WestCentralFisher

A peaceful, pleasantly out of the way cove of LOZ.

Maramec Spring. No fishing today, just sight-seeing with the lady friend.

It looks like you found some beautiful places, some adventure, and beautiful, wild fish. I'd call that a success. Compared to fishing equivalent mountain creeks in the Rocky Mountain West, I find back east there is a much, much higher amount of exploration and frustration/failure required to find the gems. Between warmer summer water temps, higher pressure, etc, there is just a lot more water that looks fishy than what actually fishes well. And a lot of places that are only good for a few months out of the year. But when you find those rare creeks that defy gravity so to speak, it's all worth it.

Yup. There really is an impressive amount. And they're quite aggressive too. You have to size up lures/flies quite a lot to mostly lose their interest, but short of throwing musky lures you're going to catch some.

Spent a pleasant, if absurdly warm winter day yesterday on the Niangua. I fished down by Barclay, which when I do that, it's usually more for the scenery (which in my opinion is much nicer than around Bennett) than the catching. This proved true on all fronts yesterday. I spent a very pleasant day in a beautiful spot and caught two trout in perhaps 4 and 1/2 hours of fishing. One rainbow of the usual stocker size, one small brown. Not to mention the usual compliment of creek chubs this stretch of river seems to have more if than any other I'm aware of. It was easily the slowest day of fishing I've ever had as a grown adult on this river, but after all the chaos of holiday season I think a quiet day without much happening is sort of what I needed. I did go up and check out the Bennett Spring Access, and it was hopping with people, so I opted not to fish there. Hard to blame them on a 70 degree winter day that most people have off work/school. Planned to go back out today, but I woke up sick. Ah well. At least I got some fishing in first.

This post isn't a complaint, just a self-observation. I've noticed since about mid-October my fishing ventures have been in what I'd call a serious rut. All summer I fished just about everywhere I could in the Ozarks, but since it got chilly and the smallmouth have retreated to their winter holding areas, it's like every trip is groundhog day. This isn't a bad thing. I'm consistently catching trout and smallmouth bass every trip out, in the same few holes of the same couple rivers. It's not that I'm struggling, it's that there is no drama. I know pretty much what I'm going to catch, how I'm going to catch it, and there remains but little mystery in either. I've found myself passively hoping I'll get skunked once or twice to build some anticipation. It hasn't been unenjoyable. I find myself leaving the river after a couple of hours and going for hikes, scouting for deer sign for potential future outings, or just generally exploring. But I think I need to expand my horizons a little. Might be time to visit one of the particularly challenging wild trout creeks or go try and find the wintering holes on a smallmouth stream I don't know well. It's just a strange feeling I don't know if I've really experienced before, mostly because I've spent most of my life as a pretty mediocre fisherman, and I've generally had to scratch and claw just to catch fish.

I've caught smallmouth semi-regularly while nymphing for trout, especially with larger patterns, but occasionally even something like a #16 Hare's Ear. Smaller bass definitely seem to eat aquatic insects often enough that it's a pretty reasonable way to target them. Egg patterns, never before until today. I've also had very little (though not zero) success with them for brown trout or anything other than stocked rainbows (I know they get used in more natural contexts in places with anadromous fish or lots of actively spawning trout). For the most part they've always been the definition of a one trick pony, though a very effective one for their specific use. Even chubs usually seem more hesitant to take them than most other things. So that's why I found it strange.

Not much of a story here, just something I've never had happen before. I was trout fishing on a stretch of river that I know to periodically have good smallmouth bass fishing. But it's usually not consistent enough to target them. Anyway, I was fishing with an egg pattern and caught a pretty, fat smallmouth somewhere in the 12-14 inch range. At first, I was concerned it might be a foul hook situation, because what smallmouth bass would take an egg pattern? But no, it was an honest take. Knowing that when you find one this time of year there are usually more, and figuring that had to be a coincidence, I switched to a woolly bugger, then a crayfish pattern. Outside of a couple half-hearted takes, nothing. Figuring that it maybe had just been the one smallie, I switched back to an egg pattern to target trout...and caught several more bass, mostly smallmouth but one little largemouth as well. Barely a story worth telling, I know. But I literally have never caught a bass on an egg pattern in my entire life, so catching multiple in less than an hour was notably strange.

I caught a bunch on a #14 Parachute Adam's today on the Niangua. But I think it was one of those days where I could have caught them on anything north of a bare hook, and that's just what I felt like throwing.

My stock answer to that question is "Oh, just enjoying the beautiful day". It's not actually a lie, because I almost always am, and if people want to conclude I'm putting a positive spin on a bad skunk and move along, well that's on them.

People will really cheat over anything. All for $200. But it's not really about the money, it's about the ego boost. A guy I used to fish with quite a bit would regularly lie about the size/quantity of fish he caught any time we were not standing right next to each other...even though a non-zero amount of these times I was still close enough I could actually see him plenty well enough to know it couldn't be true. I wrote it off as weird but harmless, but eventually it became clear it was part of a larger trend of having to be better at everything than the other guy, which wore thin quickly. The silly bit is he probably was a better fisherman than me. He didn't really need to lie, but he couldn't help himself. I'm immune to these things, because I know I'm only an alright fisherman, and it's been a long time since I could be bothered to care.

After fishing the Niangua River yesterday morning, I popped over to an empty Bennett Spring State Park to look around. Not pictured are the many trout that were rising enthusiastically to the pieces of leaves on the water, presumably thinking they were pellets 😆

This is the exact time of year I worry about. Particularly on the stream that I very much fear is the one in question. They are just so concentrated in a few pretty obvious places, and it's so easy for one person to cause so much damage.

There were several large groups of people, but they were mostly pretty bunched up together, so it left some pretty decent stretches of open water. A lot of them were from a couple touring vans, and they all just kind of fished in a giant bunch up near the parking lot. That and careful camera angling makes the stream look much more secluded than it probably was in reality. But I never had to look hard for a spot, and a couple times had a whole pool to myself. That's pretty good by trout park standards.

I'd originally planned to go camping and fishing on the Current River today and tomorrow, but life just kept getting progressively more in the way, and by this morning, my timeline had been compressed to the point where it was pretty much going to be a quick trip to Maramec Springs or nothing. I'll admit, I was originally quite disappointed...but then I got there and remembered how gorgeous this place was and how nice it could be if you didn't take the fishing too seriously. With the fall colors pretty much at their peak and the weather perfect, you just could not ask for a prettier backdrop. And yes, I did manage to catch a couple fish too. What started off as something I had expected to be a disappointing outing ended up being a great few hours.

This is really cool, but I could never be any good at this sort of thing. As someone who has been through that particular state many times and hated it each time, I just don't think I could make myself drive past good trout water to fish in Illinois.

Though I don't remember my first fish, some important fishing firsts I do remember: First smallmouth bass: Big Piney River, around age 10-12 It was on a float trip that also yielded my first few dozen smallmouth bass, after a number of failed attempts. First Missouri trout: Maramec Spring, around the same age. I only caught one that day, but it was still a significant improvement from my first attempt, where I hooked only my own hand, but at least it was deeply enough to necessitate an ER visit. First trout on a fly: Blue Spring Creek, around age 16-17. It was soon after getting my driver's license, and it was about as far afield as I was allowed to go. In retrospect, it's a terrible place to learn to fly fish, but I got plain lucky and caught one almost immediately First really big fish: a 12 pound channel cat in the pond near my parents house. I stalked it and missed strikes from it a number of times over a few months before finally closing the deal. He tasted mushy and gamey. This was also the first time I wished I'd released a big fish I caught. I'd learn that lesson, but slowly. First really big trout: an honest to goodness 4 pound brown on the White River. I was maybe 14 or so. Even the bait-wielding, catch and keep focused guide gently suggested I release it. I didn't. It was the second fish I really wished I'd released, and after this one the idea finally started to take hold.

The year isn't over yet, and I'm nowhere near done fishing, but when I drove down to a little trout creek it was drizzly, and the leaves were finally starting to turn. Something about that scene put me in a reflective mood. As I casted a little Panther Martin, I let my mind wander a bit further than usual. I started my year January 1st on the Niangua with my dad. The fishing was slow. I caught a couple little browns, and my dad did about the same. It was a strangely warm day, and as I remember, our shore lunch bled into and afternoon spent sitting on a gravel bar and not a whole lot of fishing. Despite starting literally as soon as I could, things slowed. Other than a couple trips to the local trout pond, I don't believe I made it back out for 6 weeks. This again was a family meet up, this time on a little wild trout steam. The fishing was brutally slow, but the trout were almost iridescent when compared to the snow covered background. The spring was something of a wash. Between bad weather and an insane schedule, I did not get out much. There must have been at least 2 trips to the Niangua, and at least one on the Osage, because my photo reel says there were. My photo reel also says that I caught a few fish. I somehow have only the foggiest memory that any of this occurred. Somewhere in there, there was a move, and the discovery of what seemed like it would be my new home creek. It was close to home, held a few smallmouth bass, and was clear and pretty enough. I still like it, though I'd learn that when it drops down to summer flow, it's nearly impossible to sneak up on the smallmouth bass, and can feel unsatisfyingly like yanking a goldfish from a tank on the rare occasions I succeeded. As we all know, the weather has been strange. A wet spring and early summer was followed by the faucet turning off in late July. But of course there was a sweet spot in there where things were just right. As it happened, our big summer trip was scheduled for mid-July, after the rivers were blown out, but while they were still a little high and that dark green color Ozark rivers get at medium-high flows. Any Ozark stream fisherman with a beating heart gets excited when they see that. And the fishing was exactly as good as it should have been. We spent four days on the Big Piney, Little Piney, and upper Current, and it was one of those rare times where almost everything worked. Occasionally the fishing required somewhat more than actually hitting the water with your casts, but not too much more. Of course, that wouldn't last. Just days later, the drought started to set in. There were more good days, of course. There was a nice float on a rare cool day on the Niangua where the trout fishing was positively decent, and an oddly good day catching above average sized smallmouth on a low, skinny river. But for the most part, it stunk. I never quite got skunked (I am aware that typing this out is the worst idea possible) but there were more than a few trips where that took a fair amount of persistence. But seasons change. Now, the air was cool, recent rains gave the creeks the slightest of bumps in flow, and the fall colors were finally starting. More to the point, I wasn't having to work all that hard for the little trout in this creek today. A missed strike from a trout larger than I've seen in awhile on this creek snapped me back to the present. Of course, as the year starts to wind down, any fisherman worth their salt would ask themselves if things were just now starting to get good.

A drizzly fall day on a little trout stream.

I know out west, winter approaching +relative lack of food is usually a bad combination. With the drought probably making some food supplies less available, that could explain some of it.

I have been fishing or going along on trips since I was 3, so my memory is pretty foggy. I remember a few fish I caught that would have to be quite close to the beginning, but it's unclear which is actually the first. I can tell you the exact moment I got hopelessly hooked on fishing. It wasn't even a fish I caught. My brother had been watching a fishing show, and told my dad that the weeds along the bank are where the pike lived. My dad said that this was a trout lake, and he'd do better casting out deeper past the drop-off. My brother cast his spinner along the weedline anyway and caught what was probably a tiny pike, but looked huge to us. Something about the big scary teeth and the fish not being where the Grown Ups said they would be captured my imagination. The sense of mystery that moment left me with has stayed with me more or less ever since.

Yeah, for me to the sense I quantify this, 15-16 inches and I'll really want to put the fish in the net and will spend a minute or two being bummed out about it if I don't, even if it would have been my 20th fish that day. 17-18 inches and it's something of an event, and if I land it, unless I'm close to the beginning of the day, or saw a bigger one chase after it during the fight (which does occasionally happen), I'm liable to stop fishing afterwards and go for a hike or just paddle and enjoy the scenery if I'm floating. I'm probably not going to top that, and what else am I trying to prove? Anything even marginally over 18 inches is a big, big deal and likely to be the highlight of not only the trip, but maybe the season. I've caught a few over the years in the 19-20 inch size class (none larger), and I remember every one well. There is not a single one of those where there wasn't a moment I was absolutely certain I was going to lose the fish.

Got out on the upper Current today. Location will be obvious to those familiar with the area. River was just drop dead gorgeous. It felt nice, but way too hot for October. Catching was just okay. Just a few stocker rainbows and little smallmouth. A lot more great looking holding water than feeding fish. That's fine, of course. I still couldn't have asked for a nicer day. My embarrassingly low clearance car didn't much like the road in, and there may or may not be some aftermath for me on that tomorrow. Zero regrets. Just the cost of doing business.

Yeah, at this point unless it's a true giant, which I'll let you all know when it happens, it just call any notable fish "a real good one". It describes what I'm thinking well enough, and has the benefit of being impossible to actually disprove.

Today I ran into a guy on the middle Current River with a big baitcasting rod spooled with what looked like 20 pound test. He asked if I'd caught any big ones. I said no, not really, most of my smallies were in the 8-12 inch range, but I'd seen one that looked real nice, maybe about 20 inches. He said "Oh, no, I meant real big ones." Either he's a really good fisherman or he didn't know what a danged fine smallmouth bass was.