The Hushed Quiet of a Fishing Morning on Old Beggs Lake

 March 15, 1979

Rare it was for me to have a day off with nothing else to do back then. The previous winter had been long and hard and cold with lots of snow and ice. March fell upon the landscape like a welcomed reprieve in spite of it being the longest of months not always knowing what it wanted to become. Some of the winter chill lingered yet in spite of that, enough warm days infiltrated the landscape to tease one into believing spring was not far off. On this day I decided to haul my old venerable Coleman canoe the 35 miles or so south of Tulsa to do some fishing on Oklahoma's Old Beggs Lake. That decision proved to be a good one.

Wind in Oklahoma is pretty much constant year round with March being one of the windiest months. On this morning, near calm winds proved itself an exception. I crawled out of bed early a good hour and a half before sunrise and headed down the highway; not much traffic heading south that time of day. Before long the Beggs exit was upon me and I turned off the mostly slumbering highway and drove the couple of miles to the Beggs Lake turnoff. By the time I rolled to a stop, the morning sky was beginning to awaken from the deepness of its sleep and the still brownish tall grasses lining the lake were now somewhat visible in the dim light. 

I slid off the canoe. Shoved it to the water's edge and loaded my fishing gear. No wind yet stirred the surface of the lake and the air was cool and dry. Slowly I moved over next to a patch of lily pads just across this narrow arm of the lake and tossed a black and yellow spinnerbait along the edge. 

One of the finest sounds for a fisherman is the whirl of fishing line rolling off a spinning reel followed by the soft splash of the lure in the hushed quiet of a fishing morning. Another couple of seconds there is a clink as the bail closes and the line begins the lure retrieve. It's the most anticipated time of the morning, that first cast. One that clings onto the highest of expectations. It is a time that transcends the time between making a living and retaining connections to family. It is your time.

With each cast the morning grew brighter with a slight breeze beginning its travels in and around the terrain surrounding the lake. Beggs lake is small, maybe 20 acres I'd guess. Really not much more than a large pond, but it was, back then, filled with a good number of bass along with other bait fish like bluegill and even a few crappie. It also possessed a reputation of producing some good sized bass. They were what brought me here that morning. Being such a small lake, it warmed more quickly than the larger lakes and the spring spawn would start earlier as a result.

I moved on around the bend throwing my spinnerbait toward likely looking structure. Except for a single small buck bass, the fishing was slow up to this point and the morning grew in brightness. Along the north bank, a small tree had fallen into the water and extended out a good ten or twelve feet from shore. A quick flip the rod and the black and yellow spinnerbait softly dropped just inside the outer edge of the downed tree. A couple of turns on the handle and I felt a heaviness grab the line. My first thought was that I had hung up on a submerged branch, but then what had grabbed my lure started pulling back and the rod tip bent sharply toward the water. The drag on the reel whined as I pulled up on the rod and began to fight the great fish on the other end. Within a few seconds it came to the surface and I got my first glimpse of my catch; a very large bass full of eggs. 

I fought this great fish to a standstill but eventually coaxed it next to my canoe; reached down and grabbed her lower jaw and lifted. I guessed she went somewhere around five pounds and I was absolutely out of my mind with the catch. Normally, I catch and release, but this one I kept.

During all the previous commotion my canoe had drifted around past the other side of the downed tree. Still excited from the previous catch, I tossed that same spinnerbait back toward the submerged tree branches. Within two or three cranks, the line again grew heavy and I jerked the rod high. At once it bent double and the fight was on. This one played out much the same as the first one, but I finally pulled it alongside the canoe and grabbed hold lifting her out of the water. Another good bass, this one only slightly smaller, maybe 4 to 4 1/2 pounds. Two big bass from the same structure on back to back casts in the middle of March. I finished the morning out with a couple of smaller bass and called it a day when the wind began to pick up. I stopped over at Ralphs house on the way back and showed him the catch. That very next weekend, we were down there again getting after it.

Not often have I managed to pull off a stunt like that morning. A few weeks later my brother Ken and I were there and fishing was slow. I smarted off saying "You gotta call your shot...See that old deadhead up against the bank. I bet there's a big ole bass just sitting there under it."

Using that same lure, I made a perfect cast that softly splashed within a few inches dead center of that deadhead log. Within a single crank, another good bass grabbed it and the fight was on. When I landed another near five pounder, my brother was beside himself.

Rocky at Beggs Lake

Old Beggs Lake became for us, me, Ken, Rocky, Ralph, and Curt, a place of refuge where we could enjoy a good morning of fishing and simply get away from the trials of living. Over the years, I lost touch with that small lake, but the memories it produced have remained powerful reminders of just how important it is to do such things. Time has a way of changing everything and I'm sure old Beggs has changed a great deal since then. Even so, that single day on March 15th, 1979 remains one of the most memorable and that is how I choose to remember it.