I Am Not Alone In My Insanity...
When we left Gulfport it was 57 degrees. By the time we got to Hardy, AR, it was hovering between 32 and 33 degrees and snowing like crazy. It seems as if every time I have a window to trout fish, that Arkansas is having a major weather event. Over the past ten years I have seen blizzards, ice-storms, epic floods, hailstorms, and tornadoes--just about everything short of a tsunami. This trip was no exception. We drove in snow from Hardy to Mountain Home, found a room at the Motel 8, stowed our gear, and promptly hit the bar at Chili's. There, we had a couple tall cold beers, some well-appreciated food, and caught one of the many college football bowl games on the tube. Afterwards, we retired to the room, got up the next morning, threw the rod tubes, duffles, waders, and other assorted fly-fishing gear in the truck and headed out for breakfast. We tried a place we'd never dined at before: Bobbie Sue's. Bobbie Sue's is a local eatery in Mountain Home and serves a mean breakfast. While Laurie and I drank our coffee, and before I could slather my over-easy eggs with Tabasco, I decided to "check the water" or "call water" as I have affectionately deemed it over the years. Much to my chagrin, but not to my surprise, the USACE had changed the game, and thereby changed the entire course of my fishing excursion. I checked the Southwestern Power Administration Power Predicted Generation site and it read: "0 units" all the way down on both the White and the Norfork Lakes. Just to make sure I wasn't hearing iPhone Gremlins, I called again and the news was the same. The USACE was running maximum generation on both rivers, making it impossible to fish. Ten hours, driving in blizzard-like conditions to get here, and now I can't fish. When I say bummer, I mean bummer.
When you can't fish, you can always go to the fly shops, and that's just what we did. That is, after we made a quick trip to Hastings. for fly-fishing mags, and Laurie found a couple of cookbooks she absolutely had to have. Her inspiration was in part, my fault as my Christmas gifts to her were all kitchen oriented, but the thing that put her over the top?
I bought her a copy of Julia Child's "My Life in France," which she read, cover-to-cover on our road trip. The cover of the book features one of Julia and Paul's (her husband) valentines that they sent annually to their friends. From the snippets Laurie read to me on the road, this is a book that I would read.
After our media decadence, we drove to Blue Ribbon Fly Shop and much to my further chagrin, it was closed (double bummer). Not to be deterred we drove to Steve Dally's Ozark Fly Fisher in Cotter. I've featured Steve and his shop in other posts.
Steve, a native Kiwi, is one of the nicest guys I know. Very knowledgeable, a great salesman and fishing guide, he always makes you feel like spending money, which I, without fail, amply do each time I'm in his shop. This time was no exception wherein I score this sweet Simms Trout Visor Beanie and a thermal Buff to boot.
Also ran into a windfall tip here as well: One of my heroes, Derek DeYoung, is going to be at Steve's shop in February. In case you've been living under a river rock and don't know who he is, Derek is one of
the premier trout artists in the country. If you've seen any of Derek's work, you won't forget it.
Since I'm an amateur trout artist myself, getting to see Derek at work is going to be a tremendous learning experience for me.
With a renewed vigor and lot of cool new gear, Laurie and I left Steve's shop and headed to our inevitable destination: Mammoth Spring and the Spring River.
We spent the night at the Bouncer's cabin with he and Peggy being the exceptional hosts they are. Their next door neighbors--The Whites, were in town. Dr. White has a clinic in Imboden, AR and is quite the fly fisherman. On the side, he picks a mean guitar. The Bouncer is the master picker, however, and when he and the Doc get together, it's a fun show. The Bouncer and the Doc picked and grinned while Peggy and I chimed in with our best vocal efforts.
The next morning was beautiful, but a brutally cold 19 degrees. I assembled the Scott S4, tied on an olive Woolly Bugger, and put on every piece of Patagonia and Simms layering I had, including my new Simms beanie and wool Buff, packed the truck, and drove to Lassiter Access. I figured no one in their right mind would be fishing this morning, and I was right: The parking lot was empty. I had the river to myself, but as I was putting on my waders and boots, a funny thing happened. A vehicle pulled up beside mine and a bundled-up male and female fly-fishing duo from Kentucky stepped out.
I snapped on my GoPro Chestie, grabbed my road and walked by the couple, readying themselves for fishing. I said, "I see I'm not alone in my insanity."
"No," he said, and pointed at my GoPro, "or optimism."
We shared a laugh and I headed to the river. After 4 and a half hours and 9 fat rainbows that were suckers for my olive woolly, I had lost the feeling in my fingers and headed back to my truck. I cracked open a cold PBR and looked over my shoulder to to see the Kentuckians returning as well. It was then I found out they were a father-daughter team. Nice folks.
So all-in-all, as disastrous as the trip started, this day made it all worthwhile. I caught more fish than I deserved and the sun did its best to melt the snow. As a matter of fact, this would be the only time I would see the sun throughout the remainder of my trip. But that didn't matter. I thrive in my lunacy. Sure is nice to know that I'm not alone in it. I didn't catch the father and daughter's names, but we did have a great discussion about the merits of the Patagonia Rock Grip Aluminum Bar Wading Boots among other things. They are definitely members of my tribe.
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