Outdoors with Larry Dablemont: The storm [Part 2]

         At the end of the last column, brothers Roy Wayne and Tom Morton and I were sitting in a cave above the river praying the raging thunderstorm would end soon. I remember Chinese philosopher Confucius saying, “It is better to sit in a cave and watch the storm than to sit in the storm and look for a cave.” Anyway, I think it was him who said that!

We had seined up a good batch of live bait but thank goodness we had not tied out the trotlines yet. If we had, a rising river would likely have taken them that night. It was chilly in the cave because we were so wet, and I was still vibrating slightly from the effect of the lightnin’ bolt which struck the barb wire fence I was straddling minutes before.

An osprey soars above the river, warning us to find shelter as thunderheads boil up above us. (Photo submitted by Larry Dablemont)

An hour later the sun was shining and the three of us were dipping rainwater from the boat, warmed up and enthused again. We paddled up the river against a rising current to our camp a half hour away. Thankfully our old bedraggled mattress, covered with the canvas tarp, was still dry, but nothing else was. With the river rising I didn’t option for setting out trotlines. We got out our fishing rods and dug some night crawlers and began to catch rock bass and yellow suckers out of the dingy-colored current before our camp. At dark we built a nice fire to light up the hot, humid evening, conditions that spelled “a storm is coming” in capital letters.

We had thrown the wet bread into the river and had strung some goggle-eye and suckers when I heard the first thunder rumbling in the distance. About an hour later the tornado siren began to blow in Houston about six or seven miles to the southwest and I began to panic. The course of action seemed clear. 

Preservation! Ten minutes later, I had the old pickup parked in front of Squire Lee’s house, pounding on his door. The storm was close, but Squire Lee, in his nightshirt and cap, came to the door with a kerosene lamp, aroused from his sleep. He did indeed have a cellar but he said it was awful dirty and might be the home for spiders and snakes. I didn’t say anything but I would curl up fairly close to a copperhead rather than be blown away by a tornado. Mr. Lee said to just drive the pickup into his open pole barn, built so solidly it would resist the winds of a hurricane. We did exactly that. 

The damp mattress was comfortable for Roy Wayne, who slept like a baby, but there wasn’t much room on it for Tom and I, who spent much of the night biting our fingernails and praying. The sirens stopped in a little while but the storm didn’t. Best thing is, we stayed dry and somewhat confident that the well-built pole barn would at least weather a high wind if not a tornado. Rain pelted down in buckets.

The day dawned still and foggy, but in time the sun shined brightly through and an hour before noon, I and the Morton brothers joined our parents in church, a bit more attentive and repentant than we had been through past sermons.

And this too is the truth… a year later as a 17-year-old student at School of the Ozarks College, I had my first date, a girl back home who I went home to see in mid-summer. We went to a movie. But a couple weeks later on a beautiful Saturday in June, I took her down to the Ginseng eddy on the Big Piney to set a trotline. I even have a picture of the two of us there in an old johnboat baiting up the line. That particular afternoon I have no idea where the Morton Brothers were.

The above story is an excerpt from the yet unpublished book, “The Life and Times of the Pool Hall Kid.” To see a dozen of my other books and back issues of my magazine, go to the website, larrydablemont.com.