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Copyright 1999-2006
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It can't get much better than this trip
to Cedar Bluff . . .
Or can it?
A Weekend at Cedar Bluff
C. A. "Ms Bellyboater" Riley
As with most of their fishin'/campin' outings, Larry, Cheryl
and John looked forward to their first trip to Cedar Bluff reservoir
with much anticipation. Word around here was that that was the
place to go for great black bass fishing. The "3-F Club"--
Float (tube) Fishin' Fanatics--had enjoyed a few years of floating
around together chasing big black bass and they just had
to get up there and check it out. About that same time, business
demands suddenly forced John to relocate to Kentucky. The 3-F'ers
decided the only thing to do was to spend their last outing together
at fabled Cedar Bluff lake.
The plan had been to leave Wichita early that Friday
morning in June, caravan up to the lake, set up camp, and fish
until Monday morning, then return to Wichita Monday afternoon.
Friday morning eventually arrived and everything went too smoothly:
John showed up at Larry and Cheryl's house on time and they all
hit the road soon after--John in his pickup and the other two
in theirs, the "Fishin' Edition". Cruising up by Salina,
then turning west, they were making good time and having a great
time on the road that perfect summer morning.
John didn't enjoy driving quite as fast as Larry
did, and eventually fell out of sight. Not caring about keeping
up with modern technology, none of them had a cell phone, but
they weren't worried because they knew they'd all end up at the
same place anyway. The first trouble came when Larry and Cheryl
finally decided to consult their map because they thought they
ought to be nearing the lake. Bad things started happening fast.
Less than 10 seconds after realizing they were more than 40 miles
past the turnoff they should have taken, the radiator fell out
of their truck as they were doing about 70 mph on the interstate,
out in the middle of nowhere. They immediately got lucky again
when Sonya, a very nice local farm woman, stopped and helped
them get in touch with the nearest mechanic, who even had his
own tow truck and came and towed them to his service station.
This was a lucky break, but how in the world would John find
them, so far away from where they were supposed to be? And, as
leisurely his pace, how long would it be before he realized they
were missing?
After making arrangements to leave their truck
for repairs and return for it the next day, they hung out in
the shade at the service station, frequently making long-distance
calls to the Cedar Bluff State Park office to see whether John
had shown up and started looking for them. This went on for the
next several hours and the couple made arrangements to spend
the night camped out behind the service station. Then John showed
up, thank goodness! It didn't take them long to realize they
still had plenty of problems-- two full pickup loads of
camping and fishing equipment, but only one pickup, and still
more than forty miles from the lake. It took a few more hours
for John to make the first trip back to the lake, with Cheryl
and the gear off John's truck, then return to the station for
Larry and the rest of their gear while Cheryl waited at the lake.
Eventually, though, they were all together with their stuff at
a nice looking campsite, and even (barely) had time to set up
their tents before full dark. By now, all three of them were
exhausted, so they grabbed a quick, cold supper and turned in
for a good night's rest before a full day of great bass fishing!
They'd all been asleep for a couple of hours when
the storm started, and raged until nearly daybreak. For several
miserable hours they huddled in their tents, certain their meager
shelter would be ripped away at any time and they'd be instantly
saturated by the cold, wind-driven rain. Miraculously, though,
the tents held, the storm eventually passed, and a warm, bright
sunrise soon followed.
Time to grab a hurried breakfast, load up the tubes
with supplies for the day, and get out there and chase all these
bass they'd heard so much about! Wild enthusiasm made up for
their lack of sleep, besides, they were sure to sleep well tonight
after wrangling fish all day. None of them knew anything about
this lake, so they went to the highest place they could find,
surveyed the lake and decided upon a likely looking cove within
what looked like moderate kicking, or paddling, distance. They
returned to the beach, got into their little boats and set off,
kicking against a gentle southerly breeze toward their beautifully
timbered destination. It was further than it had looked, but
they made it. As they rounded the last bend into the cove they'd
picked, the breeze picked up some and a hideous odor began to
fill their nostrils--hog farm! But they'd kicked so far and so
hard, and this place looked so deliciously bassy they decided
to stay. The guys did okay, but Cheryl had to employ her bandana
against the evil stench and became the "fishin' bandit"
until, at last, the wind shifted. As usual, John began picking
up bass here and there right along, while the others fished diligently
with little or no result. But no matter, they were having a fine
time just doing their favorite thing together, and tomorrow they'd
find another, better spot. (Maybe a little sparser timber would
save Cheryl time lost in retrieving lures from all those darned
trees, too.) Too soon, it was time to head back to camp. Larry
and John still had to drive back to the service station and retrieve
Larry's truck, while Cheryl camp-sat.
A couple of hours before dark, the two men returned
with both trucks. The three friends relaxed for a bit, then John,
a wonderful chef, prepared a camp dinner beyond compare--fresh
salads, then deliciously seasoned steaks grilled over the campfire
while potatoes baked in the coals. Outstanding camp fare! They
relaxed around the fire for a little longer, rehashing all their
fondest fishing memories from years past, then turned in early
to make up for the previous night's lack of rest. Sometime around
2 a.m. a more intense version of last night's storm erupted with
a sudden flash of lightning, an ear-splitting crack of thunder,
viciously howling winds and driving torrents of rain. Again,
their tents held, but this time the rain was driven with such
force that a lot of their gear was soaked. This storm, too, abated
shortly before sunrise and the day turned warm and sunny.
The three hardy campers took a couple of hours
spreading out and drying their soaked bedding before embarking
on another day of their endless quest for trophy largemouths.
The day was very hot, but being half-submerged in lake water
helped keep them cool as they kicked around in another very bassy-looking
cove, catching the occasional small to medium-sized bass. (And,
thankfully, they were far away from the pig farm.) Though they
spent many hours on the water, the lovely summer day still passed
too quickly, and soon it was time to kick back to camp for their
bittersweet last night together 'round a campfire, highlighted
by the ritualistic burning of a shoe. Sad to be parting soon,
even the shoe-burning didn't do much to cheer them, and all three
soon headed dejectedly for their beds. Right on schedule, the
storm began in the wee hours. This one was even more ferocious
than the others, and during an onslaught of wind-driven small
hail a corner of the rain fly on Larry and Cheryl's tent broke
loose and soon the entire fly was flapping around loose, while
torrents of cold rain descended upon the hapless couple. Larry
knew he had to go out in the storm and try to reattach the fly
to prevent even more water from pouring in on them. While he
was out in the gale getting completely soaked he looked over
at where John's tent used to be. Eventually, in the lightning
flashes, he was able to see that John's tent was still there,
but flattened to the ground. Larry yelled for John, and, from
a shapeless lump under the flattened tent came John's voice.
After being assured that John was all right, Larry made his way
back into his own tent and found Cheryl sound asleep on the only
small, semi-dry spot left on their bed. He couldn't stand it!
He woke her up and made her be miserable with him through the
rest of that hellish night. A few hours later, when dawn broke
clear and warm, all the gear had to be spread and dried out as
well as possible before it could be packed and the friends could
head home. Sooner or later it was accomplished, and they set
out for Wichita, not very sorry to be leaving. John left several
minutes before the other two, but they weren't too far behind
him--at first!
Larry and Cheryl hadn't been on the road for long
at all when they discovered that the Fishin' Edition wasn't as
fixed as they had hoped. Seems yesterday's incident had pushed
the head gasket, causing frequent overheating. The frazzled pair
could travel no more than just a few miles at a time--slowly--on
that hot, hot afternoon, before they'd have to stop, let the
radiator cool off, add water, then take off again. Luckily though,
the rains of the past few nights had left plenty of water standing
in the ditches for refills of the water jugs they always carried.
It took them many stressful hours to return from the "fishin'
trip from hell". Larry did not catch a single fish that
whole weekend, and no one caught anything to brag about, but
it will always be a memorable trip.
(Not one of the trio has returned to Cedar Bluff
lake--they know they can do just as poorly fishing without having
to travel nearly so far. John's a little too far away now, but
the other two plan to give this lake another try before long.)
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