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One Man's Saga of a Smallmouth Rodeo and a Puppy
(Guest Article)
by Jack Lorenz as told to a friend.

Laurie, I heard the story of the "hi Jack" airplane fiasco over the weekend. How's this for another one from the past few days:

Last Thursday afternoon, I drove to the first annual Mid-Atlantic Smallmouth Bass Rodeo in Luray, Va. I stopped by the cottage we are house-sitting for friends on the North Fork of the Shenandoah to pick up my canoe. I then dropped by the nearby home of friends, Lou and Joy Giusto, to get directions to the rodeo HQ site at the edge of Shenandoah Nat'l. Park. Joy gave me a map to her family's woodsy retreat where all the action was to be centered. Lou, the Rodeo creator and host, was already at the site to welcome the 21 smallmouth fanatics from all over the country who signed up for this three-day angling extravaganza via the Riversmallies.com web page on the net.

Joy said, as I was driving out: "Oh, Lou forgot to take this stray puppy he found the other day. Will you take her to the Rodeo? He hopes one of the anglers will want to take her home."

I looked at the fuzzy little beast that resembled a cross between a midget Siberian Husky and a bedraggled coyote and said OK, but I demanded some covering for my passenger seat. Once that was installed, I popped the eight pound trembling ball of fur on the seat next to me and headed towards Luray, 25 miles to the east. While winding down the eastern slope of VA Rt. 211 where it crosses Massanutten mountain west of New Market, I glanced over to see how the pup was handling the ride and saw what appeared to be two dogs. I quickly pulled into a turnout on the winding switchback-laden track and got an up close and personal look at my new passenger. It was a football size mound of partially digested, thoroughly moistened dog food, which rested squarely in the middle of my passenger seat. The blue sheeting Joy had carefully placed there to ptotect my upholstery had been cleverly -- and intentionally -- scrabbled to the back of the seat so the deposit could get the featured position and rest right where it was not supposed to be.

I jumped out, went around the Trooper, and using paper towels (I always keep a roll in the car in case I should have to transport small vomiting critters), and scraped as much of the soggy, golden deposit onto the surface of the gravel turnout. Once I arrived at the encampment located four miles west of Skyline Drive, I turned the little ***** loose and announced to the throng of arriving attendees that "Upchuck" was ready for adoption. She immediately headed for the tent of one of the visiting anglers and began tearing at his stash of Cheetos.

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"It was a football size mound of partially digested, thoroughly moistened dog food, which rested squarely in the middle of my passenger seat."

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Later, I drove to the Luray Wal-mart and bought a $5 canister of spray-on upholstery cleaner and foamed the seat as best I could. It worked fairly well, but I was in for another surprise. Saturday morn -- almost two full days after my initial discovery of Upchuck's gift -- I made a second "find." Actually, it was my canoe partner for the day who detected this windfall. Darryl Heikes, who for more than 30 years was White House photog for US News, hopped in the front seat for the ride to the put-in spot for our float. And, understandably, not familiar with the internal layout of my Trooper, reached to close the door, missed the handle and stuck his hand into the "window well" where the maps are kept. Voila! You guessed it! "Upchuck", thoughtfully trying not to mess up my vehicle, had obviously aimed for the window well, but once it was filled, could do nothing but unload the overflow onto the seat in front of her. With Darryl's right hand dripping golden goo, I suddenly gained new appreciation for the cute little pooch who had quickly become the Rodeo's camp pet.

The tale was to continue a short while later. Darryl and I turned over in a riffle about 200 yards form the launch site, I don't know who was at fault, but I suspect Mr. Heikes got his revenge for the little surprise I and "upchuck" had given him. While we lost both paddles, tackle boxes, lures, reels, cushions et al, we managed to recover about 90% of the spillage during the remaining six miles of our float -- and put about 60 bass in the boat to boot. We used pieces of tree bark to maneuver the canoe until we spotted one paddle in a foamy eddy, then the other in another frothy holding spot a mile further downstream. Darryl's cooler-size lure box was sitting on a gravel bar behind a wading angler some three miles from our dump site. My treasured Bassmasters Classic tackle bag with at least five reels and numerous precious baits, is still somewhere between the Alma put-in and 211 bridge take-out on the South Fork of the storied -- and smallmouth-rich -- Shenandoah.

Know anyone who needs a cute little flea-bitten bitch dog that has a nervous stomach and likes Cheetos?

Tight lines, Jackl!

PS - What do I intend to do about all my lost tackle? Sunday is Fathers' Day....