In the spring of 1965, when the carp began to spawn in the shallow streams and beaver ponds around where I lived. I headed out one afternoon to try my luck. I was in my old 1950 Plymouth automobile, headed north on Hwy 25 out of Wilsonville, Alabama. I passed by the old Wallace plantation home that Colonel Wallace had built after the Creek Indians were walked out of these parts on the "Trail of Tears". He and a Mr. Robertson were the first residents in this area and after they had picked out what and how many acres of land they wanted,. They had to ride by horseback to the town of Tuscaloosa, overland. There were no bridges to cross rivers and streams and no roads. The trip one way took them several days to make it to the federal land bank office, that was set up there, for people to claim their new land. The Wallace family graveyard was located not far from the house,down a small field road back in some woods.Off to the right down a trail a little, was a large beaver pond that backed up for several miles with one dam after another. The swamp were it lay was called Walthaw swamp. It was named after the famous movie actor Henry Walthaw, that played in the motion pricture film, Birth of a Nation.
I got out of my old plymouth and gathered my bow and quiver full of arrows. As I headed out to where the pond was, I walked by Colonel Wallaces grave. In a joking way, when I walked by his headstone, I pattied my hand on top of it and said,"Hey Colonel" "What you doing down there?" and he said nothing.
I could hear some talking out in one of the ponds and walked along the shoreline to get a look as to who it was. After a short walk over logs and waiding shallow water, I could see the heads of three possibly four black men busy doing something, down behind the beaver dam. I walked closer and saw who one of them was. It was my old friend "Chetah". He was alot of fun and everyone liked him. He and I had hunted beavers at night before. He like to hold the light and I would do the archery work. When I had killed a couple, we would go by his house and unload. He could make some fine Bar-B-que out of those beavers on a hickory wood fire. His special sauce was something he gaurded closely. If any of his friends were around to see the beavers we would be unloading, he would often be bragging as to how I could shoot that longbow like it was a machine gun. He could always tell a good story and before he would finish, he had convinced the ones listening that a beaver was the badest night animal around.
Old Chetah and his pals had torn out a beaver dam to drain the water level down so as to be able to catch some fish. He ask me what I was up to and I answered him, saying that I was looking for carp, gar fish, snakes, beavers, turtles or just anything worth shooting at, in order to have fun. He told me that if I would return about dusty dark, those old beavers would be there to repair the dam and I could surely get a shot. I took his advice and walked back to my car. I opened up the turtle shell. I new that I had a couple of special beaver arrows stored away in the trunk. The arrows were port orford cedar, painted camo with a Howard Hill barbed broadhead mounted on the front and pinned to the shaft. I had drilled a small hole through the ferrule and fastened a small airplane cable. I had the cable taped along the side with a loop at the top,so I could fasten a braided line that could be tied to a tree. I didn't ever tie the braided line to my bow or myself as I knew quite well how strong and dangerous a beaver can be when wounded and fighting. One bite from a beavers teeth can go right through your hand or leg. They may look gentle, cute and easy going, but once injuryed look out.
I decided I would walk a long way around and enter the stream above the dam and stalk back down, ever so quietly. Once I found a place to hide, I would wait till the beavers showed up to make thier repair to the busted dam. I new of a large stump that sat out in the pond about 50 feet from the dam. From atop the stump, I figured I would have the perfect advantage point, to make my shot.
I stalked along ever so slowly, trying to not make a sound. When I was about half way to my final destination, I came upon a large beaver lodge with limbs and twigs stacked higher than my head. I remember thinking to myself,"Man thats the biggest beaver house I have ever seen." As I was stalking, the ripples in the water that I was making moved in the direction of the beaver lodge. It was beginning to get dark and the moon was just beginning to rise. No more than 50 yards to go and I would be where I wss headed. As I moved forward, I caught a glimpse of something floating in the water, close to the beaver lodge. I stopped my stalk for a second to allow my eyes to focus. I thought to myself, "Man you better be careful","If there is a snake anywhere around here, this would be a good place to see one". No sooner had this thought passed over my mind, when my eyes came into focus and I saw what I didn't want to see.There floating in the water no more than 10 feet in front, off to my right and next to the lodge the biggest and meanest looking cottonmouth, I believe I had ever seen. He had to be the granddaddy of them all. At least four and one half feet was floating in the water and the other one and a half feet was up on the side of the beaver lodge, turned slightly and looking dead at me. Looking back, I swear I could see a devilish look in his eyes and they seemed to glow red in the moonlight. I first thought I would take a shot. Then the thought ran across my mind that if I tried a shot, what if I missed.I would then have to except the loss of a fine arrow, that I might could use later. If I made the shot then there was know way that I was going to try to retrive my arrow, for fear of getting bit. I figured that it would be in my best interest to back up and detour around old granddaddy cottonmouth.I proceeded to take long carefully placed steps backwards, as far as I could reach. I was half way through my third step and making good distance away from him, when he started to move in my direction.I felt sure that he meant business. Next thing I heard was him making a hissing sound, like a Python I had seen at the local zoo, during feeding time.I could tell that he didn't like me being in that pond. It was his domain and he was letting me know that I wasn't welcome. About this time he moved forward, coming for me on top of the water, at full speed. I don't recall ever seeing a cottonmouth moving so fast. At this moment I decided it was time for me to get going and I went skyward. I do believe I must have went straight up at least 5 feet. When I reached my peak in the sky, I did a 180 degree turn and called out to God. Its funny how some people never talk to him till the chips are down or the going gets tuff. But, I remember reading a story in the Bible where Jesus told one of his disciples while out fishing, that if he had faith he could walk on the water like him and he did the same. I guess my faith was well founded. When my feet came back down and touched the water, They were moving as fast as a road runner, hauling butt across a western plain.I walked on the water that evening for at least 100 yards. I wasn't wasting no time and don't believe I have ever moved so fast. Several times, I looked back over my shoulder and swore I could see that old snake hot on my heels. As I ran on top of the water, I had my longbow by the lower limb and was whipping hell out of any and every sapling that got in my way, as I ran forward. I must have looked like Davy Crokett at the Alamo, as I fought knocking saplings first right and then left and hollowing at the top of my voice. After reaching the bank, I figured with all the noise I had made, every beaver within a country mile would know my presience now.
I walked back to my car passing by the old Colonel's tombstone once again. As I reached for the door handle, my heart was still pounding in my chest, I felt a voice inside my head that said, "Now you know why I didn't say anything, much less go with you!"I promptly turned around, but no one was there, only the granite stone marker shining in the moonlight.
I drove back toward home, having ruined my chances at killing a beaver. As I drove, I thought my car was running out of gas. At the same time, on the radio, Jerry Lee Lewis was singing his song, "Hole lot of shaking going On". Hearing this made think and realize my car wasn't out of gas. It was my foot dancing on the gas peddle making the car jump.
Never been one to be afraid of snakes, as I have hunted them all my life. Its just the one's that disappear or you can't see in tall grass that make me get nervous or maybe I should add the one's that make me "Walk on the Water".Jerry Hill..............
Topic: Walk on the Water (Read 766 times)
