That time when Papa and I went fishing -- Part 2 of 2

The next morning, before sunrise, Papa and I were quietly stepping through the muddy marsh of the Atchafalaya swamplands, carrying our fishing poles, a long-handled net, a fish basket, and a couple of aluminum pails with food for us and bait for the catfish. Papa had a hunting knife hanging from his belt. I wore one of my cousin’s red and black flannel shirts, and Papa wore his favorite green and black flannel shirt. The plaid shirts reminded me of the school uniforms at our school in California, but California seemed like a million miles away at this moment.

Squishhhh. Suuuuck. Squishhhh. Suuuuck. It seemed like the mud was trying to pull off our shoes with every step. Papa’s big boots made deep shapes in the mud, and my sneakers were turning a grimy gray as I squished into Papa’s footsteps.

The natural sounds spoke to me. Some were sounds I recognized — birds, crickets, cicadas, even the mosquitoes that buzzed away from our peppermint oil. We heard the deep croaks from bullfrogs and chattering from little mammals leaping around in the cypress, willow and sycamore trees. Fish leaped out of the water to snatch insects from the air. A light breeze stirred the leaves, and surrounded us with all the smells of the swamp. This was such a special place, I felt like I could stay here forever.

As we approached a fishing spot, Papa hand-signed “good” and pointed to a log we could sit on near a pretty willow tree. We heard the slow flow and soft splash as the murky freshwater found its way around rocks, submerged logs, and active fish.

* * * * *

We didn’t talk a lot while fishing. English wasn’t Papa’s most comfortable language, but moving around in nature was. I followed his movements with my eyes and replicated them with my own arms, legs and hands. Papa used one-handed signs that he had been teaching me and my sisters and cousins since we were little. He pointed to his ear and a creature, reminding me to listen to what that creature’s sounds told us. He pointed to his eye and scat on the ground, reminding me to see that an animal had passed this way earlier. We sat down on the muddy log, which I decided was our sitting log, a few feet from the water’s edge. We baited our hooks with wiggly nightcrawler worms from our bait pail. I giggled softly and covered my mouth, thinking, “What if we mixed up our bait pail with our lunchpail?” Papa smiled gently at my giggles; maybe he could read my silly thoughts.

Papa pointed to a submerged log out in the swampy water and signed “deep”. I watched him snap his long fishing line toward that log, and his hook made a gentle “plop” sound as it went into the water. I aimed the tip of my fishing pole toward the same area of deep water and snapped. Mine didn’t go quite as far as his did, and it didn’t really “plop” like that, yet he nodded and I wriggled with happiness.

A few minutes later, Papa tapped his nose and made a sign with two fingers near his eye. I guessed that the first sign referred to the musty smell now wafting through the air, but I scrunched my eyebrows trying to remember what the second sign meant. Papa smiled gently and pointed half-way up the nearby willow tree. I looked carefully and saw a raccoon there, sitting very still. Then I knew the second sign meant “raccoon” and the musty smell must be its scent. I nodded to Papa and the raccoon, who lived in this swamp and allowed us to visit.

Suddenly, Papa’s fishing pole bent; we both stood up and Papa yanked his fishing pole to set the hook in whatever fish had taken his bait. Then he handed his fishing pole to me, and pulled his line in, hand over hand, with a medium-size catfish on the hook. When it was close to shore, he used the long-handled net to scoop up the fish and bring it in so he could remove the hook and put it into the fish basket that we had set behind the sitting log. Just then, my fishing pole bent. I yanked to set the hook; Papa signed “again”, so I yanked again to be certain the hook was set. Then I handed him my fishing pole and pulled my line in, hand over hand, revealing a medium-small catfish on the hook. It was small enough that I didn’t need the net to scoop it up, so I looked at Papa to see if it was big enough to keep. He nodded yes and signed “good”, with a big smile. After both fish were in the fish basket, Papa paused with the fish basket top open and put his hands on each catfish, murmuring a prayer of gratitude that they would nourish our family.

* * * * *

We fished for a while, on and near the sitting log, catching about six catfish of mostly medium size. Then we paused to rinse off our hands, and eat our breakfast from the lunchpail. We ate biscuits with fried eggs and chunks of ham, shared a large fig, and then we each drank several gulps of clean water from the mason jar that Ma had packed in the lunchpail for us. As we ate, I pointed to various creatures and plants, and Papa taught me signs for each. We saw ducks and bass swimming by, and those hand-signs were new for me. Rabbits and two deer appeared, also, and I remembered their signs from years before. We walked to our right, closer to the water’s edge. As a long snake slithered by in the swampy water, we noticed a small turtle on a partly-submerged log, catching early rays as the sun just began to rise.

Papa spoke softly. “That is luksi, the name we called your grand-grandmother, and the name we call you,” he said gently.

“Luksi means turtle, right?” I asked, and used my two hands to make the sign for turtle.

“Yes. I’m glad you remember,” Papa replied as he gazed at the turtle on the log.

“I like turtles. What do they eat in the swamp?” I asked.

“Floating plants like those,” Papa pointed to blobs of green in the water, “and leaves from the cypress and willow trees. As they get bigger, they eat little snakes, crawdads, and guppies.”

Then, as though it heard us talking about tasty foods, the small turtle raised its head and slipped into the water to go find some snacks. We both nodded goodbye to the turtle, who lived in this swamp and allowed us to visit.

We walked back to our sitting log and Papa opened the bait pail. He took out something wrapped in corn husks. It had a strong smell like blood and dirt, so I leaned forward to see closer as he unwrapped it. I touched my nose and pointed to the reddish-brown blob in the corn husks, looking up at Papa as he signed near a region of his stomach area and said, softly, “chicken liver”. I watched as he put the bundle of corn husks down on our sitting log and used his hunting knife to cut the liver blob into smaller pieces. I practiced the new sign for “chicken liver”, and got my hook ready to try this new bait. Papa also pulled some clamshell weights out of his pocket and added those to our fishing lines. He signed “deep” again, twice, and I understood that these weights would take our new bait into a deeper fishing hole.

We cast close to the log where the small turtle was resting earlier. The sun was rising, now, and the swamp was bathed in pale sunlight.

* * * * *

Papa quickly got a bite on his line that seemed to bend his fishing pole into a curve. I put my fishing pole on the ground, under my feet, so I could hold onto his fishing pole while he pulled in his line. It was a heavy fish, fighting to get away. Papa tugged a bandana out of his back pocket and slid it along the line so that the line wouldn’t cut into his hands. When the big, flopping catfish was near the surface of the water, Papa grabbed the long-handled net and slid it under the fish. I could feel a twitch on my fishing pole, through my muddy sneakers, so I quickly handed Papa his fishing pole, snatched up my fishing pole from the ground, and yanked it twice to set the hook. Papa put his fish on the ground behind the sitting log, and turned to help me with mine by taking the pole so I could pull in the line. I used his bandana to slide along my fishing line as I started pulling in the largest catfish I had ever caught. It was fighting, I was fighting, and I was determined to win. When I reached for the net, though, the catfish gave one more vigorous plunge for deep water and yanked me onto my face in the mud. But I did not let go of that fishing line, and I dragged that catfish out of the water. I hauled it up and over the sitting log, so it could not get back to the water, and sure enough, my fish was even bigger than Papa’s!

Wiping mud off of my face, I looked at the huge catfish I’d caught. Then I looked at the front of my clothes completely covered in slimy mud, and I just started giggling. Papa started laughing too. “Bon fille!” He said as he picked me up into a hug, which got mud all over his clothes. Then we really couldn’t stop laughing, so we covered our faces with our flannel shirts to smother the noise. It was the funniest moment, and the proudest moment. Also, that catfish had earned my full respect.

Eventually, we got the two big catfish settled in our fish basket with our prayers of gratitude that they would nourish our family. We leaned our fishing poles against the willow tree so we could rest for a minute, and we watched as a very large turtle crawled onto the partly-submerged log we had just fished. This turtle was huge; the length of its shell was maybe four of Papa’s hands. We both sat and watched it, as it gracefully settled itself on top of the log and rested in a ray of sunshine. Now I felt honored to be there, to see this majestic turtle.

Papa spoke to me softly. “Your Grandma Luksi. She was my mother, your grand-grandmother. She loved the turtles. She knew all the different kinds of turtles ‘round here. She would watch them as they lived. While they swam, diving deep for food or coming up for air. While they chewed on grass or rested, snatched guppies out’ the water, laid their eggs in mounds on the shore. The baby turtles, they hatched and crawled into the swamp to grow up. She would watch them all the time, year-round. She made wood carvings and baskets with pictures of turtles, to honor them. She counted them, all the different kinds of turtles ‘round here. She told us when it was time to leave them be for a season or two seasons, because there were too few. Do you understand, Lil’ Bit?”

“They were her friends?” I asked, matching his soft tone. I had never ever heard Papa say so many words, all at once.

“Yes, they were her friends,” Papa replied, “And now, again, there are too few. So we don’t catch them. We leave them be. We protect them, so they can raise more baby turtles.”

“I understand, Papa.” I paused before asking the question I’d wondered for a long time. “But I never saw Grandma Luksi, right? And she never saw me?”

“She didn’t see you in this world, Luksi, because she passed over to the other side a few months before you were born,” he said, looking into my eyes. “But she sees you every day from the other side.” He patted my shoulder. “She lives in you. And she lives in me, and your Ma and your sisters. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Papa, I understand.” And I did. I understood.

We continued to watch our friend, the huge turtle, as it rested on the log in the water. I pointed to it and hand-signed to Papa — “grandpa turtle”. His whole face crinkled with a deep smile and he nodded.

* * * * *

The swamp was alive with sights, sounds and smells. I had more questions about everything in the swamp, but I didn’t know enough signs to ask my questions yet. What kind of turtle was the small one we saw earlier, and what kind is this grandpa turtle? And that white bird over there, with the long legs, stepping gingerly through the swamp water; what kind of bird is that? Is this swamp connected to the ocean water, because I remember that we also caught catfish in the pond and that’s freshwater. As another snake swam by, I wondered how we can know which snakes are poisonous and which ones are not? All these questions would have to wait, because this was not the time for a lot of talking. This was the time to mostly be quiet, like nature.

Over to the left, near the original log we had fished, I saw a movement that caught my attention. Two bulging globes of yellow and black floated slowly across the swamp, on a long paddle-shaped piece of wood. No, it moved. It wasn’t wood. It was … I silently touched Papa’s arm, used my two hands to sign “alligator”, then pointed to the moving yellow globes. The massive alligator was heading toward our friend, the grandpa turtle!

Papa stood up, suddenly, clapping his hands loudly and stomping one heavy boot into the muddy shoreline, shouting, “Eh là, eh là! Gator, gator! Eh là, eh là!” I instantly joined in the noise-making, clapping, stomping and shouting, “Eh là, eh là! Gator, gator! Eh là, eh là!” Flocks of startled birds rose from the trees around us. I covered my head as hundreds of wings whooshed by — brown feathers, yellow, gray, blue, black, white, so many feathers — as the birds squawked and chirped their alarm. Bird poop was plopping down everywhere in drippy white splashes. We woke up the whole swamp with our noise and our stomping.

The alligator paused for a few seconds. I thought it would turn away, but instead it resumed its slow travel toward the turtle. The turtle was still resting in a ray of sunlight on the partly-submerged log, undisturbed by our noise.

Papa turned to me and said, “Throw one of the big catfish as far as you can, over the head of the alligator. Use two hands to throw it. Don’t fall in the water. I’ll go poke the turtle.”

I reached into the fish basket, grabbed the biggest of the catfish with both my hands, and ran to the edge of the swampy water. I planted my feet with one forward and one back, and I heaved the fish as hard as I could in an arc toward the alligator. It sailed over the alligator and landed on the far side with a big splash. I had no idea I could throw that far! I looked around and saw Papa standing in the water (what about the snakes?!), using the thick end of his fishing pole to push the sleepy turtle off the log and away from the alligator. I bet that turtle was surprised to suddenly find itself swimming. Papa returned to my side in three long strides and moved me back from the water’s edge. We watched the massive alligator swing around to its left, snap its jaws around the catfish, and continue moving away in that direction. Thank you again, catfish, for being a different meal than we planned, and we’re grateful that you saved the grandpa turtle.

After all that noise and excitement, Papa and I settled back down on the sitting log. Quiet descended, again, on the swamp in the early morning sunlight. We caught a few more big catfish with our smelly liver bait — enough for a lively fish fry for our extended family — and expressed our gratitude to each catfish we put into the fishing basket. Eventually we packed up our gear and, covered in mud and bird poop, we squished our way back through the swamp to go home.

* * * * *

I learned so much that morning. I loved my grandfather more than ever. I loved the feeling of being in nature, even with the mud and mosquitoes and everything. I loved the connection to my grand-grandmother, and how she studied, loved and protected the turtles. I loved my unique name. And now, all these years later, all my ancestors are still with me as I continue to study, love and protect the turtles. There are too few.

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