There are many unsung heroes among the gear that accompanies us outdoor types into “the wild.” No doubt that packbaskets rate quite high on the list of essential trapping accessories. They are not only invaluable in hauling traps, bait and lure for the process of making your sets but also make it much easier to lug your catch out when those previously mentioned items do their thing.

And as you can see from the today’s blog banner picture, a packbasket can also assist in transporting small trappers whose little legs just aren’t up for the long haul. In this case, the trapper in tow is my nephew, Brady, getting a free ride from his dad, Brent. This shot is from 2008 so it puts the age of the packbasket likely close to 30 years, which means that it has seen a lot of interesting baggage in its time. Point being, if that boy had any idea what has been in that thing over the years, he’d probably be bailing out in a hurry. A classic case of what you don’t know won’t hurt you and we aren’t telling, for good reason.

You see, Dad and Uncle Dick invested in packbaskets back in the late 60s or early 70s, a time when the muskrat population was rather nuts. After a few too many lengthy hikes back to the vehicle from creeks, ponds and sloughs, arms draped with a dozen rats apiece, they figured that there’s got to be a better way. And just as its easier to carry a kid on your back than in your arms, so it goes with fur.

1971 – Dad with a catch that perfectly demonstrates how the packbasket eases the load

2011 – Dad, Jayce and me with a cool packbasket shot as it rarely gets in the pics.  I opted for the good old shoulder ride with my boy over a packbasket ride. 

The packbasket was just what the doctor ordered for coons and beaver as well during treks of several miles through what we called “The Big Timber.” Similar to a fishing float trip, one truck would be left at the end of the trapline as the trappers were hauled to the start in another vehicle and dropped off for the walk through the creek. Let me tell you, coon legs are not a particularly comfortable handle if you have to walk very far and no matter how often you switch hands, the ball of your thumb begins to holler in a hurry. Of course, when you get that second coon, there ain’t no more switching hands.

Enter the packbasket and problem solved. Well, at least until you get about five coons or a 50-pound beaver, a few rats and a couple coons, or a weary legged kid. Oh well, techniques and lessons in trapping decision making for another day. Overall, a good problem to have and makes for some good stories when those packbaskets wind up overflowing. Talk to you later. Troy

Today’s pic of Dad from 2002 exemplifies an outdoor staple in my family, something we’ve always pronounced as rhyming with stick instead of seek, while specifically spelled as “creek.”

I suppose it wasn’t many years into my existence that I was introduced to this word as I grew up within a few good casts of what we simply referred to as “The Creek.” Of course, that particular example of this type of water was not a hotbed for fishing. In fact, it evolved into a bit of a refuse collection area over the years. But good old Cedar Fork, which transects my hometown of Galesburg, Illinois provided a great place to goof off and a free spot to dig worms or collect some leeches of “African Queen” proportions. A few stories there but for another time. Suffice to say, that will always be “The Creek.”

The spot in the blog banner photo, a branch of Henderson Creek in Henderson County, Illinois also has an unofficial name. It’s what Dad and Uncle Dick called “Pat’s Creek” after the farmer who lived on the lane leading to the destination. It was a regular trapping stop for decades as well as a solid fishing hole for either rod and reel or bankpoles.

Creeks, in general, are just plain old fun, take a look…

1976 – Troy and Brent Jackson seining minnows and crawdads

1981 Camping trip, me, my siblings and friends partake in good old muddy creek fun

1983 – Brent Jackson on float trip on Henderson Creek

1980’s Dad with a float trip haul

1980’s Uncle Richard Jackson with a float trip carp, great battlers in the close quarters

1994 – Pat’s Creek bankpole trip, Troy and Brent Jackson

1995 – Terry and Brent Jackson on (actually in) Pat’s Creek

2002 – Troy and Brent Jackson running bankpoles in Pat’s Creek

2002 – A favorite pic with Brent Jackson up to his neck in a battle with a creek catch 

As the pics above attest, many adventures from a place that if you’ve never visited, you’re missing out. And it’s at its best when you can jump right in and get your feet (and beyond) wet. Gets kind of entertaining at that point where it starts to get deep enough to make you breathe a little funny, too. Just another of the joys of a day in the creek. Talk to you later. Troy

Valentine’s Day features a pic of my wife, Julie, thanking a cooperative bass. Her catch came from Drake Lake at Jim Edgar Panther Creek near Chandlerville. IL back in July 2013 during a three day/two night getaway from the kids.  While this reaction dates back to Jimmy Houston in the 80’s and has resurfaced with some of the YouTube generation, I personally find it much more attractive with this lady.

Thinking back, I pretty much could’ve kissed the fish too after the trip had a few early hiccups. A flat tire before we left Galesburg on a day when our route to the service station was about to go on lockdown due to a visit from a fellow named President Obama kicked off our getaway.

Then came the futile wild goose chase to get Julie a fishing license only to come up empty handed along the Illinois River of all places. Finally found one the next day after I’d had a disappointing solo, 4 bass outing on The Emiquon Preserve. I’d also unknowingly flirted with trespassing on the Virginia City Reservoir the previous evening as I later discovered that it was no longer an IDNR property.

On the plus side, family members had pitched in to take the kids in order to allow our getaway and a friend I’d met through a previous blogging gig had offered up some free lodging in the area.

 

So, after the rough start it all worked out in the end with an enjoyable and all too short getaway. Worth it to get to spend some quality (and quiet) time with this fishing partner and steal a few kisses myself. Talk to you later. Troy

Back in April of 2009, public access opened up at a spot along the Illinois River southeast of Lewistown, IL. That spot, known as The Emiquon Preserve, then proceeded to produce bass catches like I had never seen before and doubt I ever will again.

For various reasons, the last time I fished Emiquon was back in July 2013. But during the four years when me and my fishing partners were frequenting that crazy fishing hole, we never left without a story or two or three. In fact, this posting marks the 36th submission covering the spot and we only fished the area for four years.

Today’s banner picture from August 2011 perfectly sums up the insanity of the bite down there as the shot shows my brother, Brent, holding the three bass that came aboard simultaneously. He’s got one on each treble of his lipless crankbait and I handed him mine for the photo shoot. After all, why waste time passing the camera back and forth when we should be casting?

For as I described in a posting called “Emiquon – Windows” back in May 2011 at another blogging gig, there are times down there when it’s like a switch is turned on and the bass just go nuts. Hence, three in the boat at one time.

But that’s not all…

I could write all day folks, but I’ll stick to the abridged version so you all can get back to something productive.

Once upon a time, at Emiquon…

I was on my third spinner bait at the end of the day as the bass are not only crazy but also tough.

I caught my personal best bass.

Dad and I spent 3 frustrating hours tracking down a replacement trolling motor and still wound up with 91 bass in 3 hours of casting.

I quit fishing just so I could watch Brent put on a show en route to his 98 bass total on his first visit.

I could hear the bass hit our lipless crankbaits before we ever felt the strike.

An old bait got a new name, The Emiquon Special (pictured above), after Brent worked ‘em over.

Brent and I assisted a fellow fisherman with one crankbait treble in a bass and the other in his thumb. The guy was still fishing several hours later when we headed home, hook barb still lodged in his thumb. Emiquon does that kind of stuff to an angler.

My wife, Julie and I, called it quits after 40 bass as the noon time July temperature had soared to 104 degrees (last bass pictured above at 12:21pm). But those silly bass were still biting, just not right.

And yeah, in the interest of full disclosure, on my first visit I wound up as possibly the only angler who has ever been shut out on the fishing hole. Extenuating circumstance, called wind, which is downright dangerous down there.

Enough for now as there are still a couple more pics in the blog banner series that pertain to Emiquon for another day. Talk to you later. Troy

Today’s shot comes from 2008, a time when I was outnumbered three to one by the ladies in our home. A time when Carly and Helena could both snuggle up with Dad in a seat around the campfire.

Pushing ten years later, they’ve now got their own big people camping chairs and are pretty capable of building the fire themselves. And they’ve got two little brothers in the meantime, only one of whom still fits on the lap for a snuggle anymore.

When you have kids, the veteran parents say it, you mildly consider it and eventually realize it…time does indeed fly.

More campfire girl pictures from 2008 convey it as well as I could write it so I’ll leave it at that.

Talk to you later. Troy