Fun fishy times.

Many years ago, when my sons were much younger (and I was almost as rambunctious as they were), we regularly went bowfishing. Not just for carp and gar, mind you, but bullfrogs, snapping turtles, buffalo fish and drum. We did most of it with wild enthusiasm. These adventures took place from late spring through early summer. Most years in Oklahoma, the weather is terribly wet in early spring, at least around the Tulsa area, and the renewing rains that turn the countryside a brilliant green also raise lake levels, creeks and backwater sloughs, creating rough fish magnets.

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The high water from spring shower runoff teemed with fish, not to mention several species of nasty snakes that found above water trees and bushes either to their liking, or at least a place to get out of the water to stay dry. Either way, coming eye to eye with a four- to six-foot snake, whatever the species, can be a little unnerving, and while I personally am not afraid of snakes, I would just as soon they stayed away from my space.

Our bowfishing outings began in the B.C. (before compound bows) era and thus were attended by longbows and recurves ranging from solid fiberglass to nicely appointed laminated composites of that period; though I should point out that anyone possessing one of those custom beauties should have been prepared for it to be a muddy piece of junk by day's end. Bowfishing--while great fun--is a nasty, sloppy, dirty sport; what with the knee-deep water, mud, bloody, flopping skewered fish, leeches, biting insects and fish scales. And, ah yes, the snakes. I mention snakes again because on more than one occasion, someone in our party (though never myself or my children) would shoot one. A large snake impaled on a fish arrow by an archer standing in two feet of water can often be viewed with some hilarity. However, the commotion becomes a tad more serious should it be a cottonmouth or copperhead, which happened twice in my experience; the real problem lying in the removal of the snake from the arrow!

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Shooting fish can be quite tricky, especially with varying lighting conditions and midday fish swimming deeper. In our favorite spots, with brackish water and considerable shade, it was often difficult to make out much more than a moving shadow. I remember when one such target erupted in a splashing leap, revealing a largemouth bass of some six plus pounds pierced directly through its lateral line. This confession is made in the belief that after 20 some years, the statute of limitations has expired. Plus, we ate the evidence!

While shooting fish was great fun, we much preferred hunting frogs at night; preferably very black nights. These frog hunts were conducted with spotlights and a gunnysack to hold our quarry and, unless a deep-water floater was spotted requiring a bow reel and line, unencumbered arrows. Shots were frequently quite challenging, not like the rough fish shot mostly at point blanks range. And the mission was even more rewarding: frog legs are delicious, while carp, on their best day, still taste like mud. Of course, there again was the matter of snakes to be reckoned with, as one occasion will illustrate.

One dark night we came across a huge bullfrog, about the size of a Grade A Large cow patty, caught by one leg by a likewise huge, black and brown water snake. The snake had the frog's left leg almost entirely in its mouth. As you can imagine, the frog was bellowing his discomfort loudly and often. As we approached, the snake slid off the log into deep water, taking the unfortunate frog with it in a swirl the size of a cannonball by a fat man. Suddenly, the frog reappeared on the surface, seemingly no worse for wear, albeit rather glassy eyed. My son promptly shot it with a fish arrow. "Some nights, it just doesn't pay to be a frog!" said he.

Nowadays, there seems to be a noticeable lack of frogs and crayfish in most waters. I hear it's a negative environmental thing, which I suspect is true. I know frogs thrive on crayfish; as they go, so go the frogs. I have not shot a frog in years, but I have purchased some legs from the fish market now and then.

Those older days were fine times; watching my boys whoop and holler with every gar and carp were signs they would become the good bowhunters they are today. Now I've got grandkids; even a great grandson. I'm thinking maybe it's time to start over again.