# The Stars - a short story



## Mike Hill (Jun 25, 2021)

The stars.

Swatting at a fly and a few gnats, but ignoring the buzz of a mosquito in my ear, the words going through my mind at that moment was "Let's get this guy out – I have to go! It's a solid three-hour drive if I go the speed limit and only stop at a Huey's for a bag of chips, one of those gas station burgers in the plastic box, and a couple of root beers." "Wake up, Mike! He's coming to ya!" The voice of my softball coach, Coach Hayes, startled me and brought me to what was at hand. I had to make a decision and fast. He's a pull hitter – a hard hitter. But he's a slower runner, and I've got a strong arm, I'll back up a couple of steps. I don't want to give away where I'll be, so when his eyes are fixed on the pitcher and the ball, I'll quickly scoot over a couple of steps, cheating toward the third baseline to be ready for that screamer down the line that I know is coming. Satisfied I had the correct strategy, I thought how much I enjoyed playing the "hot corner." First pitch – Crack. He got ahead of that pitch and sent a screamer heading straight for his third base coach, who calmly stepped aside to let it by – Foul Ball! But looking at Pete, as he was taking off toward first, he looked toward me and noticed how I had cheated over to the line. I've played against Pete for years, knew he would notice where I was, and knew he was probably scheming differently now. Getting ready in the box, his stance was a little different, and he ripped one up the middle that was fielded quickly by the short center, and Pete held to first base.

This was the strength of the other team's lineup. Mark was up next and was a power hitter – not much over the fence but loved hitting hard line drives up the alley. The second pitch, he swung and hit a sharp one just to the right of Scot at center. Like we practiced it, just like clockwork, the second baseman went out to cut off Scot's throw. Hearing everybody yelling "cut third," Kelly pivoted and fired one to third. Perfect clothesline throw, all I had to do was get the ball in my glove and easily tag Pete out. Pete was just a little slow to try to stretch that hard hit into an extra-base, especially with the arms of Scot and Kelly. Third out – game over. We had won by three runs. I wanted to leave right then but knew it was right to go to the mound for the round of handshakes with the other team, the slaps on the rears, and the prayer. Instead of standing around and shooting the bull with everybody, I collected my things and headed for my truck. I called out to my teammates that I'd see them Tuesday at our next game. I was a little glad that I didn't have to say goodbye to my girlfriend and could leave right away. She and a couple of her girlfriends were going to a wedding, and there was to be a dance at the reception. Gordon was playing.

Getting to the truck, I glanced in back, and yup, all my fishing gear was still there. Hopping in, I had a joyous song in my heart – I was going to the coast to go fishing. My dad and uncles, and Tom, their watch repairman friend was already there – having gone earlier in the week. Hard to believe that important things came up that caused me to have to wait till Thursday night to go down. Waiting to go fishing was unheard of in my life up till now. Summer was quickly passing by, and the window of opportunity was quickly closing. For anyone, decisions can be complex – fraught with emotions and the struggle to winnow out what may be the best choice. But when you are a sixteen-year-old male Texan male – there is the added problem called hormones. Not to the high-pitched altitude of "Remember the Alamo," but when you are 16, those voices are just about as loud. I had always wanted a girlfriend, and not being the best-looking guy in class – were hard to come by. But now I had my first girlfriend, and she had wanted to go to the movie on Wednesday! I couldn't say no and disappoint her, and as much as I loved fishing, it felt complete to have a girlfriend! She won out! Duh! Momma didn't raise no dumb son! And since I was staying until at least Thursday morning, I might as well stay for this game on Thursday night. Then drive 3 hours to Corpus Christ ---- Made sense to me! But I am still surprised that I gave up a day of fishing for a girl and a softball game. I musta et something bad to make me think like that!

Dad had called last night and said they had done very well - the fish were biting, the shrimp were in, and to bring an extra cooler or two. He and one of my uncles would meet me at Hot Shots at 10:00 and then motor out to the island. It was now 7:00, and if I didn't stop for anything but the root beers and snacks – I should get there just as they are motoring up to the dock.

THREE HOURS LATER:

Turning off the highway onto Shoreline, I lowered the volume on the radio; it had been keeping me awake the last, dark hour of straight roads, flatlands, and fields of cow food! I had pepped up reaching the city (Corpus Christi) and was looking forward to getting on the water. Glad I remembered to take it easy down this street – at high tide, the bay water was sometimes over the road as it was this night. I'm sure the splashing made by my truck tires made more than one crab scurry on. I shut down the air conditioner and rolled the window down, and took a deep draw of coastal air. At that time of night, it was quiet, muggy, and pregnant with that smell that could only be described as "the coast."

Arriving at the end of the pavement – there it was - Hot Shots – one of those lazy and comfortable bait shops/marina/gas station/food market/café/ice house/boat ramp thingies that dot the coastal areas of North America. They weren't pretty in any sense of the word or even smelled good. But, early on, I learned don't judge by how something looks or smells. They sure were handy, and to a fisherman, they were the lifeline servicing our piscatorial dreams. Without them, it would be possible, but what I would experience the next four days wouldn't be as easy or enjoyable. Imagine being iceless!

Turning into the parking lot, the headlights swung around and lit up the dock area. Dad and his Larson and 100 horse Johnson were already there. It couldn't have been for long, as Uncle Monroe was tying the boat to the cleats. My timing was perfect – I had been sweating it! I pulled into a spot and parked. Unloading my gear, I trudged through the weedy sand and deposited my gear into the boat. I deftly found the key to the icebox (where it always was) and deposited some money in the Folgers coffee can that served as the depository in this simple honor system and filled the ice chests up. Hopping into the boat, I took my regular position in the bow, and we took off for Marker 33A.

Now, if you haven't traveled coastal channels at night, once you are out of the confines of the marina/dock - it is dark, and I mean dark! The channel markers marking the channel that you see clearly during the day; you can't see in the darkness over water. Couple that with the knowledge that the water on either side of the channel might be so shallow you could either damage a prop, a lower unit, or ground your boat – none of which is a good idea. To travel the channels at night, you need a powerful searchlight as those channel markers can be hundreds or thousands of feet apart. That was usually my job, to ride in the bow and operate the searchlight trying to find the markers – my eyes were younger and sharper.

We idled out of the dock area and found the markers of the oil company channel that we sped up and followed until we get to the Intercoastal Waterway, where we take a sharp right. Now the Intercoastal channel markers are much bigger but also much further apart. You are sort of feeling your way carefully until you can spot the next marker. It goes along like that until you encounter a tug pushing a bunch of barges tied together – the commercial use of the waterway. Now the barges take up maybe a little under half the width of the channel. At night you have no idea of where they are in the channel, so you tenderly and carefully pass them while looking desperately for any signs of shallow water ahead of you, halfways expecting to hear the sound of the prop in the bottom muck. That night we passed two barges.

Finally, in the powerful beam of the spotlight, there was Marker 33A! Making a sharp turn left to lift the prop over the little sand bar, we idled up to the tee-head dock and tied off just inland from the tee-head. Looking down the dock to the island – some 300 feet or so, all I could see was darkness - the others had already shut down the generator for the night. I see a soft glow where I think the cabin should be and knew that someone was reading a magazine in the glow of one of the battery-powered lights. But even without the glow, I knew the layout and could picture it in my mind.

It was a perfect place for a 16 yo boy. An island in the Laguna Madre, miles from most of civilization, no electricity, no plumbing – nothing but sand, sun, water, and fish! There was a 300-foot dock with a fish cleaning station about halfway down. When the dock meets land, it turns into a boardwalk that splits to the other cabin on the island. There is a generator shed at the split, and then about a hundred more feet, there was the cabin with the outhouse a good bit off the back. The cabin was simple lap siding, painted white with a corrugated metal roof. A large porch and steps were across the front and a screen door. The windows had shutters that were closed for protection from hurricane winds. There was a line of rain barrels along the front porch for water we used for taking a shower – drinking water; we had to tote from the bait house.

We must have disturbed the resident quail as I heard one softly whistle – bob-white! Usually, when we get everything unloaded, we would seine up the shrimp used as live bait for the next day's fishing. But Dad and the others had already seined. Slightly irritated, I enjoyed wading and pushing the net into the unknown blackness. My imagination would kick in and imagine all sorts of things out there.

Walking through the screen door, I could hear that the other two were already asleep. Dad had my bunk ready, and I set my gear on my side of the bunk. Dad and Uncle Monroe settled into their bunks, but I still had joyful, youthful exuberance to wear off – plus more than just a little adrenaline – some leftover from the game, but most just because I was at "the cabin!".

I climbed up into my bunk. The young'uns got the top bunks while the old'uns got the bottom bunks – it was a law of nature. I tried laying there on my back - staring up at the ceiling when my eyes weren't closed. I had always thought I should bring my poster of Farah Fawcett and tape it to the ceiling for just such occasions. It was still that night, and it was muggy in the cabin. All the windows were open, and I could hear the water, and little else but a gull now and then and a mullet splashing back into the water --- UNTIL ---- all the old'uns got into REM sleep and started snoring……If one could call this acoustic cacophony, snoring. It's indescribable. People who have been through a tornado say that there is nothing as loud as a tornado, but they hadn't heard this air movement of major decibels that the males of my family could produce!

To distract me, I tried to think of my favorite things. As an active and growing 16 years old, food was always on my mind, and just now, it strayed to what lunch tomorrow was going to be – fresh fried speckled trout with french fries, baked beans, white bread, and big glasses of tea. Aunt Mildred would always send a coconut cake, and mom would send a pecan pie or two. What more could a young boy want! If the big shrimp were in, we'd have shrimp either boiled or fried, boiled blue crab when we wanted. I knew exactly what we'd do - rise long before sunlight and have breakfast. We'd fish the morning, come back to the cabin, clean what we caught, cook a big lunch, eat, and then nap. Naptime for me wasn't long, and I'd want to fish again. Sometimes we would; sometimes we wouldn't.

None of that helped! THE NOISE! I had to get up – I couldn't even get close to sleeping with the adrenaline, and now the "noise." I quietly climbed down out of the bunk and, as silently as possible, went outside to the porch and found one of the rockers. My eyes were getting used to the moonlight, and I could make out a few things. My sense of hearing was heightened. It is amazing what one can hear without the constant din of civilization – I was almost enjoying myself, but it was still muggy, and I was bothered by a few mosquitoes. I decided to stroll down to the end of the pier, thinking I might just bed down in the boat – away from the mosquitoes.

Still not tired enough to bed down, I decided just to sit and enjoy the night on one of the benches at the end of the pier. We did not use them all that much. The fishing there wasn't much good, and it's usually pretty hot because there was no shade.

My eyes were pretty much used to the darkness and moonlight now, and to my right, I could make out the far-off glow on the horizon that was the city lights and civilization. Far off to my left, I could make out the glow from natural gas flares. Directly across was darkness. The Laguna Madre was pretty broad right here, and on the other side was the King Ranch – hundreds of thousands of acres of brush country and cattle. Behind me, behind the cabin, was Padre Island. A few miles to the north was civilization, and many miles to the south was South Padre – also civilization – but right here – nothing but sand and water. I was sitting there alone for all intents and purposes, but I didn't have the feeling of being alone – just completeness and peace. My peace was punctuated by the occasional splash of the mullet feeling their oats and jumping out and falling back into the water. The air pumps were humming, pushing air into the bait tanks – keeping those shrimp alive so we could feed them to hungry trout in the morning – they like alive and fresh so much better. And there was the lapping of the water against everything stationary – the lapping….the lapping…. the eternal lapping!

The incessant lapping almost did it – I found myself nodding but not closing my eyes and sleeping. Why walk back to the cabin – Besides, I'd probably get woken up by the time I got to the cabin. Why not sleep right here on the dock. 

This time was that time of acute consciousness that cannot be explained, but everybody knows it. It was almost a sacred time – a place I could not feel reality but could feel my soul very intensely. A place where you could experience your essence. It was that time that was _between "sleep and awake, that place where you still remember dreaming?" The place Tinker Bell said she'd be waiting for the grown-up Peter Pan that she declared her love for. That time seems to be the gateway to one's NeverNeverLand! It's_ the time I find myself a little boy again, freely romping, running, and playing and smiling a great big smile, with not a care in the world. I am at peace there – thinking good thoughts.

Wait, what was that? Did something hit the dock, nope it was my stomach grumbling? It just realized it had been 5 or 6 hours since it last had sustenance, and it was complaining about it. I got up and half-heartedly looked through the boats for food. I didn't expect to find any – the ice coolers had all been taken to the cabin. All the rest of the food had been taken up to the cabin so it wouldn't end up being gull food. Just about the only thing edible on board was bait, and I didn't think shrimp sashimi would be a good thing. I did find this one corroded can of Sprite in Uncle Monroe's boat. I thought about it for a second but decided to err on the side of sound judgment and put it back in its resting place. Disparaging, I dragged myself out of the boat and back to the bench.

Decided, since pre-dawn thirty was coming up quickly and that I should at least get a couple of winks, I chose to settle in for the night and slumped down to get more comfortable, stretching my legs in front of me, and put my arms up and hands behind my head. Getting relaxed and drowsy, I finally yawned, a big fat, tired to the bone yawn with my head back. It seemed an eternity, but when the yawn was complete, my head was still back, and my face was still to the sky, and I opened my eyes. It's not the first time I've seen the universe and so many stars and falling stars. I was an outdoorsman, and an outdoorsman goes where lights are few and far between. But this night was exceptional! It may have been the hunger or the bone-tiredness, but I could sense presences. One part of me felt like I was two people – one on the bench and the other flying around up there looking down on himself. What was I doing? I was feeling disconnected, two bodies, two minds, two souls, yet somehow connected – a true dichotomy. My reality was certainly blurred, but as clear as day, there I was, flying between the stars.

The other part of me felt like someone was sitting next to me. I remember one additional time this happened. On Christmas Eve night, you know, those restless ones we have as kids - I heard something. I immediately closed my eyes tighter and made snoring noises. I didn't want Santa to pass me by because I had opened my eyes and saw him doing his duties. But curiosity got the best of me, and I slowly and slightly opened one eye, and there near the bookcase, through my squinted eyelashes, I could just barely make out an unfocused and unshaped blob. Startled, I closed my eyes shut again and even tighter, and with my fake snoring coming faster and louder now, all I could think about was that I had just seen Santa. I could sense him there, and I didn't need to see him; I could hear him breathe. There wasn't much sleep to be had the rest of the night!

This particular moment was much the same. I could sense a presence. And then I convinced myself I could hear breathing and feel the vibrations of a heart being transmitted through the rough boards of the seat. At that point, I forgot about the flying Mikey, and I acutely attuned my whole body to this presence. I turned my head slightly and ever so slowly to the right so that the presence couldn't notice and open my right eye ever so slightly. And I saw him. There was GOD sitting next to me, on an old gull poop splattered, weather-beaten bench in the middle of the Laguna Madre! He didn't have a nametag on, nor was he carrying a sign saying he was GOD. So how did I know? I can't tell you – I just knew! I wasn't the least bit afraid; in fact, I was quite glad that he had come to visit me – I had a question I wanted to ask him. I opened my eyes fully, and we just talked for a short while – exceptionally friendly and warm, I don't know what we talked about – it didn't matter – here was GOD sitting next to me and talking to me. There was nothing else that mattered right then. A hurricane could have blown through right then, and I wouldn't have noticed – all my senses were focused on him. I finally sensed a pause in the conversation and decided that I'd ask my question.
Looking up into the blackness of the sky, there they were the millions upon millions of tiny points of light – the stars of His universe. There were so many that it was difficult to make out individuals – they seemed to act as one, coloring the air such that you, although you knew it was black, that was not what you saw. Taking my hands from behind my head, I stretched my right arm up as far as I could, cupped my hand, and scooped up a whole handful of those stars. I lowered my arm and maneuvered it to the front of me and, with my palm facing up, opened my hand, and there in the palm of my open hand lay the bunch of sparkling stars I had just snatched from the sky. I turned my body toward GOD to show him my sparkly treasure. And then I spoke. I asked him if I could possibly borrow this handful of stars for a short while – I knew of a few people who could not see these stars, and I wanted to show them so that they could experience them and see how wonderful they were and how grand Creation was. Yes, son, the beauty of my creation is for ALL to see. Upon hearing this, I slowly bent my fingers to close my hand, being very careful not to spill any – and slipped my borrowed handful of GOD's Creation into the pocket of my shorts!

Reactions: Like 2 | Great Post 5 | Way Cool 2


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## woodtickgreg (Jun 25, 2021)

Mikey, you really need to publish some of this stuff.
Reminds me of the short western novels I used to read at the truck stops. Louie L'Amour I think they where.

Reactions: Thank You! 1 | Agree 2


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## Wildthings (Jun 26, 2021)

I'll get back to this in the morning! Goodnight

Reactions: Thank You! 1 | Agree 1 | Informative 1


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## trc65 (Jun 26, 2021)

Great read Mike! Never been to the gulf, but I could smell "the coast" as I was reading along.

Brought back very pleasant memories of my fishing trips to central Ontario. Different place, fish and smells, but the experiences and feelings were much the same. 

Thanks for a pleasant end to my evening!

Reactions: Thank You! 1


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## Wildthings (Jun 29, 2021)

trc65 said:


> Great read Mike! Never been to the gulf, but I could smell "the coast" as I was reading along.
> 
> Brought back very pleasant memories of my fishing trips to central Ontario. Different place, fish and smells, but the experiences and feelings were much the same.
> 
> Thanks for a pleasant end to my evening!


I've been to the gulf on many occasions and no doubt I could smell the heavy salt air as I was reading this too Tim. How many times along the Fulton beach I spent the entire night fishing from those little piers and the lapping….the lapping…. the eternal lapping! One time I was sitting on the pier way late in the night, everything quiet except the lapping against the pier. Popping corks with live shrimp under them would let you know when you had a bite so maybe just close my eyes for a minute with the musical lapping in my ears....next thing I know I had fallen off the pier!! Good thing the pier is only a foot off the water and the water only 2 feet deep! Great great memories

Reactions: Like 1 | Funny 2 | Way Cool 1


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## Mike Hill (Jun 30, 2021)

Wildthings said:


> s....next thing I know I had fallen off the pier!!


LMHAO! - but not 'xactly sure I needed to know this about anybody! My expectations have been shattered!!!

Reactions: Agree 1 | Funny 1


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## Nubsnstubs (Jun 30, 2021)

OK Mikie, where is the rest of this story?? Or is it going to be a sequel for later? ............. Jerry (in Tucson)

Reactions: Agree 1


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## Mike Hill (Jun 30, 2021)

Never thought about expansion!!! I'll ponder on that. I'm working on a few more now. I'm fascinated with the short story genre!

With that being said - we did catch a lot of fish and shrimp that time.

Reactions: Like 1


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## Arn213 (Jun 30, 2021)

I just read another great short story piece of yours at the “What did you do in your shop today?” thread. Yeah, it was kind of buried, needs to be a feature and a thread of it’s own. 
​


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## Wildthings (Jun 30, 2021)

Mike Hill said:


> LMHAO! - but not 'xactly sure I needed to know this about anybody! My expectations have been shattered!!!


Knowing your age and mine we probably crossed paths down there a few times in the late 60's and 70's


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## Gdurfey (Jun 30, 2021)

I am quite content at the moment………thank you.


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## Mike Hill (Jun 30, 2021)

We went down quite a bit - once a month and possibly twice a month during prime season. Came in on TX 358 and turn right just before the causeway over to Padre. Spoils island at Old Marker 33A - have no idea what the marker is now - I'm pretty sure they changed it. We'd also go to POC and Aransas Pass at times, but more often Corpus. Buddy and I, when I could not get our boat and get to the cabin, would go down and fish rockport and fulton. I remember some levees, the end of some fishing boat marina pier, and odd places we could find deeper water. Cannot say we did any good but had an adventure sleeping on the "beach" and such! Dad had a favorite restaurant in Rockport - I cannot for the life of me remember the name - I'll have to ask him.

Had another cabin down at the Land Cut - a few miles south of Baffin Bay. It was in the water - on stilts. Only got to go once before it was destroyed - probably by hurricane.


EGADS - just realized it - this makes me an ISLANDER - former but an islander no doubt!

The wonder of google maps!!!

Reactions: Way Cool 2


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## Wildthings (Jun 30, 2021)

Mike Hill said:


> We went down quite a bit - once a month and possibly twice a month during prime season. Came in on TX 358 and turn right just before the causeway over to Padre. Spoils island at Old Marker 33A - have no idea what the marker is now - I'm pretty sure they changed it. We'd also go to POC and Aransas Pass at times, but more often Corpus. Buddy and I, when I could not get our boat and get to the cabin, would go down and fish rockport and fulton. I remember some levees, the end of some fishing boat marina pier, and odd places we could find deeper water. Cannot say we did any good but had an adventure sleeping on the "beach" and such! Dad had a favorite restaurant in Rockport - I cannot for the life of me remember the name - I'll have to ask him.
> 
> Had another cabin down at the Land Cut - a few miles south of Baffin Bay. It was in the water - on stilts. Only got to go once before it was destroyed - probably by hurricane.
> 
> ...


That's awesome! Was the restaurant "The Boiling Pot"? 

HWY 358 (SPID) brings back great memories. Me and a buddy moved to Corpus in 1975, I was 20, him 21. We were going to conquer the business world. Moved back home after 11 months. Couldn't make enough money. Probably cuz we spent most of our time fishing, surfing and girl chasing! Lived in an apartment on the corner of 358 and Nile dr (about a .5 mile n of Ennis Joslin rd) We were our own bosses but it was real easy to get in the van and turn south on 358!

Reactions: Like 1 | Sincere 2


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## Gdurfey (Jul 1, 2021)

I’m sitting here day dreaming of the things I didn’t do as a teenager. As I enter second childhood, well, look out……

Reactions: Agree 1 | Funny 3


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## Nature Man (Jul 4, 2021)

So many possible endings…. Please continue! Chuck


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## Mike Hill (Jul 4, 2021)

Wildthings said:


> That's awesome! Was the restaurant "The Boiling Pot"?
> 
> HWY 358 (SPID) brings back great memories. Me and a buddy moved to Corpus in 1975, I was 20, him 21. We were going to conquer the business world. Moved back home after 11 months. Couldn't make enough money. Probably cuz we spent most of our time fishing, surfing and girl chasing! Lived in an apartment on the corner of 358 and Nile dr (about a .5 mile n of Ennis Joslin rd) We were our own bosses but it was real easy to get in the van and turn south on 358!


Pretty sure not "The Boiling Pot". I think it was a guy's name.


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## JR Parks (Jul 5, 2021)

Charlotte Plumbers not a guy but an old time good one on the bay in Fulton


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## JR Parks (Jul 5, 2021)

@Wildthings try going to Del Mar Jr Co on windless days and trying to decide if I fish or surf???? And paddling the ship channel to get to the calm surf on St Joe’s 
very nice read Mike

Reactions: Like 1


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## SubVet10 (Feb 26, 2022)

My only disappointment is I'm only finding this thread now :) 
@Mike Hill if you have thought once about publishing, you should do it. Now there is even a system called Vellum that is meant for serial and short form stories. 
I just finished the rough draft of my second (thriller) novel. More than willing to help answer any questions you have.

Reactions: Like 1


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## Mike Hill (Feb 26, 2022)

JR Parks said:


> Charlotte Plumbers not a guy but an old time good one on the bay in Fulton


I think that was it! Thank you for helping me remember it.

Reactions: Like 1


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## Mike Hill (Feb 26, 2022)

SubVet10 said:


> My only disappointment is I'm only finding this thread now :)
> @Mike Hill if you have thought once about publishing, you should do it. Now there is even a system called Vellum that is meant for serial and short form stories.
> I just finished the rough draft of my second (thriller) novel. More than willing to help answer any questions you have.


It's one of those things that I've thought I'd eventually do on retiring. Right now life is so full that time to sit down with quiet surroundings and write is a scarce commidity! As I've gotten older I enjoy writing more and more! I've got the ideas and outlines for a few books already done.

Reactions: Agree 1 | Sincere 1


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## SubVet10 (Feb 26, 2022)

Mike Hill said:


> It's one of those things that I've thought I'd eventually do on retiring. Right now life is so full that time to sit down with quiet surroundings and write is a scarce commidity! As I've gotten older I enjoy writing more and more! I've got the ideas and outlines for a few books already done.


Fully understood. I inherited the writing bug from my Dad. Now that I took the deep plunge into publishing, he is finally taking a swing at it himself. One thing you might try is keeping a voice recorder with a USB. A very successful author I know talks when he goes on his daily walks, or in the car. That's one positive of Bluetooth is few people look at you odd for talking to yourself anymore :)

Reactions: Like 2 | Useful 1


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## Mike Hill (Feb 26, 2022)

I've thought about that. Kinda waiting until voice recognition software ( well cheap ones) get good enough to do a transcript of the dictating. I've tried twice over the years for a different reason - both times no good at all. I used to build hospitals - they have bunches of rooms. Doing punch lists before turnover was an onerous task. My idea was to either walk around with a recorder or a laptop with Dragon translating - not good results at all.


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## Gdurfey (Mar 1, 2022)

Mike Hill said:


> It's one of those things that I've thought I'd eventually do on retiring. Right now life is so full that time to sit down with quiet surroundings and write is a scarce commidity! As I've gotten older I enjoy writing more and more! I've got the ideas and outlines for a few books already done.


Problem is, the big problem, you just described a nice day on a trout stream!!!!!

Now the recorder idea might work…… until that 12 hours you hadn’t downloaded is next to that rock under water that is always deeper than it looks.

Reactions: Funny 1


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## Mike Hill (Mar 2, 2022)

Ok, that sounds like someone from Colorado! Let this suth'n redneck s'plane how trout fishing is around here. It ain't like in the immortal chef-d'oeuvre - "A River Runs Through It" - where the lucky ones get to grab a rod after doing their homework and run out to world class fishing! Not counting the mudholes that are stocked in the winter where people can stock their freezer with welfare trout (like the trout fishing "ponds" at boat and fishing shows), there are but 3 reliable trout holding waters within a 3 hour drive - and those are in the hour to hour-and-a-half to be on-the-water type time frame. They are all tail water fisheries (dam discharge) - the closest trout water that is not, is probably a 4-hour or more drive. One of the local three is little more than a small muddy stream with muddy banks that is stocked and is not vital enough to have holdovers. It just happens to encircle a trout hatchery - so it gets stocked even though it is not really all that good for trout. The other is bigger and more vital, but is stocked and is now managed because of 2 endangered species and they have raised the temperature of the discharge so that the trout holding area is vastly diminished and there are minimum holdovers. The best stream (I'll call my home river) we have here is stocked, but after many decades, finally managed for trout (after decades of urging the officials and successfully I might add) just a short number of years ago and we had been hooking up with some large ones regularly a few years ago. But then dam repairs were initiated that lowered the lake levels and took lots of water from the lake surface - thereby raising the temperature and diminishing the trout holding area by miles. Those repairs took like 5 years or something. The meat harvestors came in droves and caught and took home vast quantities of stacked up trout - often illegally and in the open, with the officials doing little if anything. At the same time, a couple of.....well, I won't use my usual words to describe them..... started a "business" of renting canoes and kayaks to drunken whatevers. That got successful which means hundreds if not thousands of drunken drifters daily. Do they have the right to use the river - you bet. But do they have the right to drive us off who have given bunches of time and money to get a fishery? Let's just say, I got tired of cutting my waders on broken glass and other things on the bottom, getting run over by boats, and otherwise having my fishing constantly disrupted! The flashing of .....well, lets not go there. Suffice to say the "nice day on a trout stream" does not exist on my home river anymore. And what about the others. Well, they don't have the float traffic, but other fishers went there as an option and what started as an otherwise crowded condition got much worse because of new fishers and the reduced trout holding area. And we won't even talk about the manners and fishing etiquette of the new fishers - I'd like to keep my blood pressure down ma'am! Its a major multi-day get away to get "a nice day on a trout stream". Oh, there's fishing to be had - but....... mainly big glittery bass boats with "real" fisherman with their remote trolling motors, attractant sprays, four color fish finders and glittery plastic lures. I'm not hating on them, but I want my life to be more simple and more toward my love of nature - I don't want to worry about fuel/oil mixtures, lubing bearing buddies, charging batteries and such - I just want to grab my waders, my fly pack and my rod and slip into a river without a bunch of drunken floaters in a constant parade through my fishing beat and just enjoy life and the nature that God created! I guess I am really just a bully and a complainer!

Reactions: Like 1


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## JR Parks (Mar 2, 2022)

Mike Hill said:


> I think that was it! Thank you for helping me remember it.


It’s still there and still pretty decent. A bit of Texas history in that family. There are ruins of the Plummer family cemetery on Copano Bay by the Mission River. Very close to where Santa Anna had a wharf to supply Bexar and the missions. A little bit of Texas history on Texas Independence Day.
https://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/entries/copano-tx


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## Mike Hill (Mar 2, 2022)

Wait!!! March 2nd - I had overlooked it! Thank you for mentioning - Don't get much Texas stuff here in Tennershoe!


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