Roadkill on the Information Highway

J.W.Bogart By J.W.Bogart, 9th May 2013 | Follow this author | RSS Feed
Posted in Wikinut>Humour>Funny Stories

This page will for the most part be, humorous outdoor short stories.

The Peach Orchard Hole

Last Sunday afternoon I was one of those rainy spring days where it rained just enough that the only productive or even semi-productive thing I could do was lounge around in my easy chair watching fishing shows on TV. I watched a little bit then napped a little bit even dreamed a little bit .Waking up out of a lazy dreamy nap got me to thinking about some of my old fishing holes and how they got their names. Some are obvious like "Lone tree point", "Kroegers Point", things like that. 70/60 point on San Pablo Bay was named for the Southern Pacific R.R. sign that stood next to it. The sign read simply “70/60” It no doubt meant something to the railroaders. Probably identifying a location so the engineer would know where they were on the rail system.
Then my thoughts shifted to my old friend Dominic Bell or Dom Bell as we called him. Dom was one of the more scholarly of my friends. He went to school longer than any of us. He was the toughest kid in the 8th grade 4 years in a row. He did manage to graduate eventually a surprise to almost everyone that knew him. Then after graduation he struggled for years trying to find and hold a decent job. He finally got his big break after movie to Rio Vista up in the delta where he landed a job as a crash test dummy. He must have been good at it. He said they promoted him to the front seat on the second day. And the benefits were good. They have a 25 and out clause in their contract. When your IQ drops to 25 you can retire with a full pension.
When I ran across Dom recently He told me he had retired and bought a place on Georgiana Slough. And invited me up to go fishing. He said he was surprised at how fast his IQ had dropped. He was probably the only one. He told me he won the 100 yard dash in the "Special Olympics" that same year. He always was a good athlete.
I arrived at his house late. The map he had drawn for me was useless. After a daylong tour of the south San Joaquin I started asking people if they knew him and where he lived . I do not know how he finds his own way home. I finally found Georgiana Slough and drove up and down both levees until I spotted his name on a mailbox. It was well past dark and beginning to get pretty foggy.
Dom said we'd better get going before someone got to his favorite fishing hole before us. I started to throw my stuff in his truck and he said there was no need for that as it was just a short walk to the fishing hole. As we walked down the levee the fog was really getting heavy. You could barely see your hand in front of your face. When we got to his hole there was a camper already parked in it. "No problem" he said. "Let’s just walk down to the next one, it's not quite as good as this one but still not bad." When we got to the next hole there wasn’t anybody there so we started rigging up our fishing poles. The fog was so thick we couldn't even see the water. And the rip- rap on the levee was so steep I decided to stay up on top and cast from there. Rather than risk falling down the rocky bank. Dom said he wasn't worried about falling and the scars on his face told me he probably wasn't. But he opted to stay on top with me anyhow.
We both cast our lines out into the foggy night and settled down into a couple of camp chairs to drink some whiskey and reminisce about old times and maybe catch a fish or two.
The fishing was really lousy, not a single bite and every other cast or so you'd get a snag and break everything off then have to re-rig. The bait was never missing when you did manage to get your line back in. But once I thought I saw piss ants crawling on mine.
As the night began to turn to dawn and the fog started to lift a little. An old man came walking down the levee. When he saw me he walked over and gave me a look like I had brain damage and he couldn’t believe what he was seeing "you must be looking for Dom "I said. Ignoring my comment he said, "What the hell do you think you're doing?" "We're fishing," I said beginning to wonder who this wise guy was. "You can't fish here," he said. "And why the hell not" I asked. "Number one" he said. "It's private property". "And number two, 5/9/2013 a damn peach orchard" I turned to look out into the area we had been fishing and the fog had lifted enough that I could make out the outlines of tree trunks. Sure enough we had been fishing all night long in a peach orchard. That explained the lousy fishing. I remember thinking "What would Bill Dance do"
In the daylight headed back to Dom’s house we could see where the slough and of course the levee had made a turn and we had continued walking strait down a gravel road onto the farmers property and into his peach orchard. Now if we can just manage to keep this secret from our friends it wont be too embarrassing.
And that’s the story of the naming of the "Peach Orchard Hole".



Fishing, Fishing Tips, Humour, Humourous Stories, Hunting, Hunting Story, Outdoor Activities, Outdoors

Meet the author

author avatar J.W.Bogart
In my world bullshit and stark reality go hand in hand I've read anything I could find for 50 yrs. I write mostly short humor

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