The camp house was bordered on three sides by the Crow Ranch. By the time I was old enough to notice it was evident that the Crow ranch had not been a working ranch for some time. The fences were run down and other than the hunters who leased the various pastures during deer season, it had very little signs of use or activity. The fields were overgrown and the wooded areas were real thick and well defended by the briars.

 While not good for the Crow ranch it provided the perfect setting to grow up living next to. One of its many attractions was the huge lake which was teeming full of bass. My favorite recollections of fishing are likely a little different than most. I remember having to round up our old worn out Zebco fishing rods and all the beetle spin lures we could find before Dad would let us saddle our horses.

The trips usually occurred in the early spring when the mornings were still cool and every trip was subject to a host of different family members showing up with Uncle Roy being the most likely candidate to be in attendance every time. He certainly enjoyed his fishing.

We would leave the camp house with empty burlap sacks tied to our saddle horns and our fishing poles in hand. I remember the edges of the lake as over grown with bru briar vines which made access to the waters edge tough. It was a pretty good trip to get there on horse back and we never left our saddles. We would ride out into the water and cast our lures until we caught a fish. 

The fish would then be dropped into the sacks until there was no room left in any of the sacks. Then we would make the trip back to the camp house where the work of cleaning the fish started. Wet saddles and all fishing has never been more fun.

Cecil Bell Jr.