FISHING IN OLD-TIME DOTHAN WAS A REAL TREAT

by Doug Fuller from the November 10, 1985 Dothan Eagle

Dothan was a maze of spring-fed ponds and steams. Before the days of paved roads and traffic lights, stringers full of beautiful fish were caught…right here within the city limits. The graveled Montgomery Highway separated a dandy string of fish-filled ponds which were good places to hunt snipe and ducks, and gig frogs, and shoot rabbits and robins. Draping willow trees lined pools of sparkling water on the Northeast side of the dirt road headed towards our capital city. A natural channel connected these sipid (sic) lakes with a larger body of water which extended to the edge of West North Street in a section of town known as Baptist Bottom.

Frequent showers of Log Days (sic) and rainy spells during wintertime dropped more water than the low places could hold. Overflow water raced underneath a wooden bridge to form  Folkes Branch. The swift current crossed West Powell and Newton Streets, dog-legged across Montana, half-mooned and passed over West Main Street. Porter's Square Mall now stands directly over the main run of Folkes Branch.

The popular stream with many good fishing holes, meandered into the next wooden bridge on Hartford Road and on around Dothan County Club. Folkes Branch and several similar brooks emptied into the then large and fast-flowing Beaver Creek. Youngsters learned' about nature by lingering along Folkes Branch while going to and from school in ancient Dothan. I entered the first grade at the brand-new Highland School when the lone automobile parked in front was a Model-T coupe. It belonged to Miss Eunice Folkes, the school's first principal. Even the teachers walked to school when fish swam in Folkes Branch.

Instead of walking long routes on dirt roads, inquisitive kids found short-cuts and beat numerous foot paths to Highland School. Our favorite trail crossed Folkes Branch near a pasture fence made of barbed and 'hog wire.' We managed the exciting crossing by walking the fence. The key was to hand-hold a strand of barbed wire strung on top of four-foot high 'hog wire,' place the feet into squares at the bottom and tread, hand-overhand, foot-over-foot, to the opposite side. An alternative was to swing across by means of bullace vines. The fruit-bearing tendrils climbed high in towering sweetgum trees at Folkes Branch. By hacking long vines off near the ground, holding onto the trailing ends and running backwards as fast and far as possible, then lifting the legs, we glided to the other side and dropped on soft sandbeds. Sometimes we made it. Sometimes we didn't. Anyway, during the spring of our first year in school, we discovered 'jillions of beautiful fish swimming around in Folkes Branch.

It took our minds away from books and school. These pretty fish needed to be caught and it was up to us to do just that. The next morning, we went to school with fishing tackle tucked in hip pockets. A few fish hooks, pieces of string, scraps of lead and medicine bottle stoppers proved the essential equipment. We planned on fishing after school let out.

But, waiting for the three o'clock bell got the best of eager fishermen. We cut-out at recess and made way to our chosen spot. A tall patch of fennel weeds across the road provided a quick and easy avenue of escape. We went fishing early. Sam Hinson got there first.

By turning over several rotten logs, we quickly gathered an abundant supply of live worms and puppy-dogs for bait. Fork-ended fishing poles were cut from woodlands hiding the luring stream. Slender shoots reaching for sunshine, grew tall among bay, poplar and magnolia trees at Folkes Branch. Resourceful minds worked overtime.

While we caught more fish than bush limb stringers would hold. We could easily catch more fish, if we had a better and quicker way, take them to nearby homes, sell them and make enough money to buy all sorts of fishing tackle, thus our first business venture. We found a place and way. An abandoned fence had fallen across the stream. The ready-made footbridge was covered with leaves and limbs mixed in with other debris.

We found out that jumping on the snakey conglomeration made fish dart out, get caught in the current and flounder into shallow places. A rusty bucket retrieved from a nearby dump, made a good net. It had a hole in it. An old fashioned wash-tub; in worse shape, served as a fish box. We took turns jumping on the fish-shelter and catching fish with the bucket and filled the battered tin-tub to the brim.

It was hard to carry the heavy container with one handle missing, but we struggled and with determination, made the trip to some nearby homes just before dark. Occupants admired our bountiful catch of perch and catfish. They all wanted a mess of fish but declared, "Us ain't got no money," Bankruptcy was declared. We gave the fish away and went home where genuine 'old-timey' whoopins' waited. Needless to say, another awarding event was waiting at school the next morning. Miss Folkes sure knew how to handle a razor strap. 

Good fishing holes were within easy walking distance of every home in Dothan in by-gone days....and so were prized swimming places. They were called 'wash holes' back then. An excellent wash hole was situated in Tidwell's Woods a short distance from Highland School. Another lay back of the Country Club and still another at Beaver Creek on Route Seven, now Fortner Street Extension, just off the Circle.

The pool at the long wooden bridge was wide and too deep for expert divers to find the bottom. The hill on the other side was steep and too muddy during rainy weather for mules to pull wagons over. The conveyances had to detour out Hartford Road and return to Route Seven by way of Little Vine Church. Lots of youngsters learned to swim at Beaver Creek wash hole. I learned to swim in a wash hole near the Coast Line Railroad tracks.

The huge holed-out place on property belonging to Bill Pittman's grandmother, was known as 'big ditch.' Anyone who learned to swim in big ditch is well over half the age of our century-old city. You can bet your boots on that. Passengers looking out of train windows were often treated to exhibitions of 'new moons' performed by skinny-dippers horsing around in the 'big ditch.' Refreshments for the old-timey fun-filled days were often confiscated from watermelon patches along the way. Friendly farmers freely shared the fruits of their labors with energetic youngsters headed for wash holes. Wash holes were just about everywhere back then, but like in-town fishing holes, they vanished with the times. The advent of bathing suits and influx of mermaids changed the names of popular recreation places to swimming g holes...in our part of a changing world. As we grew...so did Dothan.

Serpentine branches were channelized and ponds drained to make way for progress. Mosquito and alligator populations declined as splendid fishing, hunting and swimming opportunities vanished. But, we're still withing calling distance of the very best that mother nature has to offer. 

Enjoy Living In Dothan.