summer nights

there wasn't any reason to stop our hunting and fishing exploits on warm summer nights.  once the sun went down and the mosquitos let up it was downright pleasant out there.  our primary quarries were bullfrogs and bass.

the bullfrogs we hunted with flashlights and gigs or a .22 rifle.  they "kerunked" mightily from the edges of the myriad ponds that dotted the area - some of which we had permission to scour - some we had to sneak to, usually late at night.  the gigging was a bit messy but had the advantage of being quieter than a .22 short.  i doubt you could buy a frog gig today - except perhaps at a walmart somewhere in the south...mine was purchased at the old hubers sporting goods store on ninth street in wilmington. what you got was the head of neptune's trident - hardened steel with barbs at the end of its three prongs so the frogs wouldn't slip off...hence the messiness.  you had to supply your own broomstick to attach it to.  the frogs, really just the legs, were great to eat especially when deep fried by cookie, big helen, and served with tartar sauce and ketchup.  one day i gigged myself - on the inside of my upper right arm - while reaching up to get a fishing rod and i can tell you i don't envy the frogs.  we needed bolt cutters to release me from the rest of the gig and broom handle.  the doc in the emergency room didn't understand my muttered "frog gig" answer to his question so i had to draw a picture on the gurney sheet of what was protruding from my arm.  i never bought a new gig.  the old one, now a duodent, worked just fine.

bass fishing on a still summer evening, after dark, was just as much fun.  the fish would come into the shallows - after the frogs - and we'd cast down the pond edges with top water lures.  the big guys would have ventured out of the safety of deeper water and often would explode on our skirted poppers.  very exciting when you didn't see them coming.  late one night i had just made a cast when an owl struck a rabbit nearly at my feet - scaring me half to death.  the rabbit screamed - the owl never made a sound.

the reservoir was our holy grail...first because it was illegal to fish there...second because there had to be big fish in an unfished, relatively large, body of water.  one night we slung a small aluminum boat over the fence, agreed to be picked up at 4 a.m., and floated around for several hours.  what luck we had i don't remember but it must have been little or no because we didn't fish that way again.  but walk the banks and wade the shallows we did.  the last time i went i heard footsteps approaching - whose i didn't know - through the brush and slipped into the water to cross the cove i was fishing.  not a bad way to end a hot summer night...a few bass caught and a swim to cool off.