I've been reflecting a lot lately on the memories, the stories, and good times growing up just down stream from HookerHole. 

I'm going to take you along on this design. If you know the river and you know the place... Remember that decade

There are so many things to say about the river and what summertime activities I enjoyed along the banks at HookerHole.

Swimming, was and still is, the only way to cool off in the Louisiana summer heat. I always preferred fresh water over a pool any day. The deeper you swim the cooler the water temperature. And HookerHole is plenty deep to cool off.

I guess I just found a way to pass a good time with what I had. The river bottoms just called my name. With that said, I started thinking about the mischief of my teenage years along the banks at HookerHole.

I guess I was about 13 years old on this trip. For the past two days I've helped my father clean the fish he'd been catching and decided I wanted to go. So we were heading out the next morning.

After the short drive to the camp to load up the boat and our six horse Johnson outboard we arrived at Finch Lake. Of course, it was always my job to unload the boat and hook up the motor.

Once I got everything done, Dad loaded up the poles, jigs, boat cushions, net and perch paddle then we headed out to the tree tops in the middle of the lake. Upon arrival, Dad said he was going to work on his tan. His great grand mother was Appache, so he was already pretty dark complected. He proceeded to strip down to a jock strap then lathered crisco all over him self. He then turned and asked if I wanted some of the Crisco. Nah, I'm good. Knock yourself out paw.

Now let me jump forward a bit. We've been ripping lips for about two hours now and the ice chest lid won't hardly shut. Tails and fins sticking out in every direction. We've been at this one tree top for like 45 minutes. Dad is sizzling like bacon in a cast iron skillet. The skillet being our 12 foot Jon boat.

Suddenly movement catches my eye from across the lake. A lady in a boat similar to ours seems to be headed our way from across the lake. Now I'm thinking this chick is gonna be in for a big surprise if she gets close enough to recognize dad ain't got much on. His reflection of the sun must have caught her eye. I hook into another one, dad does the same and this women is still coming. 

We throw our fish into the bulging ice chest, straighten our jigs and get them back in the water as this women pulls up to the other side of the tree top we are fishing. Dad looks at me and without saying a word totally communicates... What the heck? This women has crossed the lake to fish My Tree Top.

On que, almost like an act of God, dad hooks into a slab. possibly the biggest of the day. He calls out to me to get the net. I look at him and ask, "what the heck do you need a net for?" I've never seen him use a net to land a fish. Hand me the net he says as he begins to turn the boat away from the tree top.

What's going on? Are we leaving our hole because of this women? To my amusement, dad, now with his back towards the tree top and the women, proceeds to stand up in our little boat. Now remember, he's only wearing a jock strap and is covered in crisco. He bends over at a perfect right angle and dips the net deep into the water and lands the fish. I glance back at this women who is as wide eyed as I've ever seen a person. She slams her pole back into her boat and scampers back to her motor. With a quick, and I mean quick jerk of the pull cord, she's off and out of our hole.

Now Dad, in his always ever so cool, calm and collected voice says, "That's how you protect your fishing hole son."

Now you understand how fishermen think. And I've also got that totally awesome memory to base this illustration around. The lesson is, show your rear end when another fishermen shows up to fish your spot and they'll leave soon enough.