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Took a few days last week for a trip down to southern Arkansas for some fishing on Lake Chicot. Chicot is a 20-mile-long oxbow, the largest oxbow in North America, according to Wikipedia, off the Mississippi River and it is Arkansas' largest natural lake.

On the southeastern edge of the Arkansas Delta, Chicot has a lot to offer anglers who are after crappie, catfish, bluegill, and especially bass.

Chicot is one of those places that hold a special place in my memory bank. Lake Chicot is where I fished my first Mr. Bass of Arkansas Classic in 2000. Finished second and had to watch Matt Lea tow my new fully rigged boat home while I got a check for 2500 bucks.

Driving down the lake brought back memories of all the bass that have been put in my livewells over the years. There was the dock where Al Fisher boated a 5.87 that sealed the deal on our first Angler's Choice Team event. Down the lake was the "Money Dock" where we went after boating that 5-pounder and culled everything in the box, except the 5, with 3 and 4 pounders. Across the lake was the stretch of sand drop that Kerry and I fished to win the inaugural Arkansas Couples Championship. Over there was the dock where Kerry boated a 6 and a 4 on back to back casts with a WEC E1 — the E1 she won't let me use anymore. Across the way was the dock where the hen had her nest in the planter. Too many memories and not enough time to make more. The bass fishing at Chicot is usually red hot or just good. I've also been there when it was downright terrible, but those times are rare.

It is situated so far away from the masses that it usually doesn't see much pressure. A day on Chicot in the middle of the week will most likely find less than a handful of boats on the entire lake. Weekends can be a different story, especially those when one of the local clubs has scheduled a derby. Even then, there are enough docks, cypress trees, and drops to go around. Kerry and I had visited a few of our favorite spots on the first day of our visit. Caught a few fish. Found a few places that seemed to be holding shad (always a key on Chicot). The water level was 4- to 5-feet low, as there was work being done on the weir dam that keeps the Mississippi cut off from the lake.

Many areas on either end of the lake were shallow enough that it wasn't wise to be running through them because of the cypress stumps. Cypress stumps don't give when you hit them with your boat. Good idea to pull back on the throttle when dealing with cypress. Kerry and I were idling through one of these areas when a big fish jumped 3 feet out of the water. I'm not talking 3 horizontal feet here; I'm talking 3-foot vertical. Cleared 3 foot. Three foot of air under its fins.

"What the ... Did you see that?" I asked the wife. "OMG! What was that?" OK, she didn't really say OMG. Actually, the moral compass might frown on the exact conversation and some ears might get singed, so I'm taking the literally liberty to clean it up a little.

Hey, fish aren't supposed to fly through the air. They're supposed to swim through the water.

This wasn't my first encounter with flying fish. I've had small bass jump in the boat at times on the Arkansas River and other places where the bass are roaming very close to the surface.

Usually happens when it's nice and quiet. You're easing down the bank. Step on the rolling motor and JUMP ... PLOP! A bass lands on the deck of the BassCat. Is that a legal catch? NOT.

So I've seen shad jump, bass jump, catfish jump (it's in the Doobie Brothers song, duh), but they're usually small fish. These were BIG fish — 10-pounders, 15-pounders, maybe even 20-pounders. Holy crap, there's another one right beside the boat! He splashed water on us. Seriously. So close that when he landed back in the water, it splashed up into the boat.

As we idled along through the shallow water I wondered if I could get a photo of one of these things flying through the air. How would you know when or where one was going to jump next? That's when it happened. I heard the fish jump once close behind us and turned just in time to see it jump again — straight toward the boat!

It was a quartering jump from the rear. Cleared only a foot of water, but it had the velocity. Fortunately the BassCat logo on the rear gunwale stopped its flight before it hit me in the back of the head.

OK, this is getting a little hairy. It's also freaking the wife out. A word to all those who want their wives to fish with them — freaking the wife out by idling aimlessly through masses of flying fish is NOT the path to an enjoyable day on the water. Enough of this ... Let's get the ... The fish flew between my face and the console of the BassCat.

No lie.

Jumped out of the water.

Flew between my face and the little "BCB" on the steering wheel. It landed not quite in the wife's lap, but pretty damn close.

Close enough that she screamed and jumped up on the front deck of the Puma in such a swift, smooth motion that she kind of blurred like those X Men do when they do that fast moovey thing. You know when the blurs kind of come off their limbs because they're moving at the speed of sound or light or something?

She was smoking fast from seated to standing on the deck in less than the blink of an eye. And screaming all the way. Did I mention the scream? "OH!" "MY!" "GOD!" That's the clean version. Again, the moral compass thing. What would you say if a 15- to 20-pound flying fish almost landed in your lap?

In my calmest voice, I say "It's OK. It's all right." On the inside, I'm saying "OH!" "MY!" "GOD!" Did I mention the blood? Stupid flying fish must have clipped a fin on the landing or something. Blood on the seat. Blood on the carpet. Blood down the wife's legs. Oops. Not good. That brought on more screams. "I'M BLEEDING!" In my calm voice, "No, dear. The fish is bleeding. You're fine." "GETITOUTOFHERE! WHATISIT?" Enough with the screaming. It's not going to attack us; not more than it has, anyway.

It's a carp. Bighead? Silver? I don't know, but it needs to get out of the BassCat and the BassCat needs to get away from his brothers.

Not before taking a few photos though. Started to take a photo of the wife, but I got THE LOOK. THE LOOK that says "No. No way. Hell no. Don't even think about it. NO." I put the camera away and ditched the carp. Seems that silver carp have infested the waters of my beautiful Lake Chicot from the nearby Mississippi. Bad news, as they are filter feeders and will compete with the gizzard shad in the lake for the phytoplankton.

Also bad news that they are very hard to eradicate. Bastards. Check it all out here on Wikipedia. According to one of the locals, there have been at least eight incidents of carp/ human interaction this year alone resulting in broken bones.

How's that? Pretty simple. Boat goes cruising down the lake. Carp get spooked and jump (that's what they do when they're scared). Carp collide with boat driver. Try getting your buddy to throw a 15-pound bone-in ham at you to see what happens. WAIT — don't try that. Just visualize it in your head. The wife's fine. I'm fine. The fish died (sorry PETA, it hit its head on the way out of the boat. Damn the luck. So sue me — it's a freakin' carp). The carpet smelled like ... carp for days. Even after washing it numerous times it smelled like ... carp.

We didn't go back to that end of the lake for the rest of our stay. Every time that Kerry heard a fish jump, she jumped. Not crazy about sharing her seat with a carp. Don't blame her.

For more info on Kevin Short or to contact Kevin, check out his Web site at www.kfshort.com.

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