April 21, 2023 • 21 mins
Welcome to episode one of This Country Life! Today, we meet your host Brent Reaves: a family man and life long outdoorsman whose familial roots in rural Arkansas can be traced back over 150 years. As a way of introduction, Brent shares two of his favorite stories, taking us from schoolyard hi-jinx to riding out a lightning storm in a washed-out muskrat burrow. You're not gonna want to miss this addition to the Bear Grease lineup.
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Episode Transcript
Available transcripts are automatically generated. Complete accuracy is not guaranteed.
Speaker 1 (00:05):
Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves.
From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
I want you to stay a while as I share
my stories and the country skills that will help you
beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as
part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best
(00:25):
outdoor podcast the airways have to offer. All right, friends,
pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I
think I got a thing or two to teach you.
Welcome to meat Eaters This Country Life Podcast with me
Brent Reeves. Some of you may know me from my
(00:46):
Shenanigans on the Bear Grease Render with my buddy Klay Nukelem,
but most of you are probably saying, who is this
cat and why should I be listening to him? Well,
I'm going to tell you because I know stuff about
living in the country, and on the podcast, I'm going
to tell you the stories you need to hear and
teach you the country skills that will help you beat
the system. Folks that know me are saying, Brent, you've
(01:09):
been a police officer for over thirty years. What do
you mean beat the system? Maybe nonconformity is a better
way to approach it. Miss Roberts, my eleventh grade English teacher,
called me a walking example of a nonconformist. I'm not
talking about dodging the draft, not having good manners, or
cheating on your taxes. I'm talking about that good old
(01:31):
country common sense that goes against all what I call
corporate thinking. I like doing my own thing, and that's
the best results for everyone. This show could be a
weekly focus of one sad story after another relating to
my job. After all, folks don't call nine one one
to spread good news. It's a daily grind of seeing
(01:52):
even the best people at their worst times, day after day.
But we ain't gonna do that. We're going to focus
on the good days and the lessons learned in everyday
country life. And I'll throw a police story in there
too when it's appropriate. After this introductory episode where I
tell you who I am and a little about myself,
(02:12):
I'm gonna start the rest of them by telling y'all
what the topic of the week is, what you can
expect to learn before it's over, and then hit you
with a story to get you good and settled. And
then we're going to jump in with both feet by
the country skill. Everyone should know. Hunting, fishing, and just
general country living is what we're going to be talking about.
If it can be done in rural America, it's fair
(02:35):
game on the list, and the lessons learned can usually
be applied everywhere here we go. I grew up on
a small farm in southeast Arkansas, and my whole world
hinged on my next adventure in the outdoors. I love
(02:56):
to hunt anything and everything. I ran a trapline before
catching the bus during the winter. From age twelve until
I graduated high school, we rode horses and hunting squirrels
with dogs. They'd also bay hogs. As a matter of fact,
we hunted just about everything with dogs other than turkeys.
Mountain curves, walkers, pointers, and labradors were what we used
(03:18):
most for hunting squirrels, coons, quails, ducks, deer, and codies. Also,
there wasn't a bluegill, brim bass, or catfish safe that
swam anywhere near the tippid waters of Cleveland County. My
family's heritage and legacy in that part of Arkansas dates
back to when it became a state, and hunting, fishing,
(03:39):
and farming wasn't just a way of life. It was
the only way of life. The Saline River, that most
holy stretch of water that runs from north to south
through the heart of Cleveland County, remains to this day
the life blood of my family's past and the focus
of our future. The boat ramp that we frequented most
(04:03):
is named the Lloyd Wilton Buddy Reeves Seline River access
by the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission in honor of
my father, a never ending tribute to him and my
family's love for that spot on Mother Earth. My ancestors
depended on the fishing game that lived in and along
this Washita River tributary, and I was fully convinced as
(04:25):
a child that we owned it and had since the
first trickle of water found its way through those woods.
My first memories are there amongst my family and those
river bottoms. There were two seasons in my mind, hunting
and fishing. Neither one involved school. I didn't really mind school,
(04:46):
I just didn't have time for it. There were traps
to be set and run, fish to be caught, and
creeks to be explored. Everything that I considered fun and
sitting in a schoolhouse wasn't one of them, which reminds
me of a story. Pretty well, how these weekly visits
are going to go. I'm going to start talking about
something that will remind me of something else, and I'm
(05:06):
going to tell you about it and then get back
to the main subject I started with. Now, I promise
it ain't going to be confusing. The whole thing ain't
gonna last but about twenty minutes, So just relax and
hang on. The story I'm reminded of happened when I
was in the sixth grade. The friends that I'd see
and play with was the only reason I would get
on the bus to go every day. That and my
(05:28):
mama would give me a whooping if I didn't. But
on this particular day, I had a plan. An unnamed
friend of mine and I had noticed every day when
we got to school, me getting off the bus and
him getting out of his mama's car because he lived
in town, that the pot latched train that traveled from
one side of town to the other hauling wood chips
from the sawmill to the steam powerhouse and bunks of
(05:51):
lumber to the dry hills, passed by the school, and
the tracks were only a short distance from the front door.
Every morning was the same get off the bus stand
in front of the school, aggravate girls. The bell would
ring all the younguns and the duty teacher would go inside,
and the potlatch train would roll by at a blistering
(06:12):
pace a puppet could keep up with. From the front
door to the railroad track was less than forty yards.
In addition, the train would come back about fifteen minutes
before the bell rang to go home every day. These
facts had not gone unnoticed by myself or my associate.
I don't know how many days we planned it, but
(06:34):
it was several. Everything had to be perfect. The two
main things that had to happen was the duty teacher
needed to go in before we did, and the train
had to be right on time. It was a Wednesday,
the third morning before it all came together. Now, this
wasn't our first foray into fight in the system, so
(06:54):
the regular duty teacher was adamanty that US two go
in before she did, amongst all that cackling heard of
fifth and sixth graders. But on Wednesday we had a substitute,
and apparently she didn't get the memo operations see you later.
Chumps was a goat. It was perfect in every way.
(07:18):
I saw the sub when I got off the bus.
My buddy was already there, grinning like a baked possum.
We knew that freedom was only one more step away.
And as the bell rang, that old familiar sound of
that squeaking, rumbling train echoed around the corner of the schoolhouse.
It was go time. We lagged behind the teacher who'd
gone in amongst a large group of kids, and slipped
(07:40):
around the corner and waved at the engineer as he
drove past. We hopped on the last box car and
rode it to the depot that was conveniently in the
dead center of town, a block off Main Street, right
beside the YMCA Little League Field, in a short walk
from my buddy's house. We went to his house, crawled
in a window, and tried to watch TV, but back
(08:02):
then there was only three channels, and every one of
them had some kind of soap opera playing. So we
went down to the town branch, and there wasn't enough
water running in it to float a stick, no snakes
to catch, no frog eggs to chunk at one another,
so we decided we'd just go eat. Now. My partner
had some money, and he sprung for our dinner, and
that's what we called the new meal, and we edit
(08:24):
at the Wayne's Cafe on the Square in downtown Warren, Arkansas.
We shot a couple of games of pool and pinball
in the back of the building while the old men
that were regular smoked cigarettes and solved the world's problems.
They were oblivious to our presence. Coincidentally, next door was
the bank where my mama was busy working, and assuming
(08:46):
I was in the school, we decided to leave. As
we walked out the front door, I poked all the
money I had left in the cigarette machine and skipped
out the door fifty cents poor and a pack of
Lucky Strikes richer. We walked in broad daylight down the
side walk, in front of God and everybody in a
town where everyone knew everyone, and not one soul said
a word to us or told our parents they'd seen
(09:08):
us in town when we were supposed to be in school.
We made it back to the depot, climbed up in
an open top box car, and waited for the train
that told us back across town to the schoolhouse. We
were sitting on tons of pine chips about the size
of a half dollar, smoking lucky strikes like they wasn't
going to make them anymore. When the train jerked and
(09:29):
commenced us take us back across town. We rode along,
looking at the sites over the top of that box
car like we were riding on the City of New
Orleans instead of the warning Saline River Railroad. When we
got back across town, we climbed down the ladder on
the opposite side of the school, bailed off the train
at the exact spot we got on it that morning,
(09:50):
waited while the train rolled on by it and hidding
the bushes till the bell rang. When it did, we
walked across the tracks to the school and blended into
that stem. He the children that poured out of that
building like it was on fire. He got in the
car rider line, and I walked up on the bus
like my name was on the title. It was absolutely
the most fool proof plan I'd ever devise, even up
(10:12):
till now. My pals on the school bus immediately recognized
my achievement after not seeing me all day, and gave
me the proper respect that afford it by not saying
a word about it. We could have been caught at
any turn, but for reasons unknown to either of us.
We weren't. We never got caught. No one would know
(10:32):
about it if I hadn't just fessed up to it.
Two young lads not quite twelve years old had conspired
to beat the system, and we did. They both would
grow up and be involved in law enforcement, me on
the badge tote in the end and him on the other.
I think about it sometimes, and I wonder how it
come to him growing up and violating the law and
(10:55):
me making a living out of enforcment. I don't have
an answer. All I know for sure is if it
had to be one of us going rogue, I'm glad
it was him, all right. I've been a police officer
in the state of Arkansas since nineteen ninety one. I've
(11:17):
worked everything from patrol, swat undercovered narcotics, burglaries, homicides, you
name it, I've done it. I've served with some fine folks,
some real heroes, and I think I've seen just about
every kind of person there is, the good ones, the
bad ones, and all those in between. I've been in
a few tight spots when I didn't know if I
(11:38):
was going to make it back home, which reminds me
of a perilous story that has absolutely nothing to do
with law enforcement. But peril is peril. There ain't no
difference to the dead man it being dead at the
hands of some outlaw or a dangerous thunderstorm in the
middle of the Arkansas River. I spent cal t less
(12:00):
hours with my older brother Tim chasing animals, none so
much as waterfowl. To catch these beautiful creatures, one must
implore the use of many different types of equipment that
usually includes waiters, firearms, boats, ATVs. And to be successful,
you must be in the places ducks like to gold
like rivers, lakes, reservoirs, et cetera. All of these items
(12:24):
and the places you use them have one thing in common.
They are all capable of killing you if you use
them the wrong way or if you don't respect them.
I've come close to migrating to that great duck blind
in the sky on more than one occasion. This is
one particular one that comes to mind. It was opening
day in the late eighties. Tim and I were sitting
(12:46):
under the Pendleton Bridge, which crosses the mighty Arkansas River,
well before daylight, trying to wait on a thunderstorm to
go by our boat was ready to launch our gear,
placed it in its appropriate spot, decoys sacked up and
loaded in the boat, and each of us anxious to
get to the morning's hunt and get the duck season started.
My black lab Anne was also anticipating, and she just
(13:10):
walking back and forth under that bridge looking at me
like saying, you know, come on, let's go. Darkansas River
has claimed many lives, and Tim and I have been
on it before when storms blew in and it's not
safe to be navigating the river when mother nature's letting
off a little steam. We impatiently waited in about forty
five minutes before sun up, the rain stopped, the clouds
(13:32):
broke apart, and we launched the boat for the fifteen
minute ride upriver to our spot. We made our way
to the place that we picked out, relieved that the
weather had improved, and looked forward to a good hunt now.
When we got there, we quickly set up the decoys,
finished preparing for the hunt just as the sun started
(13:53):
to brighten the horizon. I can recall a few ducks
flying that morning. I think I think we only killed
like a green wing till or two before they absolutely
just stopped flying. The storm that morning had moved in
from the southwest, dropped an enormous amount of rain, blew
the rest of the leaves off the trees, and left
nearly as fast as it had approached. Unbeknownst to us,
(14:17):
the storm we like to refer to now as Hurricane
Muskrat was just warming up and getting ready to put
on a big show. The second storm came with twice
the ferocity of the first one. It rolled right over
the type of us. We quickly loaded the boat with
our gear, grabbed the dog, and headed for the boat ramp.
(14:40):
As we tried to make our way down river, the
wind was blown right in our face and against the current,
building two and three foot waves that washed over front
of the boat, soaking everything that was dry and filling
our boat like a water trough. I knew we'd never
make it to the boat ramp, so I turned the
boat toward a small sandbar and headed there ast as
(15:00):
I could. I ran the boat up on the sand
and Tim and Ann and I sprinted to a small
depression that held about three inches of water. Muskrats had
tunneled into one end of the pothole, and the river
had broken through. When the water level was higher and
allowed it to drain, exposing the pothole like it was
like a shallow soup bowl. We hunkered down near the
(15:21):
down current end of the pothole, and putting our backs
to the bank, attempted to light as flat as we could.
The wind was blown so hard that it was raining sideways,
and the lightning that came with it was purple frequent
and Buddy, it was way too close. Lightning was striking
the sandbar, and we could feel the concussions of thunder,
(15:43):
and that was the only thing that drowned out the
noise of the wind in the rain. I was scared.
Tim looked up the bank of the pothole and saw
a muskrat then that had partially washed out below the
rim and offered a little more protection from the storm.
The washout was about three feet wide, and the top
of the bank hung over the opening like a little cave. Now,
(16:05):
on a normal day, a small child wouldn't have had
enough room to sit in there and play. On this day, me,
Tim didn't have any problem getting in there and still
had room to include the dog. The storm got so
bad that I started worrying about the river washing the
boat away. Had that happened, we would have literally been
up the creek without a paddle or a boat from
(16:27):
which to paddle it. I told Tim that I was
going to check on the boat, which was like less
than one hundred yards from our shelter across the sandbar,
but you couldn't see it because of how hard it
was raining. I took off of the boat and Anne
took off with me. The wind blew her sideways, and
then it blew her off her feet as she tried
to stay at my heel. So I went back to
(16:49):
the muskrat then and told her to stay with Tim.
I found the boat and it was completely swamped and
going nowhere. The weight of the water had welded it
to the sandbar. Ran fast as I could back to
Tim and Anne and staying as low as I could
while lightning was hitting all around me, and promising to
live my life in a better fashion if I could
(17:09):
just live to see another day. Crawling back into that
foot and half space made me realize that fear and
love of life are ample motivators when it comes to
accomplishing of gold. The water level in that pothole was
about three inches when we first crawled in. When we
got out of it. It it risen over two feet.
This storm only lasted about forty minutes, but as fast
(17:31):
as it started, dislike the other one, it ended. The
rain stopped, the wind died down, and the clouds began
to clear. We emptied our boat, made it back to
the ramp and headed to Star City, Arkansas. That was
the closest place we knew of that had a washing area.
You might call it a launder mat, but whatever you
call it, it was our only hope to get our
(17:52):
clothes dried so we could hunt that afternoon. I told Tim,
we just robe in the launder mat, put our waiters on,
and wait for clothes to drive. Thirty minutes later, we
slid to a stop in front of the washingteria. The
windows were fogged over from the cold outside and the
(18:14):
warm inside. We were freezing, and when we walked in,
the heat from those dryers felt so good on my
skin that I came out of those waiters and commenced
to peeling off layer after layer of wet clothes, and
Tim was busy doing the same. We were two rows
of washing machines away from the front door. We just
walked in. We got down to our union suits about
(18:36):
the same time, you know, the red ones with the
flaps in the back. These were the only garments standing
between us and nudity. But since no one else was
there and no one could see through the windows, we
both just hunkered down behind the row washing machines that
was going to completely hide us and everything you're not
supposed to scratch in public, and started unbuttoning our thumrels.
(18:57):
It was at this time that one of the three laddies,
who were all sitting in a row and unnoticed beside
the door we just walked in, said boys, are you
all going to charge us anything for this? If I'd
have had anywhere to go, that would have been my
cue to get gone. Tim looked at me, bug eyed
and squeaked out, no, ma'am, and they started laughing. They
(19:22):
turned their heads, held up some newspapers and continued to
laugh while we slipped back into our waiters and crammed
all our clothes and the biggest dryer in there. We
had absolutely not seen them, and I rushed to get
in there to get warm and dry. And normally you
go home after a start like that, but we didn't.
It was opening day and we beat the system first
(19:43):
of all, by living then getting dry and only changing
our location, not our plans to go hunting. Of course,
if we'd had some extra clothes with us, I wouldn't
even be telling this story. Now, that's a couple examples
(20:04):
of who I am. You'll be learning more about me
and my life experiences as we go along. First and foremost,
I'm a husband, a father, and a grandfather, and those
are the best jobs I've ever been blessed to have.
I'm also an outdoor videographer writer that's been fortunate enough
to travel to some amazing places to capture on him
(20:24):
some incredible hunts. Helping people and having fun. That's what
I like to do, and that's what I'm going to
continue to do. That's what this whole podcast is about.
And if we can't do both every week, I bet
we can do one or the other. My dad told
me when I was a little boy that there's no
place you'll ever be that you can't have fun, and
if the place you are ain't fun, then you make
(20:47):
it fun. I ain't ever forgot that, and that's how
I try to live my life. So if you like
hearing stories and want to learn a country skill, or
two that can impress your friends, maybe raise your credit
score and help you beat the system. I expect to
see you here next week. Bring a friend and an
extra set of clothes. You might need them. This is
(21:07):
Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful.
Welcome to This Country Life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves.
From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living.
I want you to stay a while as I share
my stories and the country skills that will help you
beat the system. This Country Life is proudly presented as
part of Meat Eaters Podcast Network, bringing you the best
(00:25):
outdoor podcast the airways have to offer. All right, friends,
pull you up a chair or drop that tailgate. I
think I got a thing or two to teach you.
Welcome to meat Eaters This Country Life Podcast with me
Brent Reeves. Some of you may know me from my
(00:46):
Shenanigans on the Bear Grease Render with my buddy Klay Nukelem,
but most of you are probably saying, who is this
cat and why should I be listening to him? Well,
I'm going to tell you because I know stuff about
living in the country, and on the podcast, I'm going
to tell you the stories you need to hear and
teach you the country skills that will help you beat
the system. Folks that know me are saying, Brent, you've
(01:09):
been a police officer for over thirty years. What do
you mean beat the system? Maybe nonconformity is a better
way to approach it. Miss Roberts, my eleventh grade English teacher,
called me a walking example of a nonconformist. I'm not
talking about dodging the draft, not having good manners, or
cheating on your taxes. I'm talking about that good old
(01:31):
country common sense that goes against all what I call
corporate thinking. I like doing my own thing, and that's
the best results for everyone. This show could be a
weekly focus of one sad story after another relating to
my job. After all, folks don't call nine one one
to spread good news. It's a daily grind of seeing
(01:52):
even the best people at their worst times, day after day.
But we ain't gonna do that. We're going to focus
on the good days and the lessons learned in everyday
country life. And I'll throw a police story in there
too when it's appropriate. After this introductory episode where I
tell you who I am and a little about myself,
(02:12):
I'm gonna start the rest of them by telling y'all
what the topic of the week is, what you can
expect to learn before it's over, and then hit you
with a story to get you good and settled. And
then we're going to jump in with both feet by
the country skill. Everyone should know. Hunting, fishing, and just
general country living is what we're going to be talking about.
If it can be done in rural America, it's fair
(02:35):
game on the list, and the lessons learned can usually
be applied everywhere here we go. I grew up on
a small farm in southeast Arkansas, and my whole world
hinged on my next adventure in the outdoors. I love
(02:56):
to hunt anything and everything. I ran a trapline before
catching the bus during the winter. From age twelve until
I graduated high school, we rode horses and hunting squirrels
with dogs. They'd also bay hogs. As a matter of fact,
we hunted just about everything with dogs other than turkeys.
Mountain curves, walkers, pointers, and labradors were what we used
(03:18):
most for hunting squirrels, coons, quails, ducks, deer, and codies. Also,
there wasn't a bluegill, brim bass, or catfish safe that
swam anywhere near the tippid waters of Cleveland County. My
family's heritage and legacy in that part of Arkansas dates
back to when it became a state, and hunting, fishing,
(03:39):
and farming wasn't just a way of life. It was
the only way of life. The Saline River, that most
holy stretch of water that runs from north to south
through the heart of Cleveland County, remains to this day
the life blood of my family's past and the focus
of our future. The boat ramp that we frequented most
(04:03):
is named the Lloyd Wilton Buddy Reeves Seline River access
by the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission in honor of
my father, a never ending tribute to him and my
family's love for that spot on Mother Earth. My ancestors
depended on the fishing game that lived in and along
this Washita River tributary, and I was fully convinced as
(04:25):
a child that we owned it and had since the
first trickle of water found its way through those woods.
My first memories are there amongst my family and those
river bottoms. There were two seasons in my mind, hunting
and fishing. Neither one involved school. I didn't really mind school,
(04:46):
I just didn't have time for it. There were traps
to be set and run, fish to be caught, and
creeks to be explored. Everything that I considered fun and
sitting in a schoolhouse wasn't one of them, which reminds
me of a story. Pretty well, how these weekly visits
are going to go. I'm going to start talking about
something that will remind me of something else, and I'm
(05:06):
going to tell you about it and then get back
to the main subject I started with. Now, I promise
it ain't going to be confusing. The whole thing ain't
gonna last but about twenty minutes, So just relax and
hang on. The story I'm reminded of happened when I
was in the sixth grade. The friends that I'd see
and play with was the only reason I would get
on the bus to go every day. That and my
(05:28):
mama would give me a whooping if I didn't. But
on this particular day, I had a plan. An unnamed
friend of mine and I had noticed every day when
we got to school, me getting off the bus and
him getting out of his mama's car because he lived
in town, that the pot latched train that traveled from
one side of town to the other hauling wood chips
from the sawmill to the steam powerhouse and bunks of
(05:51):
lumber to the dry hills, passed by the school, and
the tracks were only a short distance from the front door.
Every morning was the same get off the bus stand
in front of the school, aggravate girls. The bell would
ring all the younguns and the duty teacher would go inside,
and the potlatch train would roll by at a blistering
(06:12):
pace a puppet could keep up with. From the front
door to the railroad track was less than forty yards.
In addition, the train would come back about fifteen minutes
before the bell rang to go home every day. These
facts had not gone unnoticed by myself or my associate.
I don't know how many days we planned it, but
(06:34):
it was several. Everything had to be perfect. The two
main things that had to happen was the duty teacher
needed to go in before we did, and the train
had to be right on time. It was a Wednesday,
the third morning before it all came together. Now, this
wasn't our first foray into fight in the system, so
(06:54):
the regular duty teacher was adamanty that US two go
in before she did, amongst all that cackling heard of
fifth and sixth graders. But on Wednesday we had a substitute,
and apparently she didn't get the memo operations see you later.
Chumps was a goat. It was perfect in every way.
(07:18):
I saw the sub when I got off the bus.
My buddy was already there, grinning like a baked possum.
We knew that freedom was only one more step away.
And as the bell rang, that old familiar sound of
that squeaking, rumbling train echoed around the corner of the schoolhouse.
It was go time. We lagged behind the teacher who'd
gone in amongst a large group of kids, and slipped
(07:40):
around the corner and waved at the engineer as he
drove past. We hopped on the last box car and
rode it to the depot that was conveniently in the
dead center of town, a block off Main Street, right
beside the YMCA Little League Field, in a short walk
from my buddy's house. We went to his house, crawled
in a window, and tried to watch TV, but back
(08:02):
then there was only three channels, and every one of
them had some kind of soap opera playing. So we
went down to the town branch, and there wasn't enough
water running in it to float a stick, no snakes
to catch, no frog eggs to chunk at one another,
so we decided we'd just go eat. Now. My partner
had some money, and he sprung for our dinner, and
that's what we called the new meal, and we edit
(08:24):
at the Wayne's Cafe on the Square in downtown Warren, Arkansas.
We shot a couple of games of pool and pinball
in the back of the building while the old men
that were regular smoked cigarettes and solved the world's problems.
They were oblivious to our presence. Coincidentally, next door was
the bank where my mama was busy working, and assuming
(08:46):
I was in the school, we decided to leave. As
we walked out the front door, I poked all the
money I had left in the cigarette machine and skipped
out the door fifty cents poor and a pack of
Lucky Strikes richer. We walked in broad daylight down the
side walk, in front of God and everybody in a
town where everyone knew everyone, and not one soul said
a word to us or told our parents they'd seen
(09:08):
us in town when we were supposed to be in school.
We made it back to the depot, climbed up in
an open top box car, and waited for the train
that told us back across town to the schoolhouse. We
were sitting on tons of pine chips about the size
of a half dollar, smoking lucky strikes like they wasn't
going to make them anymore. When the train jerked and
(09:29):
commenced us take us back across town. We rode along,
looking at the sites over the top of that box
car like we were riding on the City of New
Orleans instead of the warning Saline River Railroad. When we
got back across town, we climbed down the ladder on
the opposite side of the school, bailed off the train
at the exact spot we got on it that morning,
(09:50):
waited while the train rolled on by it and hidding
the bushes till the bell rang. When it did, we
walked across the tracks to the school and blended into
that stem. He the children that poured out of that
building like it was on fire. He got in the
car rider line, and I walked up on the bus
like my name was on the title. It was absolutely
the most fool proof plan I'd ever devise, even up
(10:12):
till now. My pals on the school bus immediately recognized
my achievement after not seeing me all day, and gave
me the proper respect that afford it by not saying
a word about it. We could have been caught at
any turn, but for reasons unknown to either of us.
We weren't. We never got caught. No one would know
(10:32):
about it if I hadn't just fessed up to it.
Two young lads not quite twelve years old had conspired
to beat the system, and we did. They both would
grow up and be involved in law enforcement, me on
the badge tote in the end and him on the other.
I think about it sometimes, and I wonder how it
come to him growing up and violating the law and
(10:55):
me making a living out of enforcment. I don't have
an answer. All I know for sure is if it
had to be one of us going rogue, I'm glad
it was him, all right. I've been a police officer
in the state of Arkansas since nineteen ninety one. I've
(11:17):
worked everything from patrol, swat undercovered narcotics, burglaries, homicides, you
name it, I've done it. I've served with some fine folks,
some real heroes, and I think I've seen just about
every kind of person there is, the good ones, the
bad ones, and all those in between. I've been in
a few tight spots when I didn't know if I
(11:38):
was going to make it back home, which reminds me
of a perilous story that has absolutely nothing to do
with law enforcement. But peril is peril. There ain't no
difference to the dead man it being dead at the
hands of some outlaw or a dangerous thunderstorm in the
middle of the Arkansas River. I spent cal t less
(12:00):
hours with my older brother Tim chasing animals, none so
much as waterfowl. To catch these beautiful creatures, one must
implore the use of many different types of equipment that
usually includes waiters, firearms, boats, ATVs. And to be successful,
you must be in the places ducks like to gold
like rivers, lakes, reservoirs, et cetera. All of these items
(12:24):
and the places you use them have one thing in common.
They are all capable of killing you if you use
them the wrong way or if you don't respect them.
I've come close to migrating to that great duck blind
in the sky on more than one occasion. This is
one particular one that comes to mind. It was opening
day in the late eighties. Tim and I were sitting
(12:46):
under the Pendleton Bridge, which crosses the mighty Arkansas River,
well before daylight, trying to wait on a thunderstorm to
go by our boat was ready to launch our gear,
placed it in its appropriate spot, decoys sacked up and
loaded in the boat, and each of us anxious to
get to the morning's hunt and get the duck season started.
My black lab Anne was also anticipating, and she just
(13:10):
walking back and forth under that bridge looking at me
like saying, you know, come on, let's go. Darkansas River
has claimed many lives, and Tim and I have been
on it before when storms blew in and it's not
safe to be navigating the river when mother nature's letting
off a little steam. We impatiently waited in about forty
five minutes before sun up, the rain stopped, the clouds
(13:32):
broke apart, and we launched the boat for the fifteen
minute ride upriver to our spot. We made our way
to the place that we picked out, relieved that the
weather had improved, and looked forward to a good hunt now.
When we got there, we quickly set up the decoys,
finished preparing for the hunt just as the sun started
(13:53):
to brighten the horizon. I can recall a few ducks
flying that morning. I think I think we only killed
like a green wing till or two before they absolutely
just stopped flying. The storm that morning had moved in
from the southwest, dropped an enormous amount of rain, blew
the rest of the leaves off the trees, and left
nearly as fast as it had approached. Unbeknownst to us,
(14:17):
the storm we like to refer to now as Hurricane
Muskrat was just warming up and getting ready to put
on a big show. The second storm came with twice
the ferocity of the first one. It rolled right over
the type of us. We quickly loaded the boat with
our gear, grabbed the dog, and headed for the boat ramp.
(14:40):
As we tried to make our way down river, the
wind was blown right in our face and against the current,
building two and three foot waves that washed over front
of the boat, soaking everything that was dry and filling
our boat like a water trough. I knew we'd never
make it to the boat ramp, so I turned the
boat toward a small sandbar and headed there ast as
(15:00):
I could. I ran the boat up on the sand
and Tim and Ann and I sprinted to a small
depression that held about three inches of water. Muskrats had
tunneled into one end of the pothole, and the river
had broken through. When the water level was higher and
allowed it to drain, exposing the pothole like it was
like a shallow soup bowl. We hunkered down near the
(15:21):
down current end of the pothole, and putting our backs
to the bank, attempted to light as flat as we could.
The wind was blown so hard that it was raining sideways,
and the lightning that came with it was purple frequent
and Buddy, it was way too close. Lightning was striking
the sandbar, and we could feel the concussions of thunder,
(15:43):
and that was the only thing that drowned out the
noise of the wind in the rain. I was scared.
Tim looked up the bank of the pothole and saw
a muskrat then that had partially washed out below the
rim and offered a little more protection from the storm.
The washout was about three feet wide, and the top
of the bank hung over the opening like a little cave. Now,
(16:05):
on a normal day, a small child wouldn't have had
enough room to sit in there and play. On this day, me,
Tim didn't have any problem getting in there and still
had room to include the dog. The storm got so
bad that I started worrying about the river washing the
boat away. Had that happened, we would have literally been
up the creek without a paddle or a boat from
(16:27):
which to paddle it. I told Tim that I was
going to check on the boat, which was like less
than one hundred yards from our shelter across the sandbar,
but you couldn't see it because of how hard it
was raining. I took off of the boat and Anne
took off with me. The wind blew her sideways, and
then it blew her off her feet as she tried
to stay at my heel. So I went back to
(16:49):
the muskrat then and told her to stay with Tim.
I found the boat and it was completely swamped and
going nowhere. The weight of the water had welded it
to the sandbar. Ran fast as I could back to
Tim and Anne and staying as low as I could
while lightning was hitting all around me, and promising to
live my life in a better fashion if I could
(17:09):
just live to see another day. Crawling back into that
foot and half space made me realize that fear and
love of life are ample motivators when it comes to
accomplishing of gold. The water level in that pothole was
about three inches when we first crawled in. When we
got out of it. It it risen over two feet.
This storm only lasted about forty minutes, but as fast
(17:31):
as it started, dislike the other one, it ended. The
rain stopped, the wind died down, and the clouds began
to clear. We emptied our boat, made it back to
the ramp and headed to Star City, Arkansas. That was
the closest place we knew of that had a washing area.
You might call it a launder mat, but whatever you
call it, it was our only hope to get our
(17:52):
clothes dried so we could hunt that afternoon. I told Tim,
we just robe in the launder mat, put our waiters on,
and wait for clothes to drive. Thirty minutes later, we
slid to a stop in front of the washingteria. The
windows were fogged over from the cold outside and the
(18:14):
warm inside. We were freezing, and when we walked in,
the heat from those dryers felt so good on my
skin that I came out of those waiters and commenced
to peeling off layer after layer of wet clothes, and
Tim was busy doing the same. We were two rows
of washing machines away from the front door. We just
walked in. We got down to our union suits about
(18:36):
the same time, you know, the red ones with the
flaps in the back. These were the only garments standing
between us and nudity. But since no one else was
there and no one could see through the windows, we
both just hunkered down behind the row washing machines that
was going to completely hide us and everything you're not
supposed to scratch in public, and started unbuttoning our thumrels.
(18:57):
It was at this time that one of the three laddies,
who were all sitting in a row and unnoticed beside
the door we just walked in, said boys, are you
all going to charge us anything for this? If I'd
have had anywhere to go, that would have been my
cue to get gone. Tim looked at me, bug eyed
and squeaked out, no, ma'am, and they started laughing. They
(19:22):
turned their heads, held up some newspapers and continued to
laugh while we slipped back into our waiters and crammed
all our clothes and the biggest dryer in there. We
had absolutely not seen them, and I rushed to get
in there to get warm and dry. And normally you
go home after a start like that, but we didn't.
It was opening day and we beat the system first
(19:43):
of all, by living then getting dry and only changing
our location, not our plans to go hunting. Of course,
if we'd had some extra clothes with us, I wouldn't
even be telling this story. Now, that's a couple examples
(20:04):
of who I am. You'll be learning more about me
and my life experiences as we go along. First and foremost,
I'm a husband, a father, and a grandfather, and those
are the best jobs I've ever been blessed to have.
I'm also an outdoor videographer writer that's been fortunate enough
to travel to some amazing places to capture on him
(20:24):
some incredible hunts. Helping people and having fun. That's what
I like to do, and that's what I'm going to
continue to do. That's what this whole podcast is about.
And if we can't do both every week, I bet
we can do one or the other. My dad told
me when I was a little boy that there's no
place you'll ever be that you can't have fun, and
if the place you are ain't fun, then you make
(20:47):
it fun. I ain't ever forgot that, and that's how
I try to live my life. So if you like
hearing stories and want to learn a country skill, or
two that can impress your friends, maybe raise your credit
score and help you beat the system. I expect to
see you here next week. Bring a friend and an
extra set of clothes. You might need them. This is
(21:07):
Brent Reeves signing off. Y'all be careful.
Host
Clay Newcomb
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