| When Bill sauntered through the
door of Tom Hargrove’s fly fishing emporium sporting a toothy grin and a beckoning
finger toward the Inner Sanctum I know there was something on his mind besides the Fredric
Chopin in the brown poke under his arm. Somehow or other he had freed himself from his
busy practice for a little R & R.
Would I care to join him? “Why of course, when and where?” Before Chopin had
finished his second nocturne the granite was chiseled:
The Current River for Saturday September 28th, then to the North Fork of the White River
to spend a few days with Myron McKee at his River of Life establishment. After that
we’ll just play it by ear.
Saturday morning broke like a day in Heaven: Azure blue sky, cool
brisk air, not a hint of foul weather. By 8:20 AM we were loaded and southbound. Shortly
into the foothills the roadside grape stands attracted our attention and so a brief stop
at St.. James “Grape Products” was suggested. Not being much of an enthusiast
over Ozark wines I was pleasantly surprised by most of the samples we tasted. Needless to
say, we left with a few bottles of their award winning products.
Noontime found us at Montauk Park where we saw the saddest looking
anglers with the sorriest stringers of the smallest trout I have ever seen at this fishers
Mecca. If they weren’t doing well where they stock trout daily what would it be like
at Tan Vat and Baptist Camp? Naturally, being the weekend, and with the glorious weather
the park water was crowded. This called for a council of war. Over a repast of
Hillary’s fine turkey and onion sandwiches (she sent Bill with two dozen of these
gems) and a taste of the grape, we decided to drive downstream until we found some
uncrowded
water.
At Tan Vat there were two cars and about five fishermen plunking
spin lures at the easy water. Downstream there was nobody in sight! On went the waders and
out came two of the finest seven food cane rods made by the hand of man. Within half an
hour each of us had hooked and released three foot long brownies. I was using a bead head
crackle-back. Bill had on a Prince nymph. Spirits were picking up.
There are stretches of the Current River near Baptist Camp where
only the sun in the zenith can touch. Some of the shaded water shows riffles and runs that
scream to be fished. I was in front of Bill and my first wade through one of these classy
glides produced two trout, a rainbow and a brown that would look good on any-body’s
wall. Bill came along and I deferred. His first cast produced a hook up that doubled his
rod over. In ten minutes he slid his net under the prettiest 14 inch brown one could ask
for. Two minutes later a trout slammed his fly with such ferocity that it damned near
jerked his rod out of his hands.
You should have heard the whooping and hollering. That trout knew
all the tricks. There were few times when I was certain he was free. Bill’s rod went
lame and his line sagged to the surface. Not so. The fish was just catching his breath.
The struggle ended when I slipped one of Karduck’s finest under his glistening body.
“Bill,” I said, “ with all due respects to Hillary and her fine sandwiches,
lets have the lodge prepare this beauty for our supper.”
A few pictures were taken and after a bracing walk back to the car,
we were soon comfortably ensconced by the windows at Montauk’s fine restaurant. The
fish, baked potatoes, etc., were delicious and inexpensive. The following morning found us
at Myron McKee’s “River of Life” fish camp. The river at Myron’s is
wide and brawling. “The Fall,” a wide cascade of water formed by a river wide
ledge of rock looked eminently fishable like the plunge pools at Windrush. In five minutes
we were casting prince nymphs into the white water. Shortly thereafter Myron and his
family returned from church. It seemed we were to occupy the “Chalet,” a
beautiful two story cottage overlooking the river; queen bed, verandah, and all the
amenities to which some of us are not accustomed.
Toward late afternoon Myron took us about one half mile upstream.
For an hour or two we fished some of the best trout water I have ever seen, Montana
included. How we Midwesterners can yearn for the waters of the Rocky Mountains,
considering what we have in our Ozarks escapes me.
The next morning found your intrepid duo bouncing down the rippling
waters of the North Fork of the White River in one of Myron’s canoes. More glorious
water, more glorious weather and more glorious wild river rainbow trout. What a trip!!
Once again lunch was courtesy of Hillary and the St. James Winery, eaten at Blair
Bridge. From Blair to Patrick Bridge, a stretch of three miles, we floated through some of
the best fishing water in our state. I don’t want to exhaust your patience with an
endless string of super-latives concerning this fine river. If you have fished the North
Fork you know what I mean. If you haven’t, you have a pleasant surprise in store.
We had success with a variety of flies, both wet and dry. The
crackleback both with and without a brass head worked well for me. Bill had good luck with
the Prince nymph. When I fish this water the next I will ask Myron to guide me. He knows
the water and how to handle a canoe.
Jack S.
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