Early this morning, one of my best friends passed away in the Mobile Infirmary after being life flighted from my fish camp at Hurricane Landing. His name was Obelee Jackson, a member of the Creek Indian Tribe whose headquarters is in Atmore, AL. Obie retired from the parks and recreation department in Pensacola, and moved down to the river, that is, the Mobile/Tensaw Delta. He became a member of the Hurricane Bream Club which had over two hundred members. Each month the club had a tournament, and no one ever won as many tournaments as Obelee Jackson. Undoubtedly, he was as they say in Alabama the best there ever was.
Each of the forty or fifty boats in a tournament has two club members, and by fate Obelee’s partner became too ill to continue fishing. So, I became Obie’s understudy. Obie taught me to use a fly rod pretty damn well. If a branch extended a foot above the creek, you can bet I can put fly underneath, way underneath it. Obie taught me the river, all the hidden creeks, deep holes, and where there was unsuspected logs and structure on the bottom. Fishing with Obie we nearly won every tournament; we won all the big money tournaments. When it came to the big money, the Indian and the Jew took the jackpots, sometime a thousand dollars.
When Obie turned 83, he fell ill with a heart condition and diabetes. His legs had been giving out, and I was lifting him into the boat. Finally, his wife told me that Obie could no longer fish, and I needed a new partner. Meanwhile, all the local yokels thought that I would no longer win tournaments since Obie retired. Probably, the greatest triumph of my life was proving them wrong. I entered tournaments alone and pitifully lost the first one, but that was last one I lost. I went on a tear and didn’t lose another tournament for a year and a half. Good grief, it finally became apparent that I had taken Obelee’s place. I became the new King of the River.
Obie’s wife called me in tears this morning, and asked me if I’d do her a favor. Obie’s remains are to be cremated, and a celebration of his life will take place down at the camp. After everyone offers their condolences and relates their anecdotes about Obie, Donna Jackson and I will carry Obie’s remains to the river where I will show Donna all the secret fishing holes that Obie revealed to me and some of them we discovered together. We’ll also bring our flyrods. Donna too was taught how to use one by Obelee. We will deposit Obie remains in secret places.
So many of the hours of my life were spent with that old Indian, and I loved him, and now he’s gone. I am very sad by his passing. Obelee was 88 years old.