Wind forces overnighter off track
Plans were to meet with friend Blaine Hoar shortly after Sunday-morning church service and head for Lake Ouachita, hoping for a successful afternoon on the water.
Fishing had proved tremendous during the previous week, bass doing their part and then some to ensure success on three personal visits.
Catching more than 20 had become the norm. At times, we would be heading home shortly after the noon hour. And, we were coaxing some pretty impressive fish into biting.
I heard up to 12 gobblers beckoning their harems of hens in a single morning, and turkey season was scheduled to open bright and early the next day. Although the lake would be full of eager turkey hunters, I was confident I had located a bird that had gone undiscovered by the masses.
This is when I wanted to be on the water, just as darkness overtook light and longing to be there hours later when a rising sun deemed it a new day. I couldn’t think of a better time to load a couple of hammocks, some victuals and a few other necessities in the boat and pitch camp close to where I intended to spend the early hours of the following day.
Everything was going as planned, and I was excited, until Blaine informed me of impending weather changes. I would have been OK with rain, but the forecast warned of strong, steady winds, relentless enough to last through the night and howl far into the following day.
Hanging my hammock between two large trees, I eagerly loaded back into the boat and began casting into the water, slowly easing in the direction of where I knew one gobbler, and possibly two, had been holing up for several days.
I had hopes of pinpointing his location where he went to roost and gobbled just before dark. But I wasn’t overly disappointed when he chose to remain silent, in that another boat was within hearing distance at day’s end.
Returning to camp, I ate a bite and crawled into the sack. I had intentions of getting a good night’s sleep, but the wind refused to cooperate. As she howled, the large trees swayed. In turn, lying in my hammock was not a restful experience. I felt trapped in a small boat in the middle of an ocean.
Arising the next morning before the eastern horizon lightened, I had high hopes despite a steadfast wind and a case of sleep deprivation. But my hopes dwindled when the sun crawled far above the horizon and my gobbler once again refused to say a word.
Giving up on turkey hunting, we made a bee line to a section of water that had been reliable for the past several days but were still buffeted by a strong, relentless gust.
Fish were still willing to bite, though it was practically impossible to keep the boat situated and cast with any accuracy in this fierce wind.
It took a little longer than planned, but we boated our limits of legal fish. Heading back to the launching ramp, I was somewhat disappointed that the outing had not gone exactly as planned. But I was also content, managing to experience a fair share of success despite relentless, unfriendly winds.