The takeout was a dirt ramp. We had permission but I’m not sure why. Up above there was a collection of single-wides, derelict RV’s, rusted farm implements, and a Glastron ski boat on blocks.

When there came a godawful squealing we thought the winch on the trailer had seized up. We stopped cranking and listened and the sound was coming from up the hill. Just then a man came down the ramp with wild hair and bib overalls and half of his uppers.

“How’d y’all do?”


“Bass or catfish?”

“All bass.”

“White’uns or them regulars?”



“No, flies?”

He tugged at his asscrack and pondered that and then he went on about he and his boy and a mess of yella cats they’d caught awhile back. When the squealing started again we turned and looked up the hill, and then back at him.

“What’s all that racket?”


Your dinner?”

“Yeah. We got up on a hog.”

3 Responses to “Bass’n”

  1. fishingjones Says:

    Someday in my life I hope I can reuse the phrase, “We got up on a hog.”

  2. Tosh Says:

    Try it as a standalone. It’s a crowd pleaser.

  3. Wally Says:

    …some days the hog gets up on you.

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