When I was a kid, I can remember seeing the spillways of the Lake Talquin dam, open to the Ochlockonee, below. The water roiled and bubbled, and made the most interesting patterns on the surface. My Grandfather warned of the dangers of those churning waters.
Take a man, or boy, down below and hold him there. Too much power in that kind of water, for a man to fight.
I would watch the local fisherman, as their boats lurched and strained against anchor lines. My Grandfather told me of how they had to use extra weights to keep the bait and lures below the surface. Having watched my favorite toys sink like lost stones, when inadvertently dropped, I marveled at a water that would return pure lead, to daylight.
I couldn't understand how this was a place for good fishing. What fish would choose this tumultuous environment for his home? I could understand spawning salmon, but these fish were certainly not going to find their way clear to Lake Talquin again.
My own life has taken on a feel of those turbulent waters. Life will do that sometimes. She'll get so rowdy, you're quite certain that you're at the end of your anchor line.
Maybe those fish didn't choose that spot. Maybe the lake or the river simply brought them there, and they were only looking for an eddy, so that they may take a breather.
I can get behind that. I've had my moments in the eddies, and I'll be seeking still more, until I drift clear of this crazy water. In the meantime, it was just good to find a reason to remember my Grandfather.
