Here is a story about an old friend of mine. I hope someone can relate to something similar.
Leon and the fishing trip….
Leon was a Navajo, and a good sized one at that. He stood 6’-1”, weighed 225 or thereabouts, looked mean in his outward appearance, and was a friend of mine. If you have ever seen a picture of Tommy Prince, the WW11 combat soldier, well, Leon and Tommy could have been related to one another.
I met Leon when I took a temporary job at the electric company in Tulsa during the early seventies. He and I hit it off right from the bat. I referred to him as my “Navajo Warrior Brother”, and he called me his “Semi-hole Brother” since he thought I was only a half-assed Indian. We were part of the cut on/cut off crew, as in cut your power off if you didn’t pay the bill, and also provided special meter readings when the usual meter readers couldn’t obtain a reading due to one thing or another. Our work districts bordered each other, both being side by side in the midst of North Tulsa. If you have ever been to Saigon at night you would have an idea as to what it was like for us within our districts. If one of us ever needed assistance on a rough work order, the other was only a radio call away. If I ever found myself in another fire fight, I would have wanted Leon there with me.
Leon was a good family man, and loved his wife and two daughters with a passion. He also had a weakness, the weakness being a fondness of fine cigars and fine wine as he called them. Swisher Sweet cigars and Thunderbird wine were his modus operandi. “ No fancy- smancy wine glass needed, straight out of the bottle like a man”, as he would say.
Leon also enjoyed fishing….and that is how I learned a great deal more about him, and is what makes this story remain within me even today.
Our work week usually began with Leon and I asking each other about our weekend. Leon was elated when I told of my trip to the five acre pond at my old home place, especially hearing that the bass were spawning. Needless to say, by the end of the week Leon and I were going fishing together, whether I had other plans or not. When a 225 pound Navajo gets something stuck in his mind, it is best to just see it through, especially if he is known to carry a knife.
I picked up Leon that Friday afternoon, and off we went to the family pond. I had not taken care of the pond the past few years as I had when I lived at home with Mom and Dad. It was overgrown now on the banks, muskrats were moving in, and the snake population had considerably grown. While it was true, the pond and I had changed so much from what we once were, the old pond still retained the magical enjoyment it had during all those innocent years of my childhood.
Arriving at the pond the fish were jumping, and Leon could scarcely wait to wet a line. I cautioned him as to be careful about where he walked as he was picking out the top water lure of his choice. Within mere moments he had his first fish on.
Rather than a conventional tackle box, Leon carried a back pack. The pack contained smaller boxes of fishing gear, an old lightweight jacket, his fine cigars and three bottles of his best wine as it turned out. He was ready for some fine fishing, and all went well for a while.
Within ten or fifteen minutes, I saw Leon quickly scramble up the weedy pond bank. He had seen a water snake leisurely swim by a few feet from the shore where he had been standing. I informed him as to just be careful for the snake would not bother him if not provoked. A few minutes later, Leon scrambled up the bank again. I was beginning to sense my Navajo warrior buddy was afraid of snakes. Perhaps a change of venue was in order, especially if I was going to fish any. That decision would prove to be a mistake, at least for Leon.
I kept an old aluminum Jon boat there at the pond. It was a sixteen footer, flat bottomed, three seats, and would be perfect for the two us to use. I had modified the old boat for my use by adding bent aluminum rods at the bow and stern which angled out to hold 12 volt lights wired to a battery for the trolling motor. The eight foot rods could be swiveled around to locate the lights wherever they were desired. It was perfect for night fishing on the pond, and reminded me of a red neck shrimp trawler in many regards. I had used the boat the previous weekend.
Leon took to the boat idea straight away, not necessarily because of the snakes mind you…but that the boat would allow us to get out where the big fish might be. We shoved off and had only moved a few feet away from the bank when Leon asked about the holes in the side of the pond bank where we passed. Rather than tell him the muskrats were excavating, I casually informed him they were probably snake holes, which would later turn out to be a mistake on my part.
Once safely out into the pond, Leon turned his attention to fishing once again. A few catch and releases later the first cigar and bottle of Thunderbird came out of the backpack. I had never acquired the taste for such a fine vintage elixir as Leon so I gracefully declined the invitation, but did accept one of the sweet stogies. At least the combined smoke would help keep the flying critters at bay somewhat.
My old Navajo buddy was having a ball. So much in fact, when dusk began to arrive and I mentioned we should be heading in to shore, he begged to fish a little while longer since they were really biting. I suggested there may be a few more snakes, but Leon assured me they wouldn’t be a big deal to him if I wasn’t worried myself. That point in time was where the earlier mentioned mistake began to surface.
The sun was sinking low, the fish were biting, Leon had opened his next bottle, all was well on the pond….kind of like the calm before the storm. Anyone that spends a lot of time on a pond knows that as the sun fades away the pond magically comes to life bringing the chorus of the frogs, the wild critters looking for a drink, and so many other things that make up the nightlife of a good farm pond, like snakes, snapping turtles, and muskrats to name only a few.
Now, before y’all read the rest of my story….please be advised. The following content contains language, violence, possibly bloodshed, adult situations, implied partial nudity, and other stuff that may not be suitable for all readers. If you are under legal age, live at a convent or monastery, are prone to wettin’ your pants, a lawyer or politician, or any other such stuff….y’all best not read any farther. I ain’t gonna be responsible.
Leon was determined to fish a little longer, so we decided to stay another hour, or two, or three. As the sunlight faded away the 12 volt lighting on the rods came on. There would only be a quarter-moon that evening, and it had not come up yet. I maneuvered the old boat to give my fishing buddy the best area to fish his top water plugs to his heart’s content. The increasing harmonic drone of what seemed like a million frogs were soothing the inhabitants at the pond that night.
Leon was feeling good for he was catching fish, and possibly the fine cigars and two empty bottles of vintage Thunderbird also had something to do with it. Either way, there was more than the 12 volt lights fairly lit on the old Jon boat. The following events have brought me many a chuckle over these many years.
Leon felt Nature call, and proudly stood on the seat at the bow of the boat while adding to the water level of the pond. From where he stood he could see further into the cast light than while sitting down. It was at about that time he remarked as to how many frogs there were in the water, and that at least ten to fifteen sets of eyes were around the outer perimeter of the light.
One thing about lighting on a boat at night, it attracts fish, turtles, insects, and snakes. A quick glance around told me all the sets of eyes belonged to snakes. I was about to inform Leon, but was interrupted when a large snapping turtle poked his head above water near the bow of the boat. Taking Leon by surprise he quickly buttoned up and sat back down on his seat just as one of the “frogs” came into the light about nine or ten feet from the boat. “SNAKE!”, he yelled as he stood up once again. I almost had him convinced the snake would not bother him, and was only attracted to the smaller fish around the boat. I say almost….for another snake came closer and the Navajo Warrior immediately decided to go on the warpath. Well, he thrashed the water with his rod tip trying to shoo the snake away. That wasn’t exactly the thing to do, for splashing water will attract critters to check out the commotion…which it did.
Another snake ventured close by on the other side of the boat, and Leon began to rock the boat a mite. It can be difficult to keep a boat halfway stable while a crazed Indian is on the warpath I’ll tell you. The next few moments seemed to be in slow motion to me, for Leon was alternating from side to side beating the daylights out of the water with his fishing rod. As fate would serve, somehow he had managed to snag one of the snakes with a treble hook of the Jitterbug at the end of his fishing line. As to make matters worse, the dang snake was now in the damn boat…firmly caught by the top water lure’s sharp hooks. I needed no second opinion to know the disposition of the pissed off water snake. I also knew Leon would either end up in the water, have a coronary, or both.
I was about to grab the snake and cut the fishing line when Leon dropped his rod into the pond. Being unarmed he quickly grabbed his backpack and commenced to clobber the bewildered snake while simultaneously performing some kind of Navajo Pow-Wow dance right there in the boat and screaming loudly enough to cause the dogs up at Mom and Dad’s house to begin barking at all the noise in the night. If that had not caused enough confusion, Leon’s last bottle of fine wine was busted inside of the deadly snake clobberer bag and now vintage wine was throughout half of the bottom of the boat thereby making the floor slippery for the dancing warrior.
Somehow, still unknown as to how, the snake was back in the water leaving a trail of blood. Whether due to two bottles of Thunderbird on an empty stomach, adrenaline, or having an anxiety level three times higher than your I.Q., I do not know, but Leon dropped to his knees and began to chum the water and part of the boat. Well sir, chum can attract fish which attract other critters as well.
I hit the throttle of the trolling motor and we headed to the shallows to beach the boat, all while leaving chum along the way in our wake. I informed my Navajo Warrior buddy as soon as we disembarked he could rest on the tailgate of my pickup while I stored things away. I would pull in to shore and would then beach the boat so he could get out safely, and to be cautious and look for snakes as he got out.
I swear I did not know that my chosen path would take us into the turf of the muskrats until three of them began to scatter. We were still about ten or so feet away from land when Leon decided to jump and run like hell through anymore damn snakes in order to get to a safe sanctuary.
I mopped up what I could of my old buddy, and poured him into the bed of my pickup. I got him to his front door a little after midnight, and headed home. My wife asked me if I had a good time that evening. I thought about where to begin, but realized she wouldn’t believe me anyway. After thinking about the evening’s events I replied, “Yes, I did. I had a great time.” When asked the same about Leon, I only replied as to I would have to ask him Monday at work.
That Monday morning I decided to wear a different belt to work. I had a village craftsman hand tool a belt for me from the hide of a two-step snake I had encountered a few years prior. I thought my old Navajo Warrior Brother might want to change my name from Semi-hole.
If only Leon had told me he was deathly afraid of snakes, we could have went to Lake Oolagah below the spillway to fish that night, but then I would have been unable to share this story today.
Leon and the fishing trip….
Leon was a Navajo, and a good sized one at that. He stood 6’-1”, weighed 225 or thereabouts, looked mean in his outward appearance, and was a friend of mine. If you have ever seen a picture of Tommy Prince, the WW11 combat soldier, well, Leon and Tommy could have been related to one another.
I met Leon when I took a temporary job at the electric company in Tulsa during the early seventies. He and I hit it off right from the bat. I referred to him as my “Navajo Warrior Brother”, and he called me his “Semi-hole Brother” since he thought I was only a half-assed Indian. We were part of the cut on/cut off crew, as in cut your power off if you didn’t pay the bill, and also provided special meter readings when the usual meter readers couldn’t obtain a reading due to one thing or another. Our work districts bordered each other, both being side by side in the midst of North Tulsa. If you have ever been to Saigon at night you would have an idea as to what it was like for us within our districts. If one of us ever needed assistance on a rough work order, the other was only a radio call away. If I ever found myself in another fire fight, I would have wanted Leon there with me.
Leon was a good family man, and loved his wife and two daughters with a passion. He also had a weakness, the weakness being a fondness of fine cigars and fine wine as he called them. Swisher Sweet cigars and Thunderbird wine were his modus operandi. “ No fancy- smancy wine glass needed, straight out of the bottle like a man”, as he would say.
Leon also enjoyed fishing….and that is how I learned a great deal more about him, and is what makes this story remain within me even today.
Our work week usually began with Leon and I asking each other about our weekend. Leon was elated when I told of my trip to the five acre pond at my old home place, especially hearing that the bass were spawning. Needless to say, by the end of the week Leon and I were going fishing together, whether I had other plans or not. When a 225 pound Navajo gets something stuck in his mind, it is best to just see it through, especially if he is known to carry a knife.
I picked up Leon that Friday afternoon, and off we went to the family pond. I had not taken care of the pond the past few years as I had when I lived at home with Mom and Dad. It was overgrown now on the banks, muskrats were moving in, and the snake population had considerably grown. While it was true, the pond and I had changed so much from what we once were, the old pond still retained the magical enjoyment it had during all those innocent years of my childhood.
Arriving at the pond the fish were jumping, and Leon could scarcely wait to wet a line. I cautioned him as to be careful about where he walked as he was picking out the top water lure of his choice. Within mere moments he had his first fish on.
Rather than a conventional tackle box, Leon carried a back pack. The pack contained smaller boxes of fishing gear, an old lightweight jacket, his fine cigars and three bottles of his best wine as it turned out. He was ready for some fine fishing, and all went well for a while.
Within ten or fifteen minutes, I saw Leon quickly scramble up the weedy pond bank. He had seen a water snake leisurely swim by a few feet from the shore where he had been standing. I informed him as to just be careful for the snake would not bother him if not provoked. A few minutes later, Leon scrambled up the bank again. I was beginning to sense my Navajo warrior buddy was afraid of snakes. Perhaps a change of venue was in order, especially if I was going to fish any. That decision would prove to be a mistake, at least for Leon.
I kept an old aluminum Jon boat there at the pond. It was a sixteen footer, flat bottomed, three seats, and would be perfect for the two us to use. I had modified the old boat for my use by adding bent aluminum rods at the bow and stern which angled out to hold 12 volt lights wired to a battery for the trolling motor. The eight foot rods could be swiveled around to locate the lights wherever they were desired. It was perfect for night fishing on the pond, and reminded me of a red neck shrimp trawler in many regards. I had used the boat the previous weekend.
Leon took to the boat idea straight away, not necessarily because of the snakes mind you…but that the boat would allow us to get out where the big fish might be. We shoved off and had only moved a few feet away from the bank when Leon asked about the holes in the side of the pond bank where we passed. Rather than tell him the muskrats were excavating, I casually informed him they were probably snake holes, which would later turn out to be a mistake on my part.
Once safely out into the pond, Leon turned his attention to fishing once again. A few catch and releases later the first cigar and bottle of Thunderbird came out of the backpack. I had never acquired the taste for such a fine vintage elixir as Leon so I gracefully declined the invitation, but did accept one of the sweet stogies. At least the combined smoke would help keep the flying critters at bay somewhat.
My old Navajo buddy was having a ball. So much in fact, when dusk began to arrive and I mentioned we should be heading in to shore, he begged to fish a little while longer since they were really biting. I suggested there may be a few more snakes, but Leon assured me they wouldn’t be a big deal to him if I wasn’t worried myself. That point in time was where the earlier mentioned mistake began to surface.
The sun was sinking low, the fish were biting, Leon had opened his next bottle, all was well on the pond….kind of like the calm before the storm. Anyone that spends a lot of time on a pond knows that as the sun fades away the pond magically comes to life bringing the chorus of the frogs, the wild critters looking for a drink, and so many other things that make up the nightlife of a good farm pond, like snakes, snapping turtles, and muskrats to name only a few.
Now, before y’all read the rest of my story….please be advised. The following content contains language, violence, possibly bloodshed, adult situations, implied partial nudity, and other stuff that may not be suitable for all readers. If you are under legal age, live at a convent or monastery, are prone to wettin’ your pants, a lawyer or politician, or any other such stuff….y’all best not read any farther. I ain’t gonna be responsible.
Leon was determined to fish a little longer, so we decided to stay another hour, or two, or three. As the sunlight faded away the 12 volt lighting on the rods came on. There would only be a quarter-moon that evening, and it had not come up yet. I maneuvered the old boat to give my fishing buddy the best area to fish his top water plugs to his heart’s content. The increasing harmonic drone of what seemed like a million frogs were soothing the inhabitants at the pond that night.
Leon was feeling good for he was catching fish, and possibly the fine cigars and two empty bottles of vintage Thunderbird also had something to do with it. Either way, there was more than the 12 volt lights fairly lit on the old Jon boat. The following events have brought me many a chuckle over these many years.
Leon felt Nature call, and proudly stood on the seat at the bow of the boat while adding to the water level of the pond. From where he stood he could see further into the cast light than while sitting down. It was at about that time he remarked as to how many frogs there were in the water, and that at least ten to fifteen sets of eyes were around the outer perimeter of the light.
One thing about lighting on a boat at night, it attracts fish, turtles, insects, and snakes. A quick glance around told me all the sets of eyes belonged to snakes. I was about to inform Leon, but was interrupted when a large snapping turtle poked his head above water near the bow of the boat. Taking Leon by surprise he quickly buttoned up and sat back down on his seat just as one of the “frogs” came into the light about nine or ten feet from the boat. “SNAKE!”, he yelled as he stood up once again. I almost had him convinced the snake would not bother him, and was only attracted to the smaller fish around the boat. I say almost….for another snake came closer and the Navajo Warrior immediately decided to go on the warpath. Well, he thrashed the water with his rod tip trying to shoo the snake away. That wasn’t exactly the thing to do, for splashing water will attract critters to check out the commotion…which it did.
Another snake ventured close by on the other side of the boat, and Leon began to rock the boat a mite. It can be difficult to keep a boat halfway stable while a crazed Indian is on the warpath I’ll tell you. The next few moments seemed to be in slow motion to me, for Leon was alternating from side to side beating the daylights out of the water with his fishing rod. As fate would serve, somehow he had managed to snag one of the snakes with a treble hook of the Jitterbug at the end of his fishing line. As to make matters worse, the dang snake was now in the damn boat…firmly caught by the top water lure’s sharp hooks. I needed no second opinion to know the disposition of the pissed off water snake. I also knew Leon would either end up in the water, have a coronary, or both.
I was about to grab the snake and cut the fishing line when Leon dropped his rod into the pond. Being unarmed he quickly grabbed his backpack and commenced to clobber the bewildered snake while simultaneously performing some kind of Navajo Pow-Wow dance right there in the boat and screaming loudly enough to cause the dogs up at Mom and Dad’s house to begin barking at all the noise in the night. If that had not caused enough confusion, Leon’s last bottle of fine wine was busted inside of the deadly snake clobberer bag and now vintage wine was throughout half of the bottom of the boat thereby making the floor slippery for the dancing warrior.
Somehow, still unknown as to how, the snake was back in the water leaving a trail of blood. Whether due to two bottles of Thunderbird on an empty stomach, adrenaline, or having an anxiety level three times higher than your I.Q., I do not know, but Leon dropped to his knees and began to chum the water and part of the boat. Well sir, chum can attract fish which attract other critters as well.
I hit the throttle of the trolling motor and we headed to the shallows to beach the boat, all while leaving chum along the way in our wake. I informed my Navajo Warrior buddy as soon as we disembarked he could rest on the tailgate of my pickup while I stored things away. I would pull in to shore and would then beach the boat so he could get out safely, and to be cautious and look for snakes as he got out.
I swear I did not know that my chosen path would take us into the turf of the muskrats until three of them began to scatter. We were still about ten or so feet away from land when Leon decided to jump and run like hell through anymore damn snakes in order to get to a safe sanctuary.
I mopped up what I could of my old buddy, and poured him into the bed of my pickup. I got him to his front door a little after midnight, and headed home. My wife asked me if I had a good time that evening. I thought about where to begin, but realized she wouldn’t believe me anyway. After thinking about the evening’s events I replied, “Yes, I did. I had a great time.” When asked the same about Leon, I only replied as to I would have to ask him Monday at work.
That Monday morning I decided to wear a different belt to work. I had a village craftsman hand tool a belt for me from the hide of a two-step snake I had encountered a few years prior. I thought my old Navajo Warrior Brother might want to change my name from Semi-hole.
If only Leon had told me he was deathly afraid of snakes, we could have went to Lake Oolagah below the spillway to fish that night, but then I would have been unable to share this story today.
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