Let us go back in time to the late 1920s and early to mid 1930s. Let us take a trip along the dirt roads or wagon trails through the southeastern part of Oregon County. The dirt road is now known as Highway 142.
Along the way, you would find a dotting of mail boxes with such names as Caldwell, Wheeler, Easley, Blankenship, Cypret, Underwood, Thomason, Norton, Jenkins, Brewer, Melton, Sullivan, Worley, Bryan, Williams, McGinis, Adams, Landis, Grabel, Hetherland, Roberts, Young and probably others I do not remember. Very few, if any of these people, still live in the area. In the midst of all these wonderful people was a small store and blacksmith shop known as Billmore. The Blankenships owned the store and blacksmith shop, which was a gathering place on a Saturday afternoon for many of the people in the community, a place to shop and exchange news of happenings and events of the week just past. It was a quiet, serene community where almost everyone was related either by blood or marriage. It was also a very close-knit community with friendly people having so many ways you had to like some of them.
You will find in this area tall trees, green grass, a few rail fences, large springs, and rivers so clear that you can see a pin on the bottom at great depths. If you were visiting there from some distance away (it didn’t have to be very far away), the whole community would throw a big bash for you that became known as the Billmore Community Fish Fry.
The community owned a large seine or net, with weights on the bottom and floats on the top which would reach across the widest area of Eleven Points River. The river, about one mile east of Billmore, flows through the Andy Caldwell homestead. The campground was about one fourth mile south of the Highway 142 bridge that crosses the river. The campground, where the fish fry was held, was a beautiful location; a flat area with tall shade trees, wildflowers, and a spring for good water. A small stream flowing along side a wagon road gave entrance to the campground. This stream provided a play area for small children or a drinking area for unwanted guests who might appear on the scene.
On the day of the fish fry, usually about 9:30 in the morning, several men and a few grown boys gathered near the campground. These twelve or fourteen people checked the net for repairs, or checked the long poles attached at each end of the net for strength and durability, and, of course, they checked the long rope attached to the pole at each end of the net.
The rope was important because four or five good swimmers holding the rope would cross the river at a likely spot. When they reached the other side, the ones of the opposite side would feed the net into the water as the first group pulled the net across the river. One strong man held the pole attached to the rope being pulled across the river. In most instances, the water was swift, so strong people were required to work fast in order to keep the poles and ropes, now on each side of the river, ahead of the center part of the net. Usually, two good swimmers followed the center section of the net to un-loose it if it should get caught on a snag or rock, as it often did.
A lot of planning was required before launching the net into the river. Relatively deep water was required, because it was not so swift in the deep areas, and that was where the big ones were. Yet, shallow water and a relatively flat area was required in order for the men to pull the net to land, hopefully landing a nice catch. If lucky, we would have a few red horse, large yellow, or blue suckers, maybe a jack salmon or two, a few channel cat, sometimes an eel, and, of course, a few turtles and crawdads.
Then we would move on, either up river or down river, for the next drag, which was the distance from where the net was launched to where it was pulled to dry land to unload the fish. The number of drags depended on the number of people attending the fish fry and the number of fish caught in the drags. We never wanted to waste the fish by taking more than needed; we wanted to save some for another time.
As fish were caught, they were rushed to the campsite by a runner where the fish were cleaned and prepared for cooking by some of the busy ladies in camp. The runner would rush back to the river for another catch. Most of the fishing was done within a mile of the camp site.
It was interesting and exciting to watch or be part of the fish drag party as they moved to the next area of the launch. The net was about 150 feet long; it was carried Indian style. By that, I mean one person followed another about ten or twelve feet apart, depending on the number of people doing the fishing. From one drag to the next, the men would move along the river bank looking for a good place to launch. Many of us were barefoot. I can still remember the sharp rocks, thorns, and other obstacles to slow us down.
Some of the drag areas I remember were the Blue Spring Branch upstream, a small river starting from a large spring at the base of the Narrows. This small stream emptied into the Eleven Point River less than one-half mile from where it started.
The area was usually productive, but the water was extremely cold, so we didn’t tarry in that area very long. The next area downstream was just below the island where a drag was made. This drag finished on the east side of the river where the bridge now crosses the river on Highway 142.
Moving down the river you come to the high bank where the river makes a bend just below the mouth of the small stream that runs along the camp site. The high bank near the camp site was a gathering place for swimmers and after-dinner visiting for the older set. The high bank area of the river was another good fishing place. It was treacherous for launching the seine or net because getting down the high bank to the river was a problem. The water was deep and very swift. The current could easily wash or carry the center part of the seine down river faster than the pole holder and rope puller could move with it. However, if we worked fast and were lucky the drag was very productive. It’s interesting that a drag was never more than 100 to 150 yards in length, and often much shorter.
If, by chance, we didn’t have a sufficient number of fish by this time, we moved on down river past the long swift rapids to a place called the Elgan Hole, which was another good productive area. I’m sure this area was named for one of the sons of Andy Caldwell.
Often during the fishing period, someone would come along the river bank with a desire to join the party without helping or getting wet. Well! That was a mistake! Someone in the fishing party would usually hold out a hand to the person on the bank for assistance in climbing up the embankment. This act was pretty well pre-planned, so we had the largest and strongest person in the party to extend his hand. Suddenly, after the two had joined hands, the person on the bank came flying through the air into the water for a good dunking. If the person took this action in good humor, we made him a member of the Perch Club and invited him to dine with us. If he took issue with the action, he was ducked again. He was not invited to dine with us and was often left at the river. No! We didn’t drown him, but he was left wet and in shame.
Of course, this was not the only place in which people were ducked. As years passed, I remember that roads improved, more automobiles became available, and more game wardens were prevalent.
One day, a runner came to the river to inform us that two game wardens were at the camp, waiting to arrest everyone for illegal fishing. Illegal? No, we didn’t know our fishing was illegal! I had never heard of a game warden. Since we already had caught all of the fish we needed, we stashed the seine and went into camp. We found everything in good shape and saw two strange people that we learned later were the game wardens. With aprons on, they were helping the ladies fry the fish.
According to reports we received later, the game wardens had come into camp with a very bad, obnoxious attitude. The ladies were very hospitable and invited them to have dinner with us. The game wardens refused and stated their purpose was to arrest everyone in camp. So a few of the larger, stronger ladies picked up the game wardens and body tossed them into the deeper water area of the small creek that flowed by the camp. When the wardens climbed up the bank, the ladies, with hands on their hips, again invited the wardens to break bread with us. The wardens refused and stated their business. Well, again the ladies put the wardens in the water. This time, I was told, they literally put them under and held them under until bubbles began to appear. When the game wardens came out from under the water this time, they gladly accepted the invitation, and offered their help.
It was a wonderful spread, as they always were, with fish cooked in a large wash pot over an open fire, boiled coffee, cornbread, pies, cakes, and all the trimmings that were prepared by the ladies before they came to the camp.
By the way, we were never bothered with those game wardens again. Of course, there was only one small wagon road that came into camp. If a wagon or two were turned crosswise in the road, the progress of anyone traveling by automobile (as the game wardens did) was impeded.
Those were wonderful days in my memory of southeastern Oregon County. I’m sure that those from the Billmore area who are still living will long remember the Billmore Community Fish Fry. I do. (Golden Wheeler)
Oregon County MO Historical Society 