Epic Weekend: Jacks are Wild (and so are the trout)
When I left Gulfport at 1:30 p.m. on the Friday before fall break weekend, it was 90 degrees under a cloudless, Mississippi sky. Donned in shorts, flip-flops, and a t-shirt, I cranked up the Widespread Panic on the iPod and jammed my way north. The Yeti Roadie was in the backseat, the Scott fly rods in their tubes, as well as enough minimalist gear to take care of my basic needs (sleep, fly-fishing, and beer) for the next four days. The long-range weather forecast for Northern AR predicted a cold-front was on the way, but hopefully it wouldn't be a factor in my journey. No such luck. I passed through Jackson, missing the 5:00 rush and now cruising on I-55 through Memphis with dark clouds looming on the horizon. When I passed Exit 5 (Brooks Rd/Elvis Presley), the same exit where you would find Graceland, it was 82 degrees with a few raindrops spitting on the windshield. Five minutes later on I-40 toward Little Rock, the rain was blowing sideways and the thermometer read 52