| U.S. Highway 72 is an old route in north Alabama, | | | | safer ground. It was a beautiful afternoon that is |
| stretching from Bridgeport, Tennessee to | | | | forever etched in my memory. |
| Memphis on the other side of the state. Over the | | | | About 80 miles east on highway 72, there was an |
| years I've caught a lot of fish in streams and | | | | old bridge about 10 miles west of Scottsboro, |
| lakes near this road, where it meandered near the | | | | Alabama, where state highway 79 crossed the |
| Tennessee River and the backwaters of one | | | | road. I've spent many pleasant spring and fall |
| TVA dam or another. Sometimes I'd just stop | | | | evenings sitting under that overpass in a boat, |
| the truck and fish from the side of the highway. | | | | fishing from the light of my Coleman lantern. |
| That was another day though, before progress in | | | | During the spring, I and whatever fishing buddy I |
| the way of road expansions changed forever the | | | | had at the time would catch baskets full of |
| picturesque sites of quite a few successful fishing | | | | crappie there. In the fall, we would tie a lantern to |
| expeditions. Changing old highway 72 into a | | | | one of the support beams and let it hang almost |
| modern 4-lane speedway has either destroyed | | | | to the top of the water. When bait fish would |
| entirely or ravaged beyond recognition, my once | | | | swim through the light, we would catch striped |
| special roadside fishing spots. | | | | bass and sometimes an unexpected largemouth |
| I remember one warm spring afternoon as I was | | | | bass, as we listened to the sound of drums from |
| returning to my home in Huntsville, Alabama, from | | | | a high school football game about 3 miles away |
| having fished at a place named Second Creek on | | | | from where we were fishing. |
| the old highway 72 west. My buddy and I had | | | | Every once in a while an automobile would cross |
| caught a few crappies that morning and as we | | | | the bridge, shaking loose a few small pieces of |
| approached a little stream named First Creek. | | | | aged debris each time. Nothing heavy every fell, |
| There wasn't a lot of thought going into selecting | | | | though there were a few times when we prayed |
| creek names back then. | | | | that a truck wouldn't try to cross that bridge. |
| This stream was one of the prettiest I've ever | | | | After a business trip to the Midwest that lasted |
| seen because it was nestled between a little spit | | | | four years, I returned to the south and one |
| of land filled with trees and the huge outcropping | | | | pleasant autumn evening, I loaded up the boat |
| of a sheer rock wall. The water was always calm | | | | and headed to the old 79 bridge. It was gone! |
| and in the spring had a hint of green pollen lying | | | | During my absence it had been demolished and |
| placidly on top. The whole pool couldn't have been | | | | hauled away. A new highway had been built about |
| more than 50 yards long and about 25 yards | | | | a hundred yards from my old fishing hole, |
| wide, but it was fed by the river, which kept the | | | | diverting the flow of water away from the place |
| water clean and moving along. | | | | I used to fish. It was if the bridge and my |
| Our first casts, up against the rock wall, netted us | | | | evening fishing memories had never existed! |
| both a nice smallmouth bass. It didn't really matter | | | | There'll always be progress. If you don't have it, |
| what kind of bait we threw at them, it worked! | | | | you'll soon atrophy and die. I wish though, that |
| We fished there for about an hour, catching one | | | | progress would leave my fishing holes alone. |
| fish after another until the rest of them left for | | | | |