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Copyright 1999-2006
No reproduction of any kind.

 It can't get much better than this trip to Cedar Bluff . . .
Or can it?

A Weekend at Cedar Bluff

C. A. "Ms Bellyboater" Riley
As with most of their fishin'/campin' outings, Larry, Cheryl and John looked forward to their first trip to Cedar Bluff reservoir with much anticipation. Word around here was that that was the place to go for great black bass fishing. The "3-F Club"-- Float (tube) Fishin' Fanatics--had enjoyed a few years of floating around together chasing big black bass and they just had to get up there and check it out. About that same time, business demands suddenly forced John to relocate to Kentucky. The 3-F'ers decided the only thing to do was to spend their last outing together at fabled Cedar Bluff lake.

The plan had been to leave Wichita early that Friday morning in June, caravan up to the lake, set up camp, and fish until Monday morning, then return to Wichita Monday afternoon. Friday morning eventually arrived and everything went too smoothly: John showed up at Larry and Cheryl's house on time and they all hit the road soon after--John in his pickup and the other two in theirs, the "Fishin' Edition". Cruising up by Salina, then turning west, they were making good time and having a great time on the road that perfect summer morning.

John didn't enjoy driving quite as fast as Larry did, and eventually fell out of sight. Not caring about keeping up with modern technology, none of them had a cell phone, but they weren't worried because they knew they'd all end up at the same place anyway. The first trouble came when Larry and Cheryl finally decided to consult their map because they thought they ought to be nearing the lake. Bad things started happening fast. Less than 10 seconds after realizing they were more than 40 miles past the turnoff they should have taken, the radiator fell out of their truck as they were doing about 70 mph on the interstate, out in the middle of nowhere. They immediately got lucky again when Sonya, a very nice local farm woman, stopped and helped them get in touch with the nearest mechanic, who even had his own tow truck and came and towed them to his service station. This was a lucky break, but how in the world would John find them, so far away from where they were supposed to be? And, as leisurely his pace, how long would it be before he realized they were missing?

After making arrangements to leave their truck for repairs and return for it the next day, they hung out in the shade at the service station, frequently making long-distance calls to the Cedar Bluff State Park office to see whether John had shown up and started looking for them. This went on for the next several hours and the couple made arrangements to spend the night camped out behind the service station. Then John showed up, thank goodness! It didn't take them long to realize they still had plenty of problems-- two full pickup loads of camping and fishing equipment, but only one pickup, and still more than forty miles from the lake. It took a few more hours for John to make the first trip back to the lake, with Cheryl and the gear off John's truck, then return to the station for Larry and the rest of their gear while Cheryl waited at the lake. Eventually, though, they were all together with their stuff at a nice looking campsite, and even (barely) had time to set up their tents before full dark. By now, all three of them were exhausted, so they grabbed a quick, cold supper and turned in for a good night's rest before a full day of great bass fishing!

They'd all been asleep for a couple of hours when the storm started, and raged until nearly daybreak. For several miserable hours they huddled in their tents, certain their meager shelter would be ripped away at any time and they'd be instantly saturated by the cold, wind-driven rain. Miraculously, though, the tents held, the storm eventually passed, and a warm, bright sunrise soon followed.

Time to grab a hurried breakfast, load up the tubes with supplies for the day, and get out there and chase all these bass they'd heard so much about! Wild enthusiasm made up for their lack of sleep, besides, they were sure to sleep well tonight after wrangling fish all day. None of them knew anything about this lake, so they went to the highest place they could find, surveyed the lake and decided upon a likely looking cove within what looked like moderate kicking, or paddling, distance. They returned to the beach, got into their little boats and set off, kicking against a gentle southerly breeze toward their beautifully timbered destination. It was further than it had looked, but they made it. As they rounded the last bend into the cove they'd picked, the breeze picked up some and a hideous odor began to fill their nostrils--hog farm! But they'd kicked so far and so hard, and this place looked so deliciously bassy they decided to stay. The guys did okay, but Cheryl had to employ her bandana against the evil stench and became the "fishin' bandit" until, at last, the wind shifted. As usual, John began picking up bass here and there right along, while the others fished diligently with little or no result. But no matter, they were having a fine time just doing their favorite thing together, and tomorrow they'd find another, better spot. (Maybe a little sparser timber would save Cheryl time lost in retrieving lures from all those darned trees, too.) Too soon, it was time to head back to camp. Larry and John still had to drive back to the service station and retrieve Larry's truck, while Cheryl camp-sat.

A couple of hours before dark, the two men returned with both trucks. The three friends relaxed for a bit, then John, a wonderful chef, prepared a camp dinner beyond compare--fresh salads, then deliciously seasoned steaks grilled over the campfire while potatoes baked in the coals. Outstanding camp fare! They relaxed around the fire for a little longer, rehashing all their fondest fishing memories from years past, then turned in early to make up for the previous night's lack of rest. Sometime around 2 a.m. a more intense version of last night's storm erupted with a sudden flash of lightning, an ear-splitting crack of thunder, viciously howling winds and driving torrents of rain. Again, their tents held, but this time the rain was driven with such force that a lot of their gear was soaked. This storm, too, abated shortly before sunrise and the day turned warm and sunny.

The three hardy campers took a couple of hours spreading out and drying their soaked bedding before embarking on another day of their endless quest for trophy largemouths. The day was very hot, but being half-submerged in lake water helped keep them cool as they kicked around in another very bassy-looking cove, catching the occasional small to medium-sized bass. (And, thankfully, they were far away from the pig farm.) Though they spent many hours on the water, the lovely summer day still passed too quickly, and soon it was time to kick back to camp for their bittersweet last night together 'round a campfire, highlighted by the ritualistic burning of a shoe. Sad to be parting soon, even the shoe-burning didn't do much to cheer them, and all three soon headed dejectedly for their beds. Right on schedule, the storm began in the wee hours. This one was even more ferocious than the others, and during an onslaught of wind-driven small hail a corner of the rain fly on Larry and Cheryl's tent broke loose and soon the entire fly was flapping around loose, while torrents of cold rain descended upon the hapless couple. Larry knew he had to go out in the storm and try to reattach the fly to prevent even more water from pouring in on them. While he was out in the gale getting completely soaked he looked over at where John's tent used to be. Eventually, in the lightning flashes, he was able to see that John's tent was still there, but flattened to the ground. Larry yelled for John, and, from a shapeless lump under the flattened tent came John's voice. After being assured that John was all right, Larry made his way back into his own tent and found Cheryl sound asleep on the only small, semi-dry spot left on their bed. He couldn't stand it! He woke her up and made her be miserable with him through the rest of that hellish night. A few hours later, when dawn broke clear and warm, all the gear had to be spread and dried out as well as possible before it could be packed and the friends could head home. Sooner or later it was accomplished, and they set out for Wichita, not very sorry to be leaving. John left several minutes before the other two, but they weren't too far behind him--at first!

Larry and Cheryl hadn't been on the road for long at all when they discovered that the Fishin' Edition wasn't as fixed as they had hoped. Seems yesterday's incident had pushed the head gasket, causing frequent overheating. The frazzled pair could travel no more than just a few miles at a time--slowly--on that hot, hot afternoon, before they'd have to stop, let the radiator cool off, add water, then take off again. Luckily though, the rains of the past few nights had left plenty of water standing in the ditches for refills of the water jugs they always carried. It took them many stressful hours to return from the "fishin' trip from hell". Larry did not catch a single fish that whole weekend, and no one caught anything to brag about, but it will always be a memorable trip.

(Not one of the trio has returned to Cedar Bluff lake--they know they can do just as poorly fishing without having to travel nearly so far. John's a little too far away now, but the other two plan to give this lake another try before long.)

 
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