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Yes,
it's a real place, and we stayed near it for a night. Well, almost.
We stayed until shots rang out way too close and we packed it
up, and packed it in the RV, deciding it may be safer to put some
miles between us and some teens or good ol' boys shooting at 'coons
and beer cans in the near dark. But, I'm getting ahead of myself.
This is about hair. “Tommy's mohawk” in a Ziploc bag hung from
the ceiling of the cluttered bar/restaurant, which also served as an
office in which to reserve your camping space. It hung there with a
whole mix of curios we gaped at and yet, were afraid to see. While,
I'll call him “McGruff,” due to the gruff manner in which he lent
his aid, instructed us on how to locate our spot near the river. And
then I saw the sign just above his bald head, which read: “Show
off your rod...fish naked!” And I lost it. I got a case of the
8th grade giggles and could not speak intelligibly. So I
let my husband do the talking, while the kids kept asking, “What?
Mom, what? What's so funny?” Obviously they had not seen it, and
I wasn't about to point it out. I think it was the long drive and
the sheer absurdity of the place, but let's just say, at this stage
of my life it's good I maintained bladder control (hey, I've had four
kids, okay? I was impressed it held). So, long story short, we set
up camp, went for a dip, had dinner, roasted marshmallows, it began
to rain. . . and then, Boom, Bang, Boom, Bang, Boom. And my
husband and I looked at each other, and he said, “We're outta
here.” So the moral of this story is:
you
don't have to
fish
naked
to
have a hair-raising time
©
2015 Jennifer Wagner
True
story.
