An Original Short Story by Susan Rektorik Henley

It was the rich black clay soil that brought the Czechs to the Coastal Bend area of Texas. Once the low-growing “running Mesquite” was cleared, a small black thread of dark soil formed a base for a huge and glorious vibrant blue sky adorned with voluptuous Cumulus clouds. Interspersed with the plowed fields were pastures where the horses, mules, and other stock of the farmers grazed. Though beautiful in its own way, the coastal prairie was an environment much harsher than in the gently rolling lands of Lavaca County from whence the Rektorik family had come.

Here, in the summers, temperatures of one-hundred degrees for days running were not uncommon. Bare-footed children dashed and then hopped from weed clump to weed clump along the dirt roads in order to give their burning feet a little relief. And, in the winter, a bitter wind whistled and whirred from the north carrying red dust from the Panhandle of Texas and beyond. On these days, the panes rattled in the windows and the windows rattled in their cases. Horses and mules could be found on the leeward side of the barns protecting themselves from the harsh wind that sucked the heat right out of their bodies despite their tough hides and wooly coats. And, when their chores were done, the farmers sat indoors next to wood stoves and warmed their hands and feet.
 
 Fishing and hunting had always been a part of life for the Rektoriks. Down here in Nueces County there was even more opportunity for fishing and many expeditions were made to Oso Bay and other inlets for salt water fishing (but that is another series of stories!). However, it was to the Nueces River that the family was drawn time and time again. Small by the standards, the Nueces River was the aorta of the Coastal Bend. It was not only the main fresh water source for the entire area but its outflow also moderated the salinity of Corpus Christi Bay. From its headwaters in Central Texas, it coursed and curled its way through the plains of South Texas collecting more and more silt and organic matter until its once clear waters were clouded and chalky gray.
 
 Riparian forests of massive Live Oaks guarded the shores. The boles of many were so large that a man could not encircle them in his arms. And, every so often, an even more grand oak would tower over the rest seeming to be Atlas holding the sky up with its mighty branches. And, down below, the dense canopy was draped with “beards” of Spanish moss and below that smaller trees including flowering Mexican Buck Eyes and the rough-leafed Anacua. And, below these trees there was a profusion of bushes and brambles. Here, the dark green leaves of the Turk’s Caps were in marked contrast to the bright red-orange of the flowers. And, on the ground accumulated the leaves dropped by the Live Oaks each February. Whether it was a white tail deer, a shuffling armadillo, or a fisherman, their presence was announced to all by the crunching of the dry leaves beneath their feet.
 
 And, if the dry and flat coastal plains seemed a bit uninviting then the dry, dusty caliche hills of Live Oak County must have seemed down-right hostile. But through this land ran the main road and stage line from San Antonio and a thriving community, with a college, had developed next to a small creek which fed into the Nueces River. It was the first stage stop south of Oakville and it took it’s name from the creek near which it was located--Lagarta--La Garta--The alligator. Rough and rowdy people accumulated here and the town developed quite a negative reputation. Anglo settlement of this area went back years. The Irish immigrant family of Dobie had settled a few miles down the creek decades before. And it was in this area that J. Frank Dobie grew up, observed, studied, learned, and avoided ranch work so that he could spin his yarns.
 
 The flow of Lagarta Creek was slow and the vines of Mustang Grapes draped from the bank line trees. Dragonflies floated downstream carried slowly onward by the slight current of the green-gray water. Red-ear turtles lazed on fallen stumps while soft-shell turtles dug deep into the muddy banks with their long and sharp claws. An occasional alligator lurked in the murky waters and large gars often rolled on the surface over their favorite deep holes.
 
 It was at the mouth of this creek, where it joined the Nueces River, that the Rektoriks established their fishing camp. They would travel out from the flat, windy black land prairie and across the dry dusty caliche hills until they sojourned beneath that lush canopy of live oak trees where the deep shade beckoned and the temperature was noticeably cooler. What a pleasure this place was not only for the men but for the Rektorik women and children as well. Everyone was on holiday.
 
 The fishing camp became more elaborate over the years but in the beginning there were wooden tables and chairs, tents, and a large larder cabinet. Drinking water was hauled in drums. Hammocks were hung between the trees. There was an outhouse but not one made entirely of wood . The seat and frame were wood; but the walls, instead of wooden walls, they were covered in burlap. This facility was easier to haul and a breeze flowed through it as well. One of the drawbacks was that burlap was highly flammable. On one occasion, the gentleman who occupied the toilet was smoking a cigarette. He saw a black widow spider crawling up the burlap and he attempted to dispatch it with the lit tip of the cigarette. Well, I never heard what happened to the spider but the dry burlap went up in flames quickly and the gentleman was unable to save the structure. The gentleman was my father and he was just fine…although I imagine he endured a great deal of teasing for a good while!
 
 There were not many true “sports” fish in the Nueces River but there was a large population of catfish (blue, white, yellow flathead, and muscle head) which are excellent food fishes. Perch, Gasper Goos (fresh water drum), and the catfish could be taken by pole and line; but, then as now, the most effective way to catch catfish is by trot line at night. Trotlines were made of a braided heavy cotton twine top line. From it “stages” were hung. A stage was made of a lighter cotton twine onto which a large-eyed hook was attached. The length of a stage could be varied so that one could fish at the surface or some inches below. The top line was knotted at about three-foot increments so that hooked fish could not pull that stage into another one and become entangled. Late in the day, the line would be baited out with live minnows and perch or “cut bait” made from caught Gasper Goos or larger perch.
 
 Generally, trot lines caught a significant number of catfish on any given night. The real fun and challenge came from fishing with “Limb Lines.“ Limb lines generally only had one or two hooks on them. They were also made of heavy cotton twine and they were tied to a sturdy but supple willow branch that hung down over the river. Deep holes in the river channel were identified and these were the best locations for limb lines. More times than not nothing was caught on a limb line…but dang it was exciting when you did catch something! The goal of a limb line is to catch big fish. So, a larger hook was used and the bait was also larger. Red-ear and Bluegill perch about the size of man’s hand made excellent bait as did a one-half or three-quarter pound Gasper. In a pinch, a half of a raw chicken could be used too. Yellow Flathead catfish preferred live bait and bite best on a full moon. Alligator, long-nose and other gars also will take live bait. Blue catfish bite best on the off-phases of the moon and they will take dead bait.
 
 Most of the days and evenings were spent by the men playing dominoes and Taroks under the oaks. Pole and line fishing was done in the morning and afternoon. For years, the Rektoriks ran the trot lines and limb lines at night. They had small, shallow-draft boats and several fellows went out with a lantern to run the lines every few hours or so. Experience taught them to always carry a sharp knife, a gaff hook, and a hatchet with them. Pulling in a limb line with a catfish or gar on the upper side of thirty pounds can be dangerous. (My brother once took a fifty pound blue cat on a limb line in the Nueces River. It was weighed and a photograph of it went into the local paper.) Great care had to be taken not to let the line become entangled around one’s arm or leg. A tired fish will sometimes offer no resistance until it is almost at the surface. It will then make a run and pull a person in or, if there is another hook on the line, cause great injury with that other hook.
 
 The Rektoriks also learned that fishing was best when the river “was on a rise.” Although the Nueces was normally a placid river, (back then) it could change into a roiling, churning torrent capable of carrying large trees along in its main current. Once the Rektoriks were out in their little boat on the main channel of the Nueces River at night when the river was on the rise. L. V. Blahuta was at the front of the boat and ready to work a limb line. Suddenly, by the light of the lantern, there in front of the boat, he saw a limb of a huge tree swing up out of the water. With a great deal of scrambling and a great deal of luck, they moved the boat before the tree turned again and the great limb crashed into the water.
 
 And, although trotlines normally caught food fish, running them was not as adventurous. However, they too offered surprises. Once Frank Rektorik was running a trot line from the bank. When he pulled the line up, he could tell he had fish on the line…but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He had untied one end of the line and was taking the fish off of it when a large catfish out deeper on the line came to life. The top line became entangled around my Uncle and he was pulled into the water and carried out by the catfish. After this, a sharp knife was always carried!
 
 The women and children enjoyed the fish camp too. My Grandmother, Johanna (Jennie) Mrazek Rektorik, was an accomplished fisherman in her own right and could personally feed the family a fried fish meal from catch to table. And, the children loved to catch perch. Thin cane poles with small cork floats and tiny hooks were baited with pieces of earth worms collected on the farm and brought to the river in tin cans full of soil. The best spots for perch fishing were along the banks where there were willows and vegetation in the water. It was pure excitement to see that cork bob once or twice and then disappear under the murky green water. With a jerk to set the hook, a child would then find that even a littler perch could pull mightily when caught. Holding the fish was a tricky matter. If one grabbed the fish too quickly, the extended dorsal fin spines would prick into the skin and cause most children to let go. It took a little while to learn how to grasp the perch so the spines stayed collapsed against the body of the fish. How beautiful those perch were: A Yellow-Bellied Sun Perch or a glimmering Blue-Gill was a wondrous sight.
 
 There too were other adventures to be had along the river and creek banks. Fresh water mussels were collected and opened. Some contained fresh water pearls. Once Jennie Rektorik was convinced that there were wild turkey nests on the other side of Lagarta Creek and that the eggs would be a special treat. She convinced my mother, Elizabeth Lollie Ermis Rektorik, that they should go in search of the eggs. It was a dry period and the creek was reduced to a thick, silty sucking mud. The ladies put boards atop the mud and made their way to the opposite bank. Although they searched diligently below the Live Oaks and in the underbrush, no nests were ever discovered. My Mother, who was not of the same adventurous mold as my Grandma, was soon ready to return to camp. While crossing the boards over the creek, my mother slipped and one foot went down into the oozing mud. She was okay but her shoe was  forever lost.
 
 And above Lagarta Creek rose a caliche hill with a steep, white bluff. Although tall brush has since taken over the bluff, it was covered only in low scrub back then. The Rektorik children mounted excursions up to the bluff where they found a profusion of arrow heads and flint chips. This bluff had been a seasonal camp for Native American tribes. They most likely went there in the fall to fish and collect and process the acorn crop. And, there were armadillos and armadillo holes along the creek and river banks. More than one child experienced quite a shock after sneaking up behind a foraging armadillo in an attempt to catch it. As soon as an armadillo feels someone grab its tail, it generally leaps several feet straight up in the air. In the end, I am do not know if the armadillo or the child is more startled! Also, from time to time, the kids would decide to flood out an armadillo hole and capture the occupant as it escaped. Bucket after bucket after bucket of water was hauled and dumped into holes but I never heard of a single time when an armadillo emerged.
 
 And, there were times when the family was caught at the camp with water rising on the low lands around them. Women and children would be taken to shore in boats pulled by men wading through the encroaching flood.

 So, while fishing camp was a place for fishing, it was even more so a place for adventure, camaraderie and excitement.