|
So a woolly bugger...is a woolly bugger, but
on the Arkansas White River, you might be
tempted to trade your kingdom for one. My wife
Marta got skunked the first day, when even our
son Sebastian got his 10-inch rainbow with a
salmon egg imitation. That was bad, very bad.
Marta does not take getting skunked lightly. We
knew that getting something on the top was
pretty unlikely, unless we were interested in
the very small browns by the launch site. So
we had a Pow-wow with our guide and he suggested
that as most everyone was doing nymphs or woolly
buggers, we should do the same. Of course we
"knew" that "true" fly fisherman don't use
woolly buggers, so the strategy was clear, we
will go nymphing. To maximize the possibilities,
we all tied different nymphs. I had a size 16
hare's ear, Marta a size 14 bead head and
Sebastian a size 12 yellowish salmon egg
imitation. The family was ready for action,
let's put the boat in the water.
Sebi with the first trout of the outing, a
good ten-inch fellow who took a salmon egg
imitation.
This family outing was primarily to the city of
Branson in the Missouri Ozarks. The idea was to
combine a fun place with plenty of rides and
attractions such as Branson that will please
Sebastian, with a couple of days drifting the
White River for the multiple rainbows and the
few but large browns (locally known as "German"
browns) often found there. We drove from
Philadelphia (two days) to Branson. It was quite
a pleasant drive to our exchange resort and the
first three days in Branson were simply delightful
and intense.
The time to move to the Arkansas White River
was here and we did the 40 minutes drive to
Flippin AR early in the morning. Mike, our
guide was waiting for us by the put-in. As
we looked at the White River we noted how
beautiful and transparent it looked, just as
those aquariums you see in Sea World. What
is in a name? For the White it stems from the
geology of its bottom. There are long and flat
rocks, and as white as snow, among others rocks
and plants. This is a good size river, perhaps
between fifty and a hundred feet wide and
crossing some gorgeous forest and riverside
dwellings. Soon you start seeing fish. The
first of note are at the put-in place. They
are all working the surface and Mike told us
they are all small brownies, less than six
inches. Latter, one can see the rainbows,
mostly between ten and fifteen (if my
experience gauging size serves me correctly)
with some larger ones interspersed.
It was quite interesting to inspect the boat;
totally different from the Mackenzie style we
were use to. It was a very long pram, all
fiberglass, with square bow and stern, a small
outboard and no oars. Our boat was quite comfortable,
perhaps more so than the Mackenzie types. We
started casting our nymphs as we drifted. We
note that the guide seldom turned the outboard
off; he was constantly correcting our angle with
respect to the current seams. It was a show just
to see the guide running the boat with the
outboard at full throttle along the shallow
channels between some nasty rocks. "Experience
counts," was his explanation for this impressive
feat. "After you do 180 drifts a year, you have
some idea where the rocks are."
The white rocks in the bottom that gives the White its name.
About an hour down river, my son Sebi got a
strike, he was fishing with his favorite
bait-casting rig; a bobber and a salmon egg
imitation weighted with a couple of lead split
shots. He landed the ten-inches rainbow like
a pro, quick and clean. Mike got it in his net
and after the necessary photo, was quickly
released. In the bow, things were quite
exciting. I kept on getting strikes and
managed to land a couple of nice rainbows
with the hares ear nymph. On the stern,
things were not particularly well.
Marta getting ready for lunch, Sebi of course,
looking for crawdads. Note the exuberant forest
surrounding us.
Marta got a strike and lost the trout, changed
the nymph, and after a period of indifference,
kept on changing the fly with not much success.
At that time I was not doing much better either
(neither Sebi) so I changed to a soft hackle
and managed to land one more by lunchtime.
We beached the boat at a peaceful place, with
a nice picnic table and a great view of an
island in the middle of the river. While we
disposed of the required chicken lunch, Sebi
was chasing and catching the crawdads and
sculpins among the rocks. Guess what, Sebi
managed to catch one of the largest crawdads
I have seen.
Have you ever seen a bigger crawdad?
Mike took me wading (with hippers) to a very
particular run. It was shallow in the middle
of the river and deeper in both sides. The
river bottom was composed of very small yellow
round rocks, and was totally featureless. In
my infinite ignorance, it struck me as a
fishless place, but Mike said, "Cast the
soft-hackle to the bank and let it dead drift."
Needless to say I caught two nice rainbows
as the fly swung downstream.
The rest of the afternoon was a repeat of
the morning; Sebi fishing for ten or fifteen
minutes every hour, and playing with whatever
he found the rest of the time (I should say
that Mike showed to be an excellent guide for
a family with kids, he kept Sebi interested
in river and fishing stuff, to the extent of
giving him a couple of expensive streamers,
even one tied by David Whitlock himself, and
which Sebi treasures).
I kept on getting a casual strike now and then,
with perhaps two more trout landed. Marta was
not happy, the trout was eluding her, and she
was working hard to get one to take her offering.
By seven in the early evening, we make it to
the pullout place at the junction of the Buffalo
River. Mike's wife was waiting for us with the
truck. We quickly placed the boat in the trailer
and headed back to Flippin. In about an hour we
were back in Branson.
A day was skipped so Sebi could visit a water-park
he was interested in. It was a great and physically
trying experience so we were ready for the peace
and quiet of a slow drift along the White.
Our guide Mike, and Sebi discussing how to
best release a rainbow and other pertinent
philosophical issues.
The morning was cold for a summer day, but
crisp and sunny, and the river as seductive
as a river can be. We note the small brownies
still working the surface of the boat ramp, as
we walked toward Mike and the green boat in the
White river. The river looked a bit greener this
time and somewhat livelier, perhaps because we
managed to see a great blue heron, a kingfisher
and bald eagle in quick succession. So here we
go, this time Marta was not going to take any
prisoners. Mike suggested an olive woolly bugger,
but she started with a black woolly worm. I kept
the soft-hackle that produced nicely the previous
day, and Sebi tried some hardware he is very fond
of, a rappala lure with a single hook in the tail
end. Marta immediately got hooked, and this time
she landed the trout, before anyone could even
comment on her good trout, she changed to a white
woolly bugger and hooked another trout.
Go for it mom!
They were nice fifteen inchers or so. She kept
hooking, landing and switching woolly bugger
colors all day long; she was on a roll. She
must have landed and released over a dozen
and a half rainbows (no brownies, for anyone)
all of good size. Marta was on cloud nine,
and in this family, if mom is happy, we are
all happy! ~ Jorge
|
