and what would be his final attempt.

“Dag-gummit Jed, that dang Foggy River just might be a real gold mine.”

Nobody does a thing on Foggy River other than a little hog bass fishing and catchin’ a mess of crappies over some of the old boat wrecks. Foggy Bottom township may be home to more crazy boat drivers than any other place on the planet. That river is dotted with boats of all sizes and shapes from shore to shore and the monster crappie just think those wrecks are the best place to hang out and occasionally inhale a 1/8 ounce pinkie feather jig. But, as of late, an intruder had made Foggy River an even more dangerous place to boat, especially if you were to drive that boat at more than idle speed.

“Ya know Jed, the hog bass fishing really ain’t so good lately either cause of those crazy jumpin’ carp that’s taking over.”

Yup, nobody knows just how but, Foggy River was one of the only rivers in the south which had been over run by some evil fish from Asia commonly known as a jumpin’ carp.

“Cllaaayyy…did you say jumpin’ carp?”

“Oh Jed, haven’t you been talking to the boys down at the marina the last few months? Those crazy jumpin’ carp that have done near exploded in population. I hear they jump right outta the water and right smack dab into your boat, your head…whatever happens to be in their way! ‘Bout any time you buzz up and down the river any faster than an idle it sounds like you’re putting your life at risk for sure.”

“Clay, could you come up with an idea to take advantage of those carp? Something you could make money on, you know, some kind of river adventure?”

“FOGGY RIVER ADVENTURES!!!!! Holy hot cakes Jed, I think you might be onto something. I gotta go, my mind is abuzz now!” Clay near evaporated from sight, high tailing it home to further develop his plan to success.

As usual, it was a few weeks before Clay made his presence known about town. Boy, did he make it known too! On the same day, an ad came out in the Foggy Bottom Gazette, in my mind premature, for Clay’s Foggy River Adventures and the biggest durn bass boat Foggy Township has ever seen rolled into town perched atop a trailer being towed by none other than Burt Sunderlund. The boat had some strange contraptions on it that obviously weren’t meant for your run-of-the-mill fishing pleasures. It kinda looked like a cross between a fishing boat and one of those African safari trucks with the seat perched way out in front of the hood. One of the two seats that, which were by the way hangin’ out the BACK end of the boat, had a ménage of cables, pulleys and pedals and the such that would put an erector set to shame. Not only that, the seats musta been all of ten feet above what I perceived to be the intended water line of that crazy looking craft.

“Come on Jed! Help me take the Carp-assassin on its maiden voyage!” Clay huffed as he closed the gap on my present location.

“What in the wide, wide world of sports is all that…that stuff on the back of the…what did you call it, the CARP-ASSASSIN?”

“Trust me Jed, this is gonna knock your socks off! I did some research and found this feller up in Illy-noise that near makes a living taking folks out on a river shootin’ these flying carp with a bow and arrow. I figured I’d improve on his idea! Here it is…the Carp-assassin!”

“Yeah, Clay, I seen a little of a show done on that carp shootin’ But what is all that extra… STUFF? I ain’t never seen seats perched so dang high and sooo far back behind the boat, what’s the use?”

“I’m gonna start a business just like it right here in Foggy Bottom. Only difference, my clients are gonna be able to use their favorite gun instead of a bow and arrows. I gotta one up the competition ya know.”

“OK, so what’s with the crazy lookin’ seats?” I knew deep down inside I really didn’t want to know but, I couldn’t resist.

“Awe, that’s easy Jed. Those carp tend to jump just as the motor goes by. I tried putting the seats up front, in the bow but you have to sit facing backwards and Burt got motion sick and puked all over the front deck. One other major alteration I had to make was the counter weights in the bow to off set the shooters in the seats. Ya know Burt fronted me the money for this here boat. He thinks this is gonna be BIG!” Any way, we put the seats in the back, so yer facing FORWARD catchin’ them carp just as they make their jump! I also got a remote control for the outboard rigged up to the starboard seats, that’s the one on the right, Jed.”

“I know what the heck ‘starboard’ is Clay. Ya know Clay; I think you might be on to something here! But you know how I am about personally taking part in you proto-type tests. Ever since Thelma and your Doe-bot fiasco, I think I’ll just …heck, wait a minute, how ‘bout if I come along in MY boat and shoot a video, how’s that?!”

Clay stretched out his hand and we shook on an idea that, as much as I wanted to not trust it, and looking back shouldn’t have, I gave in to.

“Well, Clay, if you don’t ride with me, who is gonna be my first client, you know, even for your video?”

Of course, that was just about the time that Bubby strolled out of Foggy Bottom Dairy Dream and Shoe Repair devouring a three scoop sugar cone like a five year old who’d missed his school lunch.

“Bubby! Git over here!” I hollered and Bubby garbled something while strawberry pistachio surprise dripped off his chin as he made his way toward us.

“Hey Bubby, you wanna go out on my newest invention…the Carp-assassin? You’re gonna get to shoot a gun at some flyin’ fish!”

Bubby’s mouth froze in mid-slurp and a smile emerged from behind a quickly failing now one and a half scoop sugar cone. “Dang right I do! One of those ugly carp ‘bout took my head off last week headin’ back to weigh-ins in the Crappie-palooza fishing tournament. Where do I sign up?”

“You’re good to go Bubby. Just go git a big gun. Not yer deer gun. I think that scope on there will hurt ya more than it’ll help ya.”

The enthusiasm was waxing in all three of us.

“But I ain’t got but my Sears 52.” Bubby dejectedly sighed.

“I gotta big gun you can use.” A familiar voice chimed in from behind us.
Yes, I knew this voice. Was it, could it be… We all turned in near unison. I recognized Clay’s neighbor and BIG gun aficionado, none other than Junior Collins.

It was at this point that Bubby began to giggle like a schoolgirl being asked to her first dance.

“Really, which one of those elephant guns are you gonna let me use!?” Bubby began to sweat profusely and fidget from the excitement.

I just bought me a new 10 gauge super mag. With number 4 buck you’d have like 35, lead balls making their way down range. With the open choke, it might make a real good, uh…carp gun...hehe never heard of such a thing but, there’s always a first I guess.”

“I’m in, I’m in!!!! Bubby was now near euphoric instability. “Let’s go!”

As you can imagine, it took a little time for me to get my boat and for Junior to gather the 10 gauge super mag and ten shells that musta weighed over a half pound each. As I launched my boat, video camera sitting in the seat next to me, Clay and Bubby were already in the water, climbing into the ‘shooters seats’ as Clay got to callin’ them.

Out near the channel, on the first pass, several decent size carp jumped on both sides of the Carp-assassin. Clay did take careful aim and hit one, which promptly floated to the top. Bubby took not so careful aim and didn’t come close but, as he was shooting Junior’s BIG gun, my camera was rolling. I was recording for history, images reminiscent of WWII anti-submarine depth charge warfare. Columns of water nearing twenty feet high erupted half a dozen times.

We idled down and met 400 yards down form the marina.

“Bubby, you only got four shots left. You better make ‘em count. You could go broke wastin’ that ammo like that.” I suggested.

“Right you are, as usual Jed, ole buddy! I’ll take better aim and give a little more lead.”

We turned about and headed back toward the marina on the far side of the channel, me with camera rolling.

“Fish airborne!” Clay cried out and half a dozen carp escaped the water in near unison, nearly surrounding the Carp-assassin. The deafening report of the super mag 10 gauge was nearly unbearable, even from 40 yards away. Buddy was down to his last shell.

“I’ll hit something sure as shooting this time!” Bubby assured us.

That’s when it happened. Just as Bubby shifted his eyes from me back to the water and as if in slow motion, a carp of gargantuan proportions lifted off from Bubbys left, crossing in front of him.
As Bubby took aim and a lead, I had my camera rolling…this was gonna be good, I could feel it.

I suppose I should mention at this point, in order to make room for all the hidden pulleys and cables in the back and the counter weights in the front of the Carp-assassin, Clay not so wisely removed a significant proportion of the boat’s emergency flotation. On top of that, he never considered just what to do while shooting carp if one actually jumps toward the boat. Bubby did take lead as the carp arced through the air beginning it’s decent with the main deck of the Carp-assassin the back ground of Bubby’s aim.

BBAAAAAWWWHHHOOOOMMMM!!!!!!!

I was reminded of the scene in the movie Pearl Harbor when the Arizona sank. The Carp-assassin sank, nearly in an instant, like a rock in exactly thirteen feet of water amidst a geyser of water nearly 20 feet high. Bubby and Clay were still seated in the shooting chairs waist-deep in the river as a shower Foggy River water fell upon them.

The next day, Clay and Burt Sunderland were out, at the wreck site, salvaging what they could which ended up being not much more that the shooting chairs and the super structure that had kept them in place.

That was nearly a year ago. “Yup Clay, that was about the biggest crappie I have ever seen. This sure is a great honey hole. Too bad it didn’t work out as a carp shootin’ boat.”

By Ed “illinoisdeerhunter” Smith

Article by Ed Smith aka, illinoisdeerhunter. Reproduction without permission prohibited.