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2103 E. Hubbard Mineral Wells, Texas 76067 940-327-0985
AUGUST 29, 1860
Palo Pinto County trail driver Oliver Loving and John
Dawson start a 1,500-head herd for Denver, Colo., to feed
gold miners.
AUGUST 27,1856
Palo Pinto County is established from land formerly part
of Bosque and Navarro counties.
AUGUST 18, 1857
Palo Pinto County Commissioners order a notice for bids
to build the county's rst courthouse in Golconda.
AUGUST 4, 1904
W.C. Poston and George C. Poston established Poston Dry
Goods in downtown Mineral Wells.
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August 2012 NORTH TEXAS STAR STORYTELLER & RAMBLER Page 16 ER Page 16
The following column appeared in the
Thursday, April 1, 1976, issue of the Mineral
Wells Index. Its been paraphrased.
A
bout thirty-five years ago perhaps half the
population went fishing at least once. There
was nothing else to do, no cell phones, no
text messaging, no nothing. How did people manage?
For gosh sakes, what did they do? Well, they went fishin. All the
anglers, of course, didnt fish the same way or even for the same spe-
cies.
Lets take the catfisherman for instance: some like to set trot lines in
deep holes for big yellers, others in shallow rapids for channel cats.
It depends on the time of year for choice bait but many countrymen
use shrimp or earthworms, chicken blood, gizzards, stink bait concoc-
tions, lively red horse minnows, hellgrammites, even blue-barrel soap,
perhaps the Procter & Gamble brand. And, of course, live grasshoppers
in July and August.
But dont hold your breath until you spot some blue barrel P&G soap
in a hidden Mom-and-Pop crossroads nook. P&G blue barrel soap is
next to impossible to find nowadays.
When the countrymen go after the 50-75 pound yellers they use 15/0
hooks and rope, also perch about the size of your hand for bait. Perhaps
grabbling is legal in the Brazos now, but it was twice the fun when it
was illegal.
Catfishing gets in your blood; you can set your own pace if you spend
the night hidden in an ol tent round the bend under a starry sky, with a
nearby sudden screech owl causing you to spill hot coffee where it
hurts.
There is just something about a glowing bed of coals; it adds camara-
derie, turning into folklore, leaving you with a night youll remember 50
years hence.
After camp chores are done, after lines are freshly baited, perhaps the
extended family will cluster round a yellowish orange flame, their sun-
burned faces looming out of the darkness to tell yarns that grow as the
flame dwindles. Nary a one wishes the night will end. Theres nothing
else like it, the mood, the atmosphere.
Besting the rivermans scalding black coffee is something a fancy res-
taurant cannot do, saltwater and grounds in a rusty bucket. Rust adds the
flavored gravel you dont get in just any cafe.
Then there is the artificial lure guy who cant wait to show you his
10-tray tackle box, stuffed with shiny plugs everytime you drop by for a
visit.
This fanatic angler pursues denizens of the deep with tackle often
very expensive, not Zebco stuff. He subscribes to all outdoors maga-
zines youve heard of, even some you havent; hes got his wall calen-
dar marked with phases of the moon; his barometer is handy; hes very
scientific, hasnt missed one fishing tournament in years. Happy? Yes,
as long as hes got the winning lunker, a largemouth black bass with a
bucket mouth, in tow 15 minutes before deadline at the weigh-in station.
Everybody will be there! And if his outboard quits? Hell die.
We have the sand bass, apparently a prolific fish, which inhabits
Possum Kingdom and the Brazos River. Sandies have been caught a
short distance up the creeks mouths, such as Ioni, Eagle, Keechi, on
river float trips.
Possum Kingdom has the edge. Traveling frequently in large school,
sandies seem to savagely attack a shiny spoon, sometimes a buzzing top
water with attached spinner. Fifty years ago chromed Heddon Tiny
Torpedo was my favorite for schooling sandies.
Oftentimes crappies seem to travel in schools also, thriving in our
lakes and stock tanks. Barn doors! the countrymen holler as they find
a pocket of truly big uns, landing one after another on jigs, tiny spoons,
but more likely small lively minnows.
Theres nothing prettier than a heavy stringer of barn doors, all
about the same size. Its a good idea to take pictures, find memories
later of a red letter day, a day when the huge crappies went wild.
And let us not forget the ubiquitous sunfish, sometimes called perch,
bream, green sunfish, pumpkinseed, bluegill, coppernose, redear, etc.,
all members of the panfish tribe. Many fishers overlook sunfish, scoff-
ing at anglers who fish just for perch, but this group of smallies gave
me so much pleasure growing up that I just cant turn my back and walk
away.
Give a bluegill a chance; hell strike either live bait or small artificials
Please see page 18
By Don Price
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August 2012 NORTH TEXAS STAR STORYTELLER & RAMBLER Page 17
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From page 17
with gusto. This tiny warrior is often ignored because most anglers use bass
tackle or heavy cane poles. He bites all day and most lakes and ponds are
overstocked anyway. Youll never be called a fish hog.
Heres the way to get hooked on panfish for the rest of your days; Use a
light fly rod, something like a 3- or 4 wt., about 2 to 2 ounces. Attach a 5-
or 6X leader to your line, about 2 pound test, and the smallest single-action
reel you can find.
Trout flies are ideal, hook sizes #8, #10, #12. Joes Grasshopper, long-
shanked, #10 hook, mottled yellow, for July and August, even September,
cant be beat for sunfish.
During the spawning bed days of late spring Ive hooked as many as 100
or more red ears, up to 9 in length, many 9 inchers, a few ten inchers.
These tough fighters can actually pull a 12-foot aluminum boat and at the
same time snap your leader if you dont give them enough line to relieve the
pressure on a 5X leader.
And they are delicious; there is nothing as sweet-tasting as fried panfish.
And fight? Its been said that if these sunfish reached a weight of five
pounds, youd never land one on whisper-light tackle.
But just the same, Id like to try. Wouldnt you?
What can we say about a common sunfish thats given us so much plea-
sure? We need to give something back, but how?
When the morning suns rays touch the treeline, a huge red wafer just
pasted there on the eastern horizon, Ill sigh a thank you, Lord as I hold at
arms length a freshly caught sunfish, just a common perch, to admire its
rainbow. Surely this is why its called a sunfish. Solace, a sanctuary, Id
never thought...
The following column appeared in the Sunday, January 27th, 1980 issue of
the Mineral Wells Index. It also has been paraphrased.
You started out like a dummy, didnt know a casting reel from a spinning
reel. You were so backward the local tournament winners would move to
another coffee table when they saw you coming for morning fellowship.
But it wasnt your nature to quit. Your uncle, an old fishing guide on
Caddo Lake, knew all about largemouth black bass. So he whispered his
secrets.
And so you practiced for 20 years at this fishing game. You got pretty
good. In fact, the neighbors were soon saying you were the most consistent
bass fisherman in the neighborhood.
Your stringer, your status symbol, was extra heavy. But then you hit a
snag; it couldnt have happened to a nicer guy. Youd lost your rabbits foot.
What really hurt was that all the neighborhood kids would be disappoint-
ed; of all people, your coming home in your old pickup truck with an empty
stringer...
You studied the fine art of alibiing; your uncle, the old Caddo Lake guide,
told you of the fine art of an effective alibi. But above all else, he said,
you must look, act and behave nonchalantly.
And here forthwith are proven alibis you can utter to your fans, the tykes
on your block; you must keep it simple, for your dedicated fans are just
neighborhood kids:
1. He broke my line (you forgot to secure the knot).
2. The big bass wrapped my line around a tree.
3. The wind was wrong, out of the east.
4. The barometer crashed, not a good time.
5. The moon was waning, not good.
6. The moon was waxing, not good.
7. He socked it, causing a backlash fiasco.
8. Partner forgot the net.
9. Water too muddy.
10. Lake too full.
11. Creek falling, bad for catfish.
12. Never fish with an Aggie. Two Aggies hit the jackpot Saturday. They
used a rental boat, an old Lone Star aluminum job out of Red Nances
Fishing Camp, $5.00, all day. The jackpot was a crappie hole in the middle
of Possum Kingdom, no tree to mark the spot. And GPS was years away.
On the way back to college the smarter one got to drive the car. Sure was
a good crappie hole. Did you mark the spot?
Sure did. I put an X on the bow of the boat.
You Ding Bat! What if someone else rents the boat and finds the big
crappie hole before we get back?
This joke is about as old as an original Creek Chub Ding Bat, an artifi-
cial lure, a popular plug found in tackle shops in the 1950s, perhaps Red
Nances Camp, a plug made of wood imitating a frog with protruding glass
eyes.
An original Creek Chub Ding Bat, a rare color in excellent condition, orig-
inal box in good condition, with papers and matching color-code factory
numbers, is worth big bucks to collectors.
So if someone calls you a Ding Bat, it could be a compliment.
August 2012 NORTH TEXAS STAR STORYTELLER & RAMBLER Page 19
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August 2012 NORTH TEXAS STAR STORYTELLER & RAMBLER Page 20
H
eres a story based on a real
person, my great-grandfa-
ther, with lots of facts and a
little fiction. This is a conversation
between two old men and takes place
in the 1940s as they talk about Bob
Routh.
You member Uncle Bob Routh, dont ya? He rode with the Texas Rangers down
in Brown County durin the Indian troubles in the 1870s, right?
Yup, he did that, and he sure had hisself an opinion on most anything you wanted
to ask him bout. Even give his thoughts to the Brownwood Bulletin on moren one
occasion, and let me tell you, he was somethin, that ole man. He was somethin.
Shoot, I member when he whupped that preacherman from here to yonder. Rode
his hoss right into the little Methodist Episcopal church, roped the feller, and drug him
right outside in front of God and everbody. Never did understand xactly what hap-
pened there, but the rumor was that ole circuit rider had done messed with Uncle Bobs
oldest daughter, Mz. Bee. Guess the reverend deserved the horse whippin he got, and
that sure put the icin on the cake far as stories about ole Uncle Bob is concerned.
Least-wise Mz. Bee married that Bowden boy what owned the furniture store. Hope
she had a happy life, but I heard she never was right after that, whatever that was.
Say, do you member that time, back bout 1875, when Dick Cheatham and Dick
Smith run crost that Comanche raidin party what kilt the whole of Bill Williams
family whilst he was in town buyin supplies and what not?
Please see page 22
Member?
By Sue Seibert
August 2012 NORTH TEXAS STAR STORYTELLER & RAMBLER Page 21
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From page 20
Yup, ole Bill was one of them fellers what believed Comanches was jest mis-
understood, peaceable folk with not a mean bone in their bodies. Otherwise hed
neverve left Mz. Williams and those two little mites there without some sort of
protection. Why I heard tell he didnt even leave her with no gun!
Thats what I heard, and when he come home to his ranch, member it was up
on the Jim Ned, he found poor Mz. Williams a dyin, one of the children dead,
and the other poor little thing probably carried off by them blood-thirsty Injuns.
Never heard from her again, s the way that story goed.
Times back then was dangerous, thats for shore! Times is better now.
Well, maybe so, but ole Bob Rouths still a purty dangerous feller, and hes,
what, 91 or so. Sure wouldnt want to be held in jail there with him the jail-
er and Mz. Jenny cookin the food. Heard shes one terrible cook and
meaner n a snake on Sunday, you ask me. But not meaner
Uncle Bob!
Yeah, well, back to that raidin party o Comanches.
member that there was the last Injun fight in Brown
County, or so they say. Took place, it did, up on Clear
Creek, when Smith and Cheatham run acrost them
Injuns. Think it was right after theyd kilt Mz.
Williams, but I knows for certain sure
they didnt have no children with
them.
Yup, that fight didnt last too long
neither, and, cept for one or two, all
the Injuns was kilt, and Smith
brought one dead Injun back into
Brownwood and done set him up in
the winder of Mr. Dave Hutchinsons
blacksmith shop. They kept him there
for a few days, til the stink was God Almighty
awful. Then all the businessmen in town took
that body out on the old Comanche Road and
stuck it up in the big ole live oak as a
warnin.
Oh, yeah, I member what happened then.
The body finally fell outtin that tree down
onto the ground and some of them roamin
hogs done et it up. Think that showed them
Comanches whos boss. Never were no more
raids after that.
But do you member the time that old
man, cant member his name, who kilt
once too many times. Shot his brother-in-
law, carved a second notch on his gun.
Why, I hear tell he shot that feller in the
mornin and went to a church picnic that after
noon. Onliest thang was, Uncle Bob and ole Captain James found out all bout it,
and they shore went down to that picnic and arrested that old man. 77 he was,
too, but meaner a snake. Believe they hanged him before the next Sunday.
course, Uncle Bob werent fraid to bother church people, specially after he
horse whipped that preacher man.
Now, that Captain Jason James was a fine man, werent he? Didnt take noth-
ing offen no body. Not even ole Bob Routh! Why, you know ole Captain James
may ave been a member of Quantrills Raiders. After all, his first cousin, Jesse,
and Jesses brother, Frank, were both part of that band with the Youngers and
all.
Yup, they surely was, but I dont know about Captain James. Mean as he was,
he was always on the right side of the law, if you know my meanin, and him
and Uncle Bob was in some mighty scary situations, but theys
always after them Injuns or some other sorta bad guys.
One thing is for shore, Captain James looked xact-
ly like his cousin, Jesse. Why they coulda been
twins! And he always carried a photograph of
Jesse in his shirt pocket. He told Uncle Bob
onced he hoped hed never have to go after
Jesse, but I spect he would if he hadda.
member the time James went down
to Pecan Bayou to arrest that feller who
was camped down there? Believe that
feller was a horse thief or some such,
but Captain James went alone, way
those Ranger always do.
Yup, he got down there to the
Bayou, and the feller seemed all peace-
able and such. He told James hed surely
ride into town with him, and he asked
James if he coulda got his coat outta his
wagon.
I member. James was bein particularly
nice that day, I guess, and he didnt cuff him or
nothin, let the feller go into the wagon, and the
next thang he knowed the feller reached under the
wagon seat, pull out his hand gun, and fired at James.
course if was real close range, and James was hit hard, but
he pulled his gun and shot back, and he kilt that sorry so-and-so.
Yup, and Uncle Bob come along about then and carried James back to town.
James stayed at that roomin house over on Fisk what was run by Mz. Hattie
Bowden, and it took him a few months afore he was back in the saddle and off
rangerin again with Uncle Bob.
I think Uncle Bob took that shootin hard, and when his enlistment was up is
when he gave up rangerin and went to runnin that general store with Mz.
Jenny.
Well, one things for shore. Uncle Bob were one interestin feller. Wish I
knowed him better, but when I was a little un I was plum skeert to death of him.
And I shore dont want to get to know him from a jail cell!
Do
you
member
the
time...
August 2012 NORTH TEXAS STAR STORYTELLER & RAMBLER Page 23
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