Cancer-free celebration

LITTLE ROCK — Brady Long will remember Arkansas fondly for what I pray will be a long and healthy life.

Long, 12, of Mount Airy, Md., is the youngest son of Rich Long, also of Mount Airy. Rich graduated from Little Rock Central High School in 1982 and Penn State in 1987. We've been like brothers since we met in Kay Taylor's sophomore English class at Central in 1979 as 15-year-olds. More than a year ago, Rich told me that Brady had brain cancer and would have to undergo some very aggressive and invasive treatments and surgeries, including radiation and chemotherapy. The scar that runs from the nape of his neck up the back of his skull reveals just what the kid has endured.

On Aug. 20, Brady's latest magnetic resonance imaging showed that he was cancer-free and free to travel to Arkansas for the fishing trip I promised him for when he felt well enough to come.

They arrived Aug. 21, and after a short rest at La Hacienda de Hendricks, me, my wife, Laura, and my seven children loaded up our gear and headed to the Ozarks for two days of float fishing on the Buffalo River. Rich marveled at Laura's two-page checklist of supplies, as well as the large utility trailer we use to carry it all, and he marveled at the militarylike efficiency our kids showed in gathering it all.

"It's a lot like outfitting a small army," Laura said. "Back when it was just Bryan and me, we used to throw all our stuff in the back of a truck and go on a minute's notice. Now :" She tapped the list with her pen, "it's a major operation."

It was kind of a bittersweet trip in a way because it was my oldest son Ethan's last weekend at home before moving to Arkadelphia for his freshman year at Henderson State. It occurred to me that this might be our family's last trip all together. The good Lord blessed us with the most beautiful August weather I have ever seen in Arkansas. The Buffalo was up and running at a good clip, which put all of the rapids under our keel.

"We're right in the middle of the new moon, too," I told Rich. "The fishing is just going to be awesome."

We launched the next afternoon at Tyler Bend Recreation Area for a float to Gilbert.

"Usually this time of year, the water is so clear you can throw a penny in the bottom of a 10-foot pool and count the hairs on [President Abraham] Lincoln's beard," I said. "Big smallmouths hide when it's like that because they're vulnerable. The water is kind of cloudy today, and that might bring them out to feed in the open."

I explained how bass like to hunt in eddies and prowl little side pockets and narrow channels for crawdads and minnows. I pointed to a shadow line along the bank.

"Dramatic shadows like that over there actually serve as bass cover," I said. "Bass wait just inside the shadow, out of direct sunlight, and wait for something to come by to pounce on. Cast over there and see if you don't catch one."

Brady made a perfect cast, and bingo, he hooked and landed his first smallmouth bass. From that moment on, he was a fishing machine. He outfished Rich and me. I thought I might take him on big bass, but he whipped me with a solid 15-incher.

The next day, while floating from Baker Ford to Tyler Bend, we all three hooked smallmouth bass as we tumbled through a rapid. It's hard to control a boat when both paddlers are fighting fish, but we emerged at the bottom unscathed. We exchanged high-fives and fist bumps amid a chorus of hoots and cheers.

After spending Saturday night at La Hacienda De Hendricks, we ventured south to Stuttgart to spend a couple of days fishing with George Cochran, the legendary professional bass fisherman, at his cabin in the swamp.

Driving through that vast, flat farmland with all those ramshackle little villages - Ferda, Sherrill, Altheimer - filled Brady's eyes with wonder. He'd never seen anything like that in the densely populated hills of western Maryland.

"You're in the heart of the delta," I said. "It's one of the most famous regions in the world. The East has got the Blue Ridge, and the West has the Rockies. We've got the delta, the wellspring of blues music, Southern gospel and rock-and-roll. This is the home of Johnny Cash, B.B. King and more famous musicians and writers than I can name. You've got rich people, poor people and not much else in between, but I'll tell you what, Brady, they're some of the finest people you'll ever meet."

Nearing Bayou Meto Wildlife Management Area, I explained the history of the WMA and why the Grand Prairie is the duck hunting capital of the world. Rich is familiar with duck hunting in the marshes of Chesapeake Bay, but hunting green timber was foreign to him.

"The ducks land in the woods?" Rich asked incredulously.

"They sure do, and it's one of the coolest things in the world. I've been down here many a day when there wasn't a duck in the sky, but I've been down here when it was right, too. Bring Brady down here sometime, andwe'll ruin him."

After storing our gear in Cochran's cabin, we boarded Cochran's Chevy Suburban, wrapped in a baby blue Wal-Mart decal with jaunty gold lettering, for a short drive to Jimmy Gill's house in Stuttgart. Gill, a master angler in his own right and also an accomplished hunter, showed us his trophy room full of giant white-tailed deer, elk and waterfowl mounts.

From there, we were off to a small reservoir on a nearby hunting club that was full of giant bluegill. Rich and I caught a few before stopping, but Brady filled an ice chest, including a good number that covered two palms.

That's where it really got fun. Gill and Cochran have deep, booming voices with accents that just drip with grits, gravy, cornbread and Spanish moss. The look in Brady's eyes betrayed pure bewilderment. To him, the delta was a wild and exotic place full of laid-back but loud, ornery people who squeeze maximum joy from every moment of life.

Each time Brady hooked a bluegill, he lifted it from the water with his cane pole and catapulted it back to Gill, who removed it from the hook while Cochran opened the ice chest and extracted another cricket from the bucket in one deft motion.

"That's another quality keeper on the Little Mister Money Cricket!" announced Gill in a mocking tone with every keeper. That's a takeoff on the tagline for Cochran's commercial about the Little Mister Money spinnerbait, and Gill's taunting irritated him to no end.

We ended the adventure the next day by joining Cochran at another small reservoir near Stuttgart. It has a lot of bass, but isn't known for big ones. Another lake nearby has giants, but low numbers. Brady opted for numbers, but the lake delivered quality, too. Using topwater plugs, we - mostly Cochran andBrady - caught and released 53 largemouths in just over three hours. The largest was 4 pounds, but we caught a bunch in the 2- to 3 1 /2-pound range.

The highlight was when Brady caught two on one cast. They were both better than 2 pounds each, and when he finally landed them, all of us exulted.

Afterward, we went to the Wal-Mart in Stuttgart to get Brady an Arkansas Razorbacks ball cap, which he dearly wanted. That pretty much completed Brady's ultimate Arkansas experience.

Well, not quite. There was one more adventure in store.

On the way back to Cochran's cabin, we spied a crop-duster working a field in the distance.

"After he makes that loop, Brady, he'll dip down just a few feet off the ground, spray a strip and then go back and do it again."

"He's gonna go right over this road we're on," said Cochran, goosing the accelerator. "We'll get you over there where you can see him up close."

We reached his field just as the pilot climbed out of his run and made a wide banking loop for another pass. The plane dived and came straight at us, clearing the electric line above us by just a few feet. Brady's eyes were as big as saucers. It doesn't matter how old you are, nothing is cooler than that.

Two hours later, we said our farewells at the Little Rock airport. There, Laura and I sent him home with the greatest prize of all, one of my English setter puppies, his favorite breed.

"Teach him to hunt, and then bring him and your old man back down here again so I can take y'all hunting," I said.

A wide grin spread across his face, and we shook on it.