Giggin’

By John Nail

Summertime, for some, conjures images of baseball or

swimming pools.

To us it just naturally meant fishin' in the evening and

giggin' at night.

A "gig" is a spear made with barbs on the points to hold

whatever you were skilled enough to hit with it. In those days

you couldn't buy a gig-or at least we never did-and we made

our own from old worn out pitch-forks or cross-cut saw

blades. It took a lot of time and hand labor with the file to get

the tines and barbs just right.

In the spring, when the dogwood trees bloom with white

flowers, and school boys begin to daydream of summer

vacation, the suckers are spawning on riffles in the rivers all

over the midwest.

Now the lowly sucker is a particularly tasty, but bony fish.

It was one of my mother's favorites and mine since she'd

send me out with strict orders to bring her a sack full.

Done right, giggin' takes two boys. One carries the old

sack from the feed mill and a Coleman gas

lantern. The other gets to spear or gig first.

Wading slowly upstream, we'd spear the biggest, fattest fish

on the riffle.

The slippery rocks and our bare feet made for an

interesting evening.

One night early in the year as we were giggin' a section of

the big Flatrock river, we spied a fedora hat floating down

stream. Our's was a small community and I knew right away that

the hat belonged to "Tubby" Garland.

Now Tubby got his name by being as nearly round as a

man can be. He wasn't soft as you might imagine, but was

simply short and very wide. Inside his roundness was a very

hard-working and strong man.

Everyone knew that Tubby had an unreasoning fear of

snakes. He also had a very healthy appetite for wild food.

We considered this section of flat rock our domain, and to

us, he was poaching. Our course of action was clear.

We felt around the rocks until we found a good sized water

snake and put him to sleep with a bump on the head,

Then we coiled him on

a flat rock in the moonlight, and put Tubby's hat over him.

After a few minutes wait we were rewarded by seeing

Tubby approaching, carrying a sack full of fish, and

searching the banks for his hat. He made a satisfied grunting

noise when he spied it on the rock in the moonlight,

sauntered over, and calmly picked it up.

The bump we had applied to our snake had been

somewhat inadequate, and fully revived, he decided to leave

the country post-haste. Of course, the most direct route was

between the two legs in front of him which I'm sure he

mistook for tree roots.

Suddenly Tubby found himself with his prized fedora in

one hand, his gig and a sackful of suckers in the other, and a

somewhat dazed  snake trying to climb his leg.

I told you he wasn't soft, and I'm sure that the distance he

threw the fish sack must be some sort of old time record.

To make matters worse, my partner had been waiting with

a big rock and chose that moment to throw it into the deepest

part of the pool, followed by his best bobcat growl.

Tubby slipped on the rocks and fell.

The considerable spring run-off current caught and billowed

his bib overalls and drew him quickly downstream, his

constant string of curses an assurance that he hadn't

drowned.

When I look back on it, I wish I'd thanked him for the fish.