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Fishing the Ogeechee River
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The Ogeechee River takes me back to my childhood days living near another river. I consider myself a coastal dweller, since I live near the Ogeechee. This in itself, which I find most delightful, is enough to cause a change in my lifestyle. There’s one characteristic, however, with which I had to get acquainted;  the river runs in two directions.
On a warm, sunny day in October my son called me to go with him on a fishing trip up the Ogeechee. It didn’t take any coaxing for me to accept. We cast in at the dock on US 17 just north of Richmond Hill, and roared up the river to an area that is a part of Fort Steward. Casting in there was disappointing; we didn’t even get a nibble. It took about two hours of effort to tell us to move to another area. My son had been on the river several times and he knows it; he knows where to go to better places. And so we decided this was enough; we headed back down the river.  
When we reached the docks, a decision was made to proceed on down the river to the railroad trestles. Fishing was expected to be better there. We encountered a slight problem, however, maneuvering the boat past the trestle.
He cut the engine, and the anchor was dropped about 50 yards up stream in order to reduce the speed before we arrived at the concrete, trestle piles. As we approached the trestle, it was obvious which way the river was flowing by observing the ripples in the water passing the piles. It was flowing eastward toward the ocean.
 Our boat has an inboard-outboard power plant. The boat drifted uncontrollably sideways before entering between the piles. The engine’s stern drive rammed against one of the piles, and  I thought it was damaged. The boat could have been damaged such that we may have been stranded, and our day would have been ruined. We managed to get the boat lined up, however, for the passage between the piles.  Since there was so little clearance, one method we used was to let the boat be carried gently by the current under the trestle. The current was so fast that it was difficult to keep the edge of the boat from ramming against a pile. Finally, we managed to get safely through.
 We dropped the anchor about a mile further down the river, and cast in. We spent about three hours there and not even a nibble. Finally, giving up and losing hope there, too, we moved on. My son wanted to show me the Ford Plantation. I can understand why Henry Ford selected Richmond Hill for his home away from home. It was certainly a day of education for me.
 The sun was approaching closer and closer to the horizon. It was time for us to consider concluding our fishing quest, and head back up the river. We cruised on the opposite side. Paying little attention to the time, we stopped at a place and cast our lines in. Spending about an hour there, still, not even a nibble. It seemed that the gods were against us that day. We decided to call it a day and head toward the dock. But then, there was the trestle we had to deal with. This time, it wasn’t so easy; we just couldn’t float gently under the trestle. I was impressed the way my son maneuvered the boat, under power, without bumping against the piles. To me, it would have been like threading a needle with bad eyesight.
 On our way to the dock, we scraped the bottom of the boat, right in the middle of a wide part of the river. I could have gotten out and waded, pulling the boat with me. That was a strange experience. 
 Loading the boat onto the trailer and heading home, my son asked, “What would you like for dinner?” We stopped by the fish market and bought a mess of catfish, and told everyone what a great day we had on the Ogeechee.
Bond has a home in Richmond Hill.

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