A long drive
If I had to guess I would say it was about 1988 probably July or August. I was a little pudgy, not very cool, just scratching the surface of puberty and frankly it was just an awkward time to be. I spent a good deal of time in the outdoors with my father usually on fishing trips or a handful of short overnight car camping trips. This time was going to be different. We were headed to Col McGrady's spot on the Shenandoah River. I didn't know what to expect but knew we would be camping and fishing for a few days and that sounded pretty good to me.I was riding shotgun in my Dad's 70's GMC pickup truck. I had seen this truck through some rough times, including holes under my feet in the floorboard. We were headed out into the great unknown, packed down tight with gear. I looked down at my brick sized walkman, hit the giant play button, and immersed myself in the latest pre-pubescent tape I had scored on the middle school black market, Motley Crue, Shout at the Devil.
A steep entrance
The ride went on and on but eventually a beautiful silhouette of blue mountains began to appear on the horizon. An hour or so before our arrival, the vibrant rock and roll slowed to a crawl and disintegrated into nothing as the AA batteries powering my escape lost power. With no tunes I returned to the world to interact with my surroundings and my father. It was around that time we approached the entrance to the property. My past experiences led me to thoughts of picnic tables and porto-potties. We stopped briefly to lock the hubs on Col McGrady's truck. No need on my Dad's as it was two wheel drive, more on that latter. The road was two tracks barely dusted with gravel, surrounded by wide fields of grass and lines of hardwoods in the distance. It seemed we had crossed half a dozen property's before we reached a dark tunnel of large trees. We entered the cavern of oaks and the truck began to twist and turn as the grade steadily dropped. I looked out in front of the truck as we took a hard right and my breath was momentarily interrupted as I peered over the dramatic drop off we were approaching along this heavily wooded track. My father was tough, a solider, and in his prime. I was pretty sure he wasn't scared of anything but a glance over at him and my confidence, in his confidence, was shaken for a brief second. The one minute trip down that steep slope felt like an hour and my adrenaline was pumping. As we arrived at flat ground the adrenaline fueled my wonderment as a large grassy plateau emerged, surrounded by mountainous outcrops on one side and a spectacular flowing Shenandoah river on the other.Bait and fishing
We parked the trucks, unloaded enough gear to sustain us for a month and the discussion quickly turned to fishing. About that time I observed a very orange bottle, of what I would learn had the distinguished name of Granddad 100, being quickly raised upside down and passed between the men two or three times. This was certainly some sort of ritual that provided good luck and kicked off the fishing. I always though my Dad was tough and caring, sort of a coarse package where you always felt safe as long as you were stayed in between the very black and white lines that were laid in the road. In some strange way Col McGrady was a little kinder, maybe it was the lines were a little more blurry but at the same time more intimidating. Col Mcgrady stared at me with a very commanding demeanor and suggested that I come and learn how to catch bait. I immediately responded with "No problem, where's the shovel", I had scored night crawlers for fishing dozens of times. He looked at me and said "you don't need a shovel we are going to get some hellgrammites and madtoms." Uncertain I followed the colonel into the river for a lesson in acquiring bait in the Shenandoah.
Hellgrammites
We waded out a dozen feet or so into the glistening river and flipped over a large flat rock. Col McGrady yelled, "there's one" and quickly grabbed a hold of the biggest, ugliest, scariest bug I had ever seen in my life. He held up the bug as it squirmed and the back end wrapped around his finger widely gripping and squirming in a futile attempt to free itself. He said "This is a hellgrammite, just grab them right behind the head and they can't hurt you". Easier said then done as this thing had the scariest pair of pinchers I had ever seen. I spent the next half hour dropping rocks and watching hellgrammites wash down stream as my fear laden approach failed. Eventually I got the hang of the technique and had squirreled away a few hellgrammites in a small butter dish that was attached to my belt loop with a small piece of rope.Col McGrady showed me how to hook the hellgrammite right behind its head through a small hard shell and I was off to catch some fish. This was the life, I was sitting on a rock, cool water flowing around me, sun shining down, and these hellgrammites were the best bait in the world. I was reeling in fish after fish it seemed.
Madtoms
It wasn't long before Col McGrady came back by and let me know a secret. "If you want to catch the big fish you got to have on a Madtom.", he said. I was certainly intrigued by this promise and after overcoming the hellgrammite business I figured this couldn't be too bad. Col McGrady explained that Madtoms were a species of cat fish that were very small, only three to five inches or so. We waded through the river for a few more minutes and he pointed along the line of a rock and yelled "there's one, we got em". I thought I saw him but really wasn't to sure. Col McGrady pounced on the rock, twisting his body sideways as he reach his right arm deep into the water. "You have to watch them go under a rock and then you reach under the rock and gently slide your finders underneath the Tom." This sounded simple enough. He went on to explain, "you see, you don't want to spook them, you have to gently caress their bellies for a few little while and when their nice and relaxed you grab them tight." I shit you not, at the very same time he is explaining this to me, shoulder deep in the river, he pops up holding the smallest catfish I had ever seen in my life. Now for those of you familiar with cat fish they have three very nasty barbs that can put a hurting on you. Madtoms are no different except that the barbs are smaller and sharper. Col McGrady hooked his madtom and pointed me off across the river to find one of my one.I spent the next half hour or first trying to spot these elusive fish and then going in for the catch. I can't
remember how many I actually moved in on but it had to be a half dozen and each time it was the same. I slide my hand under the rock, scared to death what might be under there. Just as he had told me I gently moved in and could feel the belly of the Tom. This was truly some crazy Indian shit I was learning. It was the next phase that tripped me up. As soon as I figured I had lulled the Tom into a relaxed state I went for the grab. I had hel many catfish and knew the key was to get them just right so that the barbs slipped between your fingers. As my hand closed around these guys they began to thrash around like crazy. Just the action of the fish was enough to scare the shit out of me and I jumped in the area at least a foot or two each time. I never caught a Madtom and to this day I am convinced you had to let those bastards stab you to catch one and I wasn't anywhere near that committed.Triangle Rock
At the end of the first day we were all a little ripe from all the activities. That is when I was introduced to triangle rock. With a bar of soap in hand we headed up stream toward the middle of the river. We were about a hundred yards from the camp site when we arrived. As we approached the rock the river didn't look any different than anywhere else. Everywhere I had been was no more than a couple feet deep and in most spots a foot or less. At first I couldn't quit make out the shape of the rock but dipping down into the water I discovered a huge boulder just a foot below the water. There were three sides near the surface each seven to eight feet long, plenty of room for a few kids to comfortably sit on top of. Col McGrady with soap firm in hand hopped off the up stream side of the triangle. His head dipped below the surface and he reemerged producing a soapy foam over his head and body. Over thousands of years this huge boulder working with the forces of the river had created an edy that was now six feet deep. Triangle rock had been the camp bath and swim spot as long as anyone could remember. It was the perfect place to hang out and take a cool dip under the strong summer sun.
Bourbon and Coke
I think it was day two and this was just about the best time I had ever had in my life. Good camp food, good friends, just a real natural experience. There was only one more thing I needed to round this weekend out and it was a little bit of the granddad 100 in my coke. Now I had the general idea what this stuff was, as I had mistaken my mom's coke for my dad's bourbon and coke on several occasions. I also knew that this had something to do with good parties, good luck fishing, and strictly off limits to me. I was out of the river taking a break and scanned the perimeter. There was no one to be seen. Everyone was out in the river fishing away and that orange bottle was sitting right on the camp table. Now I haven't been the straightest arrow in the world but at this point in my life I had never swerved outside the lines like I was getting ready to. In a now or never instant, I quickly approached the bottle, unscrewed the cap and began to pour some into my coke can. I imagine I get a shot or so in and hastily recapped the bottle and turned to quickly move back to the river. As I turned I ran directly into Col McGrady's belly. "What in the fuck do you think your doing!", exclaimed Col McGrady as he slapped one of his hands around the side of my neck. My response was a jumbled mess of gibberish that went on for ten or fifteen seconds before my words were annihilated be Col McGrady's strong presence. "Don't you ever touch my whiskey without asking!, do you understand me?", he yelled. I managed to squeak out a yes sir expecting the very worse. Then his grip loosened and he shoved me towards the river and said, "now get out there and catch some dinner". The next ten steps were some of the longest of my life and it was at least that many before I realized I was still holding my coke. I wadded back out into the river and fished for several more hours sipping on that awful tasting coke. With each sip I felt like a man, like I had arrived, and was truly one of the guys. I had a new view of Col McGrady and while the lines on his road were a little more blurry I was still clear they were there.The big catch and the indian trick
Our first full day of fishing was explosive. I had never seen so many fish in my life. It seemed like I was catching one after the other. My dad had wadded down stream a bit and I could see him off in the distance. The way he was working his pole I was pretty sure he was snagged on a rock. That brings me to the "Old Indian Trick". You see, when you are fishing in very shallow moving water, with a regular rod and reel, it is only a matter of time before you get hung in the rocks. The trick was to let as much line out as you possibly could, as your line drifted down stream its weight would pull your tackle down stream, freeing it from the rocks. I am not certain if this was a true trick or a method to keep the kids busy in the event of a snag. Either way I am certain that it worked for me several times. Eyeing my father down the stream I was pretty sure he needed to implement the old indian trick for himself. I saw him beginning to move back up stream and I made my way to shore for a break. When we met at the edge of the bank by camp, he held up what was the biggest catfish I had ever seen in my life. He had fished this monster out of a hole down stream. The younger McGrady and myself were quick to try and obtain the intel on this outstanding spot. You can see my dad holding that cat at the end of the stringer.The exit
From down in the little valley on the river the road in which was now the road out looked worse from the bottom than it had on the way in. It was time to pack up and head out. The trucks were loaded down once again and we were prepared to head up the steep slope. My dad and Col McGrady were discussing the exit in some detail as John and I were running around conducting some last minute mischief. Then we said goodbye and loaded into the trucks to roll out. We were headed up the hill first. There was some discussion if the old GMC would handle the hill with two wheel drive. We didn't make it a third of the way before the back of the truck began to shudder and swerve. We made two or three more attempts at increasing speed. It was not working and Dad backed the GMC down the hill to contemplate the situation. I plan was hatched and all the gear was reconfigured to place the maximum weight on the rear axle. Part of this reconfiguration included myself. I hoped in the back of the truck, perched on top of a ton of gear and squeezed close to the ceiling of the camper shell. We started with a launch and up the hill we flew. We quickly passed our old stopping point and jolted up the hill. As we got half way the truck began to shudder, the tires spun wildly in the rocks and gravel that were pelting underneath my position. I braced myself firmly and in a blink we crested the hill. We roared with pride in the success of the GMC and the ingenious packing that brought us out of that hollow.
In conclusion
We caught more fish that weekend than I ever had and probably than I have since. I learned a bunch of lessons on the trip and felt like I was becoming a man. This is one of the numerous memories I have spending time with my Dad that I really cherish today. I hope my father and I can create a few great moments like these for my son and daughter.We took another trip out to the river about fifteen years later and I felt like I was twelve all over again, minus the need to sneak the whiskey. It has now been another ten years since and it reminds me how incredibly fast time slips by us and how some of the simplest times in nature with good friends and family can etch the best memories you will ever have. It is fitting to post this on fathers day. To all the fathers, like mine and Col McGrady, that find ways to build such great memories for them and their children, I salute you.
