UNCLE SPIDER'S ADVENTURES

People assume that, because I run a place called the Gar Hole, I must be a fisherman, and in fact, I do come from a long line of fishermen. As a young child I sat for hours in my grandad’s 16-foot Lone Star aluminum boat with the 7.5 horse power outboard motor and fished for crappie on Lake Lavon. When I was about twelve, my parents bought a place on Cedar Creek Lake and every weekend we packed up and headed there for the weekend. Dad and his buddies caught dozens of sand bass at a time, and paid me a dime apiece to filet them. But my best fish story is a little different than most.

We came in from water skiing around noon one Saturday, tied the boat to our dock and headed to the house for lunch. I glanced over at the neighbor’s place. They always secured four or five cane poles on the side of their dock, hoping a catfish might bite. Sure enough, one of the poles was bent over and the bobber was out of sight. I yelled up at their house, “Gwen, you got a bite!” Next thing I know, that pole is jerked out of the holder and heading across the cove.

I immediately took off running down their pier and dove into the lake. Now, what that fish didn’t know was that I was conference swimming champ in the 100 butterfly. In fact, that fish probably didn’t even know someone was chasing him, because about half way across the cove, the cane pole slowed to a stop and I grabbed it. Based on the pull on the line as I swam to shore, I figured there was a pretty big fish on the line, but we were all surprised when I finally reached the beach, stood up and pulled up … a huge, ugly, 5’ long alligator gar.

Across the cove at the Paradise Bay Marina, a group of senior citizens were fishing off the gas dock. They had watched the entire ordeal, and when I held that gar up, they all started clapping and cheering.

After lunch we headed back to the boat for some more skiing. Needing gas, I pulled up to the marina and began filling up. My buddy went inside to get some ice and drinks. When he got back to the boat he told me those seniors who had been fishing earlier asked him, “Is that the boy that out-swum that fish?”

Fishermen know that a gar hole is a bad place to fish. That’s because gar don’t need much oxygen, and can live in the most foul waters. They are very bony and difficult to eat. Most importantly, the fish that people like to eat, like bass, crappie and striper, don’t cohabitate well with gar.

Even so, I’m sticking with this as my best fish story. And if you think that’s why we call our little establishment thwe Gar Hole, well you’d be wrong. Stop by for a visit and I’ll be glad to share that story, as well, but for now, two fish stories are one too many.

UNCLE SPIDER calls North Texas home, but has traveled all over the world, seeking adventures that might make for a good story. He’s also one of the owner/ operators of the GARHOLE in Westminster. Stop by and see him there, or email him at spider@garhole.net.