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May 11, 1998
Jim Pope tells of river memories and how they affect him till this day.
Peace Like a River
Jim Pope
Many years ago, a gospel songwriter wrote a song with the same title as the title of this article. For many, there is no earthly peace to match that of a river. The Tennessee River and the many small waterways found near this writer's home offer such a peace.
As a child in the mid-nineteen fifties, this writer began frequenting the Tennessee River, and the passion to return has never been quenched. Trips to Pickwick Lake with Dad, when the stripe were running the shad on top, are and will be forever etched into the memory bank of this mind. Other great memories on the lake were when the willow fly hatches brought the big bream to the banks. The many trips below Pickwick Dam, fishing off of "The Point", also stir a nostalgic feeling unmatched by most other occurrences of that time. Thinking back, those frequent trips to the river helped to mold this unique individual into his present state. "The Point" is located several hundred yards below Pickwick Dam, just down the rocks from one of the huge DANGEROUS WATERS signs. The shallow protrusion that juts out into the swift current causes a large eddy to form just below the point. Sauger, called Jack Salmon by many of the older fishermen, seem to love to congregate in that kind of water, as do stripe, crappie, and smallmouth bass. In the fifties and early sixties, we used "Granddaddy's Jigs". Most people called them Doll Flies, but they were actually a little different than the commercially produced Doll Flies.
My grandfather, Will Pope, hand tied his 1/4 ounce jigs out of white and yellow synthetic hair. He sold his jigs to local fishermen for about ten cents each. They were great fish catchers, so they were in high demand. A few remaining Wayne County, Tennessee residents probably knocked at my grandfather's door in the early morning hours in search of his jigs. Unless he was fishing, he was always glad to accommodate them.
Granddaddy passed away in the early sixties, and his personally tied jigs were no more. I still have a couple of cards of my grandfather's hand tied jigs, and I occasionally view them with pride. It is rare that I make a fishing trip to the waters below Pickwick Dam that I do not think of my father's father. He loved the river. The river must have offered him a kind of peace not found elsewhere. There is no peace like a river.
As this writer progressed through life, there was never a river or impoundment out of reach. While a college student in Cookeville, Tennessee, there were many fishing trips to Center Hill Lake or the tailwaters of Center Hill Dam. A college friend and I purchased on old canoe which was, at the time of purchase, no more than a wooden frame. We managed to scrape up enough old bed sheets to cover the frame with three layers, then we soaked it with several coatings of dope.
We would take that old canoe to a small lake which served as a water reservoir for Cookeville and fly fish for bream and bass. There are many good stories related to fishing trips in that old canoe. The memories of us fishing out of that canoe, protected from the water by nothing more than bed sheets, are wonderful. Even in our youthful years, we search for peace. There is no peace like a river.
From then to now, volumes could be written related to the peace attained on or beside some river, creek, or lake. Having been back in Wayne County, Tennessee for over twenty-three years, the nostalgia of the many trips of old to the tailwaters of Pickwick Dam is frequently renewed. During the winter months, the drive is made at least once a week.
Being privileged to now be in possession of the mold my grandfather used to make his infamous "Granddaddy's Jigs", this fisherman ties similar flies out of bucktail hair. It is amazing that the same thing works forty years later. Each trip to the river still brings about an almost childlike excitement. The serenity or the river surrounds this fisherman like a cloud of comfort. There is no peace like a river.
Time may alter our looks and agility, but it can never take away our desire to place ourselves in peaceful surroundings. I still can find my peace while fishing for sauger from the bank below Pickwick Dam. I can still find my peace while whipping a fly rod for bream under a bush full of willow flies. I still can find my peace while chunking plugs or soft plastics for bass somewhere on the Tennessee River. I still can find my peace while wading one of the many creeks in Wayne County, offering the aquatic creatures a synthetic meal.
I still can find my peace on, by, or in the water. For this individual, there has not been nor will there ever be many earthly things which can offer such a feeling of peace. There is no peace like a river.
