Fishing Trip: Up a Little River

A fishing trip sometimes takes on a life of its own.

Take, for instance, my last major journey to Arkansas. It started simply enough. I had a magazine assignment to fish the White River. Figured I make a couple of phone calls, line up a guide, and make the trip. Uh, huh! Next thing I know I’m hipboot deep in the Internet, and negotiating with travel departments. There are discussions with lodges and guides and whirlwind drives across three states and then the length of the Ozarks. Lots of big water fishing involved, and high currents because they’re pumping eight generators coming out of Bull Shoals.

As things worked out, that fishing trip resulted in scheduling three days making float trips out of a fishing resort right on the White.

We did things the traditional way on this fishing trip: floating the river in long, thin, Johnboats; pretty much the way Forrest Wood did it in the old days before he invented the bass boat. In these Johns, you sit in a cut-down beach chair that is lashed to the gunwales. While not as tippy as a canoe, they come fairly close, especially when the water is high and fast. So you’re fighting the boat, as well as the river and the fish.

The daily game plan was simple. Wed get out early in the morning. The dams shut down in the evening, and by the time we’d hit the river at first light it would be dead low---ideal fly fishing waters. The day would be spent staying ahead of the water flow once they opened the gates. After that we’d use the motor to work against the current and make short drifts using spinning tackle and live bait.

Take my word for it. Several days of this type of fishing trip, punctuated with trout up to the three or four pound mark, gets to be a job of work. So I was tired as I pointed the truck further west to meet with Ken Richards, a smallmouth guide out of Bentonville.

Richards is an innovative guide who works the big river for trout or some of the tributaries for bass. Depending what and where, this means everything from wade fishing to the use of drift boats. Typically, on the White, or when the Buffalo is high, he uses one of those drift boats. You fish out of the boat in deeper water and wade the shallows where appropriate; basically they same techniques developed for the brawling rivers of the West.

Our plans for this fishing trip were to float several of the better known smallmouth streams. The Buffalo (arguably the foremost smallmouth river in the country), was on our itinerary, and maybe Spring River or King’s River, depending on water conditions. Each of these divides naturally into floats of six or eight miles. In order to cover as much water as possible, we figured on two such floats per day.

But I was exhausted after three days fighting the White and another 150-mile drive with little sleep. And Richards picked up on that when we met for lunch.

“What I thought we’d do this afternoon,” he said, “was just warm up on Sugar Creek.”

Sugar Creek, it turns out, is just what the doctor ordered. It’s small water---you can walk across it in eight or ten steps just about anywhere. Most of it was no deeper than our thighs, with an occasional waist-deep pool. It flows through towns and subdivisions and past golf courses and greenbelts for much of its length. And it’s rare to see another fisherman.

In short, exactly the kind of stream you probably have within minutes of where you live.

We waded wet, carrying a minimum of gear and leisurely flicking chartreuse sparkle grubs into holding water. Rarely did we get more than a few steps from each other, and we chatted about fishing, and our lives and families, and how the Ozarks were changing. We swapped a few lies, and laughed a lot.

Periodically we’d take a smallmouth. Nothing big, you understand. Fish in the eight to eleven inch range who would hit hard and put on a short, scrappy fight, especially on the #4 weight flyrods we were using. Richards told about a three pounder he’d taken on a fishing trip further upstream one year, and I told about the heron I’d seen the previous day who took a trout going easily 14 inches.

Relaxed fishing and easy talk. And we stopped being guide and client and started becoming friends on this little creek that was a prescription for what ailed me. I could feel the exhaustion slip away.

This is what fishing is supposed to be---rejuvenating and re-energizing. Sugar Creek worked its cure, as Richards knew it would. Next day we’d fish King’s River, or maybe the Elk, and the day after that the Buffalo. And we’d be back to “serious” fishing for big bronzebacks. Bur for now, Sugar Creek was what I needed.

Keep that in mind, next time you need a little rest. Forget the fishing trip that requires the long drives, and the big water, and the almost sleepless nights. Head to the nearest small stream, and leisurely cast a fly or your favorite spinner. I guarantee you’ll feel the workaday world slide off your shoulders.

The thing is, too, that these little streams are everywhere. Even if you live in a big city there’s probably one no more than 20 minutes away. Mostly overlooked, they often harbor fairly large fish.

But it’s not big fish you’re after, on these small creeks. What you’re looking for is big-time relaxation. So you don’t need to make plans, or arrange a guide, or push yourself to get there. Forget the arsenal of rods, and the big tackle boxes, and the frantic casting for trophy fish. Grab a rod and a small box of lures and go spend an hour or three in ideal recreation. You’ll be better off for it.