A Boy, a Bow and a Creek

A Boy, a Bow and a Creek(Logan I. Sivils) During the course of my life not much has made me as happy and content as fishing. From the time I was in diaper’s I have been on, around and in the fresh and salt water’s of Florida. Once old enough to use, the bow and arrow became a favorite of mine and its use on the water required just as much stealth and knowledge as that of hunting in the woods. The outdoor world can be a great teacher if we listen, and in this story I learn humility feel’s so much better than pride.

A unique quality of using a bow to fish with is that the only thing you need is to see what’s in or at the top of the water below you, and the elbow room to draw the bow back. The secret to fishing this way is to figure out how best not to be seen, and that in itself is a chore since it seems like a fish can see you blink, and be gone before your eyes open again.

I had lived and fished in this region of the coast for several years, and knew many fisherman much older and more experienced than I was. Not once in that time did I ever turn a deaf ear to one talking about his “honey hole”, or someplace out of the ordinary where they had found fish. I guess it was easier or less threatening to tell a “kid” about these places than it was to tell another guy who might run right over and take all their fish. Just such a revelation had taken place a few days earlier with a close friend of mine, and he told me of a hidden creek that could not be fished, but it held some pretty big ones. He thought it might be a perfect place for my bow since it was full of brush, tree falls and such. I knew right where he meant since I drove over the small bridge above it many times before thinking it just a ditch. There was a state road running parallel to the interstate with a bit over a hundred yards between the two. Sandwiched between the two inside the barbed wire sat what looked only like a bunch of overgrown weeds and a stand of oak trees. The narrow creek hidden inside wound its way through on its way to the bay. The only way anyone could see the creek was if they knew it was there, went in the woods, and looked over the worn banks to the water eight feet below.

It was several days later that the chance came to investigate the new creek with my bow, so after the sun was up a bit I pulled off the old state road. By the time I got far enough off the road my car was engulfed by the tall dried grass between the road and the fence. Grabbing the bow out of the back seat I worked my way slowly towards the fence, knowing this was a good place for rattlers to warm up in the morning sun. Once I squeezed between the two top strands of barbed wire I only had a few more feet of tall grass to get through, then I would be in the clearing of oaks.

I pushed the last of the tall grass out of my way and stepped into the oak grove, having to pause for a second to take the difference in. Behind me was a wall of dried grass that surrounded the small forest but was not allowed inside. Small patches of sunlight broke through the canopy making the leaves covering the floor almost sparkle as a breeze gently moves them about. With the exception of a few shade loving plants the slender trunks of young saplings were reaching for a place in the light among the larger oaks. Walking about was easy as long as I kept the snake thing in mind as this also was a perfect place to hide for them.




The ravine that held the little creek was to my left and as it wandered through the tiny forest it seemed no more than fifty feet at its widest spot and cut in over time by the rains inland heading to the bay. Everything that could wash in to the low area of the creek now filled the murky waterway below me as I stood at its bank eight feet higher than the water. My friend was right about all of it so far, and there was not really any way to fish this creek except by cane pole, and then hope the fish did not try to swim away.

It was perfect for a bow, with plenty of cover to stand by while watching the water below. The water was deep enough to hold some nice fish and a better home of logs could not be found for a big lunker below them. With my arrow ready I stood concealed beside a tree watching the sun spots as they warmed the water below. My hopes were that a nice one would want to warm up a bit in the sunlight, and float slowly to the top, so I waited and watched.

After a few minutes and if nothing stirred I would move on down a bit, thinking to recheck on my way out again. I had spent hours like this and seen many days when nothing but me and my gear came back. But catching was not the real purpose on these days, it was the enjoyment of just being out here enjoying what so many other people were missing. To discover a new place with all the surprises it may have in store for me was enough reason to find myself anywhere on any given day. I was also one with great tendencies to lose track of time by getting into the lives of the creatures around me. I had not seen as much as a minnow yet but I knew where the sunfish were hiding and feeding from the “Pop” sound they made when they struck the surface. I knew now which broken branches the squirrels used as a highway to cross the creek, jumping from one limb to the next. I was aware of all that was around me, from a spider on its web, a butterfly, and even the walking stick that I watched disappear on the tree next to me. Catching something was only a small part of my day’s adventure; it was everything else that made it all worth the effort.

I heard a couple of voices coming from a bit farther up the creek and decided to take a break from my hard work and say hello. I spoke in a loud voice as I came up, not wanting them to think I may have been sneaking up on them. I would not have dared guess their age, but the two old gents’s both holding a cane pole had been on this earth a long time before I got here. One had a white beard with a pipe hanging out of his mouth, a brown felt hat that looked like it had seen much better days, and a pair of worn out overalls which were perfect for fishing. The other gent was a bit scruffy but no beard, wearing a dirty old white T-shirt and Jean’s that could have used a patch or two.

Now as a common rule, anyone that is fishing are already long time friends even if they have never met, and that’s how the three of us took to each other. We talked about the creek, the weather, the fishing and even how each of us came across this place. I could tell they were trying to figure out without asking, what I was doing with a toy bow and arrow out here. They kept going on about how the only way to catch a fish in this brushy creek was with a cane pole like theirs, and since I didn’t have a pole of any kind how could I be fishing anyhow. I had told them I was bowfishing but they let it pass, I guess because they did not want me to know I had them both stumped.




With a smile I did my best to explain how it worked, only to get a lot of laughter and ridicule from these two who apparently had never seen or had any concept of how to fish this way. “Well if I get lucky maybe I can show you” We continued to banter back and forth in a fun way as I picked up the gear and moved back the way I had came about twenty yards. I moved into the shade of a big tree and looked down to the water below. A perfect spot of sun was warming the surface right next to a sunken log. As I stared into the murky water trying to see farther than was possible I could hear the two old men joking about me and my bow. The laughter suddenly stopped as the two saw me tighten my grip and slowly draw my bow back, with my eyes locked on something they could not see. It came up as a shadow floating to the surface like a stick had come free, then clearer as I saw the big Bass stop just an inch beneath the surface. So not to be laughed at even more I took careful aim and loosed my arrow. A perfect strike hit the shoulder and the fish was mine. I pulled in the arrow with its prize and held it to show, not brag to my new friend’s.

At least they had been friends until this kid with a bow and arrow caught what they had probably been trying for years to catch. Their friendly conversations and arguments over who would finally catch the big one in that hole had just ended in the flash of a few seconds. To say they were mad would have been an understatement as I now heard a lot of cussing, saw several things kicked as they went about gathering up their now scattered stuff to leave this now unpleasant place.

I did not even think about what I did next, it was just natural for me and I did it. Removing my fish which was an easy eight pounds from my arrow I walked over to the two old men again. I could tell from the way they reacted, this was not just a fish I had caught that was bigger than what they caught, but it was the reason that time after time they had came here to fish for it. The one that broke the line and got away, always outsmarting the two old fishermen and it was the excuse to get out of the house for a nice days fishing.

I walked up to them and held out the fish saying only, “this belongs to you!” I didn’t give them time to say thanks because the look on the two faces were enough. I walked away picking up my bow and arrow toy and headed back to the car. My day was done and I felt good about it. Funny thing is that I never went back to that little creek in that small stand of oaks. I wanted to keep that memory just as it was !