Charley Webb outdoors: Passing the torch to the Bob-Q : Beaufort Tribune.com

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Charley Webb outdoors: Passing the torch to the Bob-Q

Cookin' at the Bob-Q

It was a clean spring afternoon, March 1960. Word spread out over the Beaufort grapevine (composed of Ma Miller’s, Koth’s Grocery, The Jarvista, and The Yacht Club downtown) that Buddy and Zoo would be barbequeing at the Pritchard Camp.

The “Big Moe” (Buddy and Zoo’s bado) was leaving Station Creek Landing loaded to the gills with provisions; onions, collards, flour, beans, bacon and enough Carling Black Label beer to sink the QE2. The pork was an island resident; we’ll cover that later.

Wedge filling up

Von Hartens, Lubkins, Chaplins, Darbys, Morrises, McAlhaneys, Thameses, Cooks, Aldermans, Smalls, Priesters, Bellamys, Thompsons, Brelands, and Martins in all shapes and sizes made up the core group. Once all their invitees and un-invitees showed up, the crowd numbered over 100.

Their Bar-B-Q was old style complete with choosing and killing a hog and butchering on site. There were no store-bought hams for this group. The kids may have cried while the hog squealed but none turned down the ribs and hash at serving time.

Homemade fun was the order of the day or night. Younger members crabbed, mud-bogged, beach combed, fished and as the evening shadows came, listened to Mr. Zoo’s tales about an island demon known as “The Wooly Booger”. One night while Mr. Zoo was in the middle of a good snore he was viciously attacked by a Wooly Booger. That’s a story that can’t go to print that involved my one-day-to-be father-in-law.

Big Duck full up

The adults had their own evening celebration. They thought the children were having sweet dreams in the bunk house. Actually we were keeping vigil through the holes in the bunkhouse wall. Vukas played the squeeze box while they danced Polkas around the fire. Coals were stoked for the pig on the grill. Lies were told and challenges made. All was in good fun. The juke box played “This Old house” and Mr. Buddy made certain everyone knew nickels deposited to play songs were his to keep. The mounds of Carling Black Label cans grew larger.

Many of their clan have “gone up the road” leaving a calling and tradition that earned a spot in the hearts of those who were fortunate enough to share those good times.

Skip forward now with me to 1990. A seasonal “Alberta Clipper” had spread a chill on The Jelly-Q. This featured event, named after its supposed organizer, Jelly Brain, was staged annually at the same venue and mirrored many of the same traditions passed on by our predecessors. The pork on the hoof had given way to store-bought Boston Butts.

Secret Agent smiling under a code of silence

The menu expanded to include short ribs, steaming collard greens, red rice, Bubba’s beans, limas and hocks, and a sad excuse for corn bread baked by one Robert P. O’Quinn.

My good buddy, Pooge, who has been immortalized in one of Roger Pinckney’s books as the “King of Cast Iron”, confesses that “anything worth eating starts with a pound of bacon.” Most of Jelly-Q’s recipes did.

The entire weekend was chased down with ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon beer, pronounced “bear” if you are a local. The Jelly Q cast of characters featured Jelly Brain, Big Duck, Wedge, Pooge, Rhab, Edro-Whoo, Bubba, Big Al, Sea Aggie, Bucket Head #1, Wiggie, Doze and a cast of others who don’t deserve to be remembered.

As you have probably picked up, if you weren’t tagged with a nickname you ranked among the forgotten few. I possess a rare talent for hanging nicknames that last a lifetime. Some of the recipients are not too appreciative but that’s part of a long-standing fish camp tradition.

Bob-O at the stove

And yes, lies, big lies, still abound as part of the honored traditions at the Jelly Q. “I bet I could row the “Great Locator” (a custom sports fishing craft) all the way to the Sea Buoy before you finish that case of Pabst”. “I’ll cover your bet and return your challenge that I could row that “Great Locator” faster than you to the Sea Buoy while drinking that case of Pabst”.

Lies turned to wagering and somehow Jelly always won and still does. There was talk of him selling his soul to the devil for all of his dumb luck. There was also talk of forcing an MRI to see if his lower plumbing unit contained a horse shoe or rabbit’s foot. But that’s just Jelly.

Jelly Brain, resting his brain

As time ran along, Jelly ran out of steam and the infamous Jelly-Q morphed into “Our Q”, with Big Duck and Wedge at the helm. They lay claim to running it behind the scenes for Jelly all along. They accepted the passing of the torch with great ceremony and celebration that featured ice cold Pabst and selected country music hits on the dock; the Our Q was full steam ahead.

A favorite addition to Our Q was grilled rope sausage and plenty of it. Annually, Big Duck and The Bloviator made a pilgrimage to Lodge, SC, to acquire the links and select the flavors–onion, garlic, country, hot, and sage.

At last count there were more than 80 feet of links sizzling over oak coals. Pabst, pork, more lies and, thank goodness, the Chaplins took over the baking of the cornbread.

As the organizers of Our Q mellowed a bit, they knew it was vital to the life of the event to pass the torch to some new blood. The art of organizing and feeding a group that claims to know everything and won’t take advice from just anyone, is a special talent that could only be assigned to a worthy successor.

Chicken and 80 feet of pork links

After a worldwide search for talent, the eternal flame was passed this year to none other than my nephew, Bob, thus the new event mantra, The Bob-Q. Actually he is really named Paul. Early in his life I dubbed him “Bob” after a cartoon character he resembled. He is affectionately known by just about everyone now as Bob-O. Incidentally, Bob-O is an eligible bachelor, owns his own house and a boat and cooks a mean “Q”. Give him a call.

This year Bob-O martialed his minions, Oaf, Aggravating Corey, Jon-Ray, Southside and Swimming Ben (for moral support). Under the watchful eye of Big Duck, who at times had to become somewhat vocal, Bob-O pulled off what was a fine event complete with all of the honored traditions of the past.

Some of the 40 boats at the Bob-Q

Big Duck hasn’t finalized the Bob-O report card but did relay his feeling that with some minor corrections he and Wedge made the proper choice in the torch pass. If sheer numbers tell the story, we had over 40 boats at the dock and over 150 plates served.

Late Saturday afternoon after the feast was over and most of us were in a food coma I was standing on the dock swatting gnats when Edro-Whoo, aka Eddie Thames, pulled me aside and told me his father and Jack Chaplin were in the back kitchen telling old camp stories. These two are of Buddy and Zoo vintage and to listen to them tell how our traditions began was a pure Lowcountry treasure; characters that have passed, the old camp, the Wooly Booger, lies, fish caught, beer consumed, homemade fun, hog and duck hunts.

I could have listened for hours. As the afternoon hours grew late we gave them a ride back to what is now Buddy and Zoo Boat Landing.

The torch has been passed and how fortunate we have been to enjoy this special event that transcends time in a place that we call home.

Charley Webb

Charley Webb is a Beaufort native who writes an occasional column for The Beaufort Tribune when he is not otherwise busy in the great out of doors or operating Kinghorn Insurance of Beaufort. Click here to see all his columns.

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