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darbwa

Fishing Buddy
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About darbwa

  • Birthday 11/26/1975

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    Tulsa, OK
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    SCUBA, fishing, golf, music, canoeing, sailing, boating, anything on the water, warm weather, snowboarding, travel

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  1. I would love to get a good answer to this question if you were targeting only smallmouth.
  2. Glad to hear that the house is okay. Sorry about your rough outing. At least you caught some fish!
  3. Andy Hart Memorial VII "The water you touch in a river is the last of that which has passed, and the first of that which is coming; thus it is with time." -Leonardo DaVinci The 7th annual Andy Hart Memorial float ‘n fish took place on June 29 – July 1, 2022. In search of new waters to traverse, I spent a great deal of time doing my research, trying to understand rivers I have never seen. I had to prioritize what was most important and there are things sacred to maintain a true AHM Float. First, a true AHM Float is a point-to-point trip with no concern for anything other than primitive camping along the river. There had been times when Andy and I tried to accommodate the needs of our “softer” friends by renting cabins or car-camping, but Andy became adamant that we “stop that sh*t”. The other things we look to prioritize on the trip are, good fishing, solitude, and scenery. Spending an embarrassing amount of time on the OAF, I was able to narrow the choices of rivers to a few options for our 3-day trip. I came up with a list of 3 that we would shoot for, but the choice is always subject to change based on water level and/or rainfall. I ended up placing the Big Piney in the top spot with a return to Gasconade (new section however) at the 2-spot and the Jacks Fork / Current as the low-water backup. With water levels appearing to be sufficient, the Big Piney was a go. Fearing slow conditions, I threw a question out to the group, 17-mile or 23-mile float? The resounding answer was 23. I did caution that this was only 6 fewer miles than we did the previous year with an extra whole day. Nevertheless, we had our plan, now we just needed to execute. A group of 6 (3 dads and our sons) that comprised last year’s AHM contingent loaded up in the big Chevy Explorer van for the 4-hour drive to Wilderness Ridge resort. As last year’s rookies were now sophomores and on time, we were only a little behind our targeted departure time of 6:30am but were on the road sometime before 7:00am. Our other father/son pair was leaving out of Kansas City and beat us to our destination, obviously excited for their return to AHM action after a 2-year hiatus. After shuffling around some gear and coordinating with the outfitter, we were off to Mason Bridge, 23 miles upstream. The day was hot, clear and calm as we loaded up our giant Osagian cargo canoes with a plentiful payload of gear. When the last canoe shoved off and we all were geared up, the games officially began with a big shout of “ANDAAAY!!!”. On the line was our usual wagers: first fish, largest fish, and most fish per canoe – only bass count. Our departure point was at the end of a slow pool where the water was moving gradually towards a riffle. The temperature was climbing and would soon reach the 90-degree mark. Fishing was slow on day one and certainly not aided by the time of day we began fishing nor the hot, sunny, calm conditions we were experiencing. Additionally, the pools were long and slow, and the rare riffles were so shallow that we had to repeatedly get out and drag our canoes through the riffle. Each pool seemed to be longer and slower than the next, the fishing remained slow, and the scenery was not very impressive. Additionally, there were very few decent gravel bars for camping with a group of 8. We began to have doubts about our river choice. Knowing that we had a lengthy float, and that our big, heavy canoes were not making very good time, we spent as much time paddling and dragging as we did fishing, hoping to get down river to one of the few adequate gravel bars on this stretch of river. I had spent time studying the river map as well as following our stretch of river on google earth and I had marked some spots where I was confident, we would find gravel bars. I knew in the back of my mind that any big storm between the time the image was taken and now could have erased the worthiness of my confidence. However, it turned out that my educated guesses were on point. We paddled hard through some extremely long, stagnant stretches that felt like they were moving backwards to get to one of these gravel bars. Unfortunately, when we arrived, there were a pair of other river travelers that had already made this gravel bar their home for the evening. After a serious discussion about what to do among our group, we decided that this gravel bar was plenty big enough for all of us and we could set up camp well away from the other pair. No sooner than we had begun to unload and before we could make friends with our new neighbors, the pair picked up and moved on down the river, each in their own kayak. I couldn’t believe it. While I had a twinge of guilt, I felt like we were making the decision that we had to make for our group. Night one was a fairly brief and subdued one as we were all exhausted from an early morning and a hard day of paddling. We had a nice dinner of pulled pork and pasta salad, sat around the campfire, told stories and launched some sky lanterns as a ritual to remember our departed friend. It was really nice to have our Kansas City pair back in the mix this year for several reasons but perhaps most importantly, Mac, the father of the two, knew our late friend Andy very well which inevitably led to more discussion of our eponymous trip leader. There is always plenty of stories and laughter around the campfire but stories of Andy always illicit the most heartfelt laughter, especially from those who knew him well. Andy was an entertaining, curious and quirky fellow who loved this trip! “It was through the dark waters of grief that I came to touch my unlived life…there is some strange intimacy between grief and aliveness, some sacred exchange between what seems unbearable and what is most exquisitely alive.” - Francis Weller They say when you lose someone you are close to, you lose a part of yourself. I haven’t ever been able to fully make sense of that statement and I’m not sure it is always true. There is no denying that losing my mom at a young age changed me in incalculable ways and resulted in a lifetime of grieving in various ways as I aged. But losing a close friend really does feel like losing a part of yourself. I think it is because when you have so many shared experiences with someone, you have someone with whom you can reminisce. You have certain rituals (like an elaborate handshake created in grade school), you have someone who understands you and together you have some shared understanding of how the world works. When you lose a close friend, all of that is lost. I will not be able to talk about certain experiences that only Andy and I had, I will never go through the old handshake routine or say a couple of words that will say so much more. Not with him anyway. And that IS a big part of who I am. And it is gone. I am fortunate to be able to have those memories and I enjoy thinking about them as I write about him, but I do so with sadness. A few years ago, I was discussing this annual trip (and the deep thinking that time on a river evokes) over dinner with the minister of my church, Marlin Lavanhar. Through this discussion, Marlin wove together a sermon that did an excellent job of describing the feelings and connections that we make as the complex beings we are. As I write about this trip once again, I feel compelled to share that sermon for anyone who finds this line of thinking/questioning/wondering an interesting topic worthy of exploration. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4j-_EzwZGLU Sitting around the campfire that first night, we were treated to a couple of different light shows: one terrestrial in the form of fireflies in abundance and the other celestial as the moonless night revealed a sky full of stars, planets, satellites and meteors. The weather was surprisingly cold for late June with temperatures dipping into the upper 50’s on night one. Our early bedtime and the shivering temperatures resulted in an early morning and a re-start of the campfire to warm up. Unlike typical summer mornings, the camp breakdown process was comfortable with no sweating involved and we were back on the river quite early. We discussed as a group where we were on the river and how many miles we would like to cover on day 2. We were a little disappointed with the lack of progress we had made on day one and how much distance we felt like we needed to cover on day 2 to put us in the right position for a reasonable departure time on Friday. “Most of the world is covered by water. A fisherman's job is simple: Pick out the best parts.” - Charles Waterman As the river remained slow with long pools and very shallow riffles, it seemed like more of the same for day two. On the upside, the bite seemed to pick up, especially for me and my son, Cullin. Cullin decided that he was going to be the “engine” on our canoe and paddle hard to keep the pace of the group up while keeping an eye out for the right holes in which to fish. I liked his plan, so we did exactly that. Many of the past years, Cullin had been the smallest kid and was not very interested in contributing a whole lot of energy to paddling us through long, slow pools. It is amazing how much a young teenager can change in one year. Things were certainly different this year as he repeatedly dug in and powered us along at a steady pace. When we saw spots that looked good to us, we would fish them and pull at least a couple fish out of each stop. This method quickly put us well on top of the fishing leaderboard, a position that we would not relinquish. In addition to his strength and attitude towards physical activity, Cullin’s fishing skills and attention to detail were decidedly improved. He rarely got hung up and when he did it was not because he threw a lure 20 feet up into a tree. He was determined to fish hard when appropriate and keep his line wet. As a result, he caught plenty of fish and was able to land and release them with very little assistance from me. I can’t help but think about future trips when I will be the one needing his assistance. Hopefully that is a long time off! A few miles into day two we came to Slabtown access. At that time, we were under the impression that we had only travelled 5 miles as our outfitter referred to Mason Bridge as the 23-mile float access and Slabtown as the 17-mile float access. We were certainly scratching our heads and wondering how we could have worked so hard for the few miles we had attained. We began to wonder how long we would be on the river and if there was an alternative exit point that we should consider. With no way to contact the outfitter to retrieve us, we realized that another exit point would not be useful even if there was one. As I pinpointed our location on the map, I realized that Slabtown represented 8 miles of progress and not 5. I decided to use this information along with my understanding of exactly where we were to mess with the heads of my companions. This was almost as entertaining as the fishing which continued to heat up as we travelled down river. The water from Slabtown on increased its pace. The pools began to show signs of movement throughout and the riffles were deep enough to result in little more than a bump here and there, certainly no more dragging of the canoe was necessary if you picked the right line. The scenery also improved dramatically with enormous bluffs rising above the river. A couple of the dads experimented with their seating in the cargo canoe, utilizing camp chairs to aid in their comfort. I was skeptical that sitting up so high in the back of the canoe was a wise decision, especially through some of the bending riffles that were not infrequent and often had some perilously placed strainers. As we approached one of these riffles, we were right behind one of the other vessels chatting with them when I noticed they were headed right towards a large tree branch hanging right in the middle of the stream. We watched as a fishing pole was grabbed by the tree branch and when Travis tried to save the pole from his perch on the back seat of the canoe, he was pulled backwards and into the shallow stream, landing flat on his back. Fortunately, he was okay and without a scratch. The pole however was never found. A few miles later, we were once again floating next to another father son pair when Mac got hung up on the bottom behind him, was pulled backwards out of his camp chair and landed flat on his back in shallow water. Mac too was okay but did suffer a noticeable scratch on his upper back. Surprisingly, this was not enough to end the experiment as the desire for canoe comfort was strong. My son and I sustained our strategy of setting the pace, paddling through pools, and fishing spots that looked like they would hold fish. We typically didn’t hang around long once the others caught up, but I did enjoy telling them that we needed to keep the pace up because we hadn’t made much progress. Not only did we catch more fish as we moved down stream, the size of the fish we caught seemed to fare better than earlier in the trip. Our pace was steady all day both in terms of milage and catching fish. Unbeknownst to the others, we travelled at least 12 miles on day 2, putting us right where we wanted to be for the home stretch. The early evening was setting in and we knew it was time to begin looking for our home for the evening, we tightened up the formation of our fleet to discuss and analyze our options as they presented themselves to us. We saw what looked like a good option in front of us, but the presence of a side-by-side ATV gave us pause as we really wanted seclusion if possible. Around the next bend we passed over another good-looking gravel bar due to the presence of a truck. We were beginning to feel a little desperate and everyone was ready to stop and begin to set camp. We continued on and could soon see another good option. We agreed that this would be our spot for the night. However, we couldn't yet see the entirety of this bar yet and as we approached, my son said, “look, there is a fire on that gravel bar”. Since we were in front, I spoke up to the groups behind us, “you’re not gonna like this but it looks like someone is here too”. As we came around the bend, we recognized the gentlemen that were already established on this gravel bar; it was the same pair that we came upon on night one! I paddled fairly close and said, “hey guys, I’m sorry about last night, I hope you didn’t leave because of us”. They were cordial and said, “No problem. We just wanted seclusion and weren’t up for the extra noise.” We pressed on. "Some go to church and think about fishing, others go fishing and think about God." - Tony Blake It turns out that we were fortunate that the same two were at that spot because no more than a quarter mile later, we came to a bend that had a magnificent bluff opposite a beautiful point bar. We could not have asked for a better spot to camp. Although it was later than we hoped to be off the river, we had plenty of time to set camp and prepare dinner. Once again, we relaxed around a campfire, ate a dinner of ribs and a southwestern bean salad, talked about our day, and told some more stories about Andy. In one such story, I recalled a time that Andy had a nighttime run-in with a scavenging animal that came into camp. Andy (as he typically would) was sleeping on the riverbank on an air mattress with nothing other than a blue tarp pulled over him, when something came into camp and started to get into a bag of chips or some sort of food. The commotion was close to Andy and woke him up. Immediately a battle ensued for possession of the food which resulted in much more significant commotion, waking everyone else. When I shouted to Andy to ask him what was going on, he yelled back, “there is a badger out here trying to steal our sh*t!” I couldn’t contain my laughter which only got Andy more fired up. Eventually Andy won the battle and secured our provisions but in the morning it was obvious there had been a struggle and the camp needed a thorough cleaning. When discussing it the next morning I told him that I suspected that his badger was really a racoon, he insisted that it was much too big and too mean to be a racoon. He maintained forever that it was most certainly a badger! At one point late in evening number two on the Big Piney, Travis thought it was a good time to have a little fun with everyone. He had a recording of a black bear on his phone and with the aid of a Bluetooth speaker strategically placed, he scared the hell out of my son who had a run-in with a bear on the lower Buffalo the year before. His reaction was similar to the reaction last year when he came upon an actual black bear as he was heading to the tent late at night – he ran! After everyone’s pulse calmed again, we were once again ready for an early bed as the day required far more paddling than we had hoped for. Night 2 was comfortable and relatively cool but not nearly as cold as the first night. I was awake early and when I wake up, I typically cannot go back to sleep so 5:50 was the best I could do. I used the ample time before anyone else began to stir to get in some fishing throwing everything I had at them from the shore, and I only caught one small one! I decided to start breakfast and watch the active birds on the bluff across the river. It was a beautiful and peaceful morning, but I was anxious to get back on the river. When the rest of the group finally began to stir, I offered breakfast and encouraged some expediency for our departure because (as far as they knew) we still had a long way to go (row). I let most of our group know the reality of the situation, but I let the two dads who had the most concern sweat it out for a while to help keep them moving. Plus, it was just so entertaining hearing them fret about another long day of paddling I could hardly contain a big grin. The reality was that we had less than 5 miles left, and I let them know once we were packed and ready for day 3. I did occasionally tell them that we really had 8 miles or more left just to see what they thought and keep them wondering if I knew what I was talking about at all. The river was moving at a steady pace for most of the last several miles of the trip, providing more opportunity to fish but the bite was not very good for our canoe on day three. We caught fish but not with any significant size or quantity. Much like the other days of the trip, I would catch one occasionally on a top water, but most were caught on soft plastics once again. Every day on the river I am hopeful for one of those days when the fish are so active that every cast with a top water seems to get a strike! As we were nearing the final stretch of river we were greeted by an enormous bald eagle. We saw him from a distance at first but at one point he made a dive and came very close to us as if to check us out or just say hello. We thought it was very appropriate for the trip as last year we had a similar sized bald eagle follow us for four full days down the lower Buffalo. As we pulled our canoes onto the bank at our destination, my son refused to stop fishing until we matched the same number of fish that we caught on the Gasconade 2 years earlier, 63. After retrieving our van and returning to the river to begin loading out, he caught the last fish to get us to the number he was satisfied with. Even though this year’s trip was a full day shorter than last year, everyone was ready for some air conditioning, a shower, and a bed. It was a successful trip for sure, everyone was in one piece. No injuries or illness. We had solid fishing on a new river with beautiful scenery and great camaraderie. We also learned a few things (at least one that I thought I already knew). When considering distances to cover on a trip like this, choose the shorter distance; you can always go slower. I also now know that the section of the Big Piney from Mason Bridge to Slabtown does not have much going for it. I hope the rest of the Big Piney is more like the stretch downstream from Slabtown. I can’t wait for next year’s trip! ANDAAAAY!
  4. It would be handy to have the USGS gage for Big Piney here so... https://waterdata.usgs.gov/nwis/uv?06930000
  5. Andy Hart Memorial VI "The best time to go fishing is when you can get away." - Robert Traver The sixth annual Andy Hart Memorial took place on June 23 – 26, 2021. This year we were back to a “full strength” group of 6 participants made up of three father/son pairs. The trip started in Tulsa a little later than anticipated as one of our pairs was still packing and prepping as our planned departure time came and went. The other 2 pairs were at the meeting spot (my house) waiting for the full cargo load to be present so we could properly load the big chevy van I borrowed from my brother. This actually worked out well, as the tardy group was the rookie contingent and therefore exposed themselves nicely to the ribbing they were surely going to receive anyway. By the time the rookies pulled their gear together and we got our vehicle loaded, we were on the road headed east just after 7AM. After a long but uneventful drive to Buffalo River Float Service south of Yellville, we were anxious to get on the river. BRFS made things very quick and easy for us. We were able to proceed directly to the access point at Rush, unload our gear directly into our canoes and hit the river. The van was to be shuttled down to our take-out spot at Shipp’s Ferry on the White River by BRFS. The ability to avoid additional shuttle time on either end of the put-in or the take-out spots was a very big plus for this year’s trip. I was surprised to see several groups of people around the Rush access point on a Wednesday. I expected the river to be quiet this far downstream and being the middle of the week, but most people were exiting the river here at Rush. There was only one family of four that I saw go past Rush in one canoe and one kayak. As we shoved off for our 4-day adventure, I could feel pressure leaving my body. All of the preparation and anticipation for another year’s trip was gone. The trip was here and now it was time to soak it in and just be present. We would not see another human outside of our group until Friday evening. Water levels that had been high for most of the spring had come down to a very nice level for floating, especially for these early summer days. The water was clear and only became clearer as the trip went on. The fishing was decent on day one for most of the group and while I was happy that my son was catching fish, I started to get a little annoyed after seeing him haul in number four or five on the day while I was still blanked. Of course, he didn’t help the situation when he started to rub it in and tell me that he was carrying our team. Naturally, we had wagers in place for the trip: first bass = $5 from each angler, largest bass for the trip = $20 from each angler, and the canoe with the most fish for the trip would get $20 from each angler. “Hey, hey, hey, only a river gonna make things right. Only a river gonna make things right. Only a river gonna make things right!” – Bob Weir (If you are reading this you will surely enjoy this Bob Weir song. Give it a listen) The lower Buffalo was spectacular and full of life – truly a lot to soak in. Only a mile or so into our journey, we spotted a very large bald eagle flying by us and heading down river. After seeing him several times, we noticed a pattern. As we would approach his present perch, he would fly off and go down river. After five or six of these encounters, my son and I decided to call him Andy, as he seemed to want to be with us, part of our group. We only occasionally picked up our paddles to get through a riffle or avoid an occasional obstacle but for the most part we just floated along, fished and gazed at the remarkable scenery. We only made a few miles of progress on Wednesday before spotting what we thought would be a nice spot to camp. We knew that we had plenty of time to travel our 30 miles of river so we didn’t care that we had only gone about 4 miles. The temperature was mild and quite comfortable that night and camp set-up went smooth and easy with plenty of time to get in some more casts in the area around our home for the night. We had a nice meal that evening with plenty of ribs and chicken for the meat eaters and plenty of grains and veggies for me. My son devoured chicken and ribs like there was no tomorrow (even if it fell on the bank a couple times – something he called “Buffalo River Rub”). As we talked and joked and had ourselves some beers (for the adults), an enormous, (nearly) full moon rose over the ridge, bathing us in enough light to cast a distinct shadow and make flashlights altogether unnecessary. The moon was so bright, the boys played frisbee for quite some time in the moonlight. When the events of the day had finally worn us down, we retired for the evening. I am not sure if it was the Buffalo River Rub, improper handling at some point, or just some bad luck, but sleep on night one was interrupted abruptly when my son’s body decided to reject something in his gut by vacating EVERYTHING in his gut. This went on for a few rounds and I began to get very nervous. Even in between vomiting spells when my son was back asleep, I could not calm my mind thinking about how we would get him help if it became necessary. We were only 3-4 miles in with 26 more to go to get to our vehicle! Along with my delirious worry, I began to think deeply about my son. I started thinking about the past river trips we have been on over the last 6 years. I thought about how proud I am to see him become the witty, kind, and talented young man that he now is. I thought about the many ways that he reminds me of my dear friend Andy – often a bit careless (getting hung up in trees), maybe a bit lazy (not wanting to paddle through pools) or asking sometimes ridiculous questions (like which way is the river flowing). I also thought about how I react and treat him when he acts in such ways. It is much like I treated Andy when he was that way – harsh and stern. If I am honest, sometimes I react like an A--hole. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that those qualities - that I do not share - are part of what I love about both of them. I began to get emotional (in my delirious state) about how much I love both of them and how, maybe, my son is becoming my best friend. It was truly an epiphanic moment for me. As I get older, I seem to have become more sentimental… which is good and bad. Sure, sad things are more difficult, but I have learned to live more in the moment and appreciate all that I have. I have a great son. When I awoke around 6:30 or 7:00am, my son was sleeping soundly, and I was hopeful that he was past the wort of his illness. I left our tent and started to make some breakfast and get ready for the day ahead, not knowing what was in store. I explained to my friend Jesse that Cullin was very ill overnight, and I could see the worry on his face. I was surprised to see Cullin up and out of the tent shortly thereafter. When we asked him how he was feeling, his response was, “I feel great!”. What a relief! “Fishing is not an escape from life, but often a deeper immersion into it.” - Harry Middleton After the morning ritual of packing up camp, eating breakfast burritos, making short trips into the woods, and taking some cool-off plunges in the river, we were back at it. We had not made more than a few hundred yards of downstream progress when there he was! Our friend Andy the eagle greeted us with a flyby! He remained nearby for the entire day occasionally making himself visible just when we thought we might not see him again. We decided to fish hard early and late and try to make up some miles in the middle of the day when we believed the fishing would not be as productive. We sort of followed our plan, but it is always hard not to pick up a rod when you see a good-looking spot to fish. Day 2 seemed to be a little better fishing than day one – steady but not spectacular. As it turned out, the fishing may have been a bit better in the middle of the day when the winds were gusting significantly. A couple of fish were hauled into our boat that would prove to be the big fish of the trip. Both were just over 16” – nice, but again, nothing spectacular. The best part for me is that both of the big fish were caught by my son. Unfortunately, I only got a photo of the slightly smaller second one as the first one slipped from his grasp before I could snap a photo. While the fishing wasn’t spectacular, the scenery certainly was. At this point in my life, I have been down a great number of rivers, every one of them unique and beautiful in their own right. But, in my opinion, the Buffalo stands alone as the ultimate Ozark river. We travelled roughly ten miles on day two before deciding that it was time to find home for the night. We found a large gravel bar just upstream and across from Middle Creek where we were able to set up camp with lots of space in between tents. Cullin and I tucked our tent behind a tree on the downstream side of the gravel bar pretty close to the tree/brush line. We once again enjoyed a pleasant, albeit warmer, evening on the river eating a hearty dinner and enjoying each other’s company. As we talked and laughed and waited for the full moon to crest the ridge, I found myself thinking once again about what brought me back to the river. I found myself feeling a bit somber as I thought about the fact that the people who knew Andy best no longer make the annual float trip. So now I spend this trip memorializing him in my own mind and to myself more than sharing stories and memories as we have in the past. But as I thought about invoking my friend by doing something that he loved to do, I made up my mind to increase my efforts to bring Andy’s friends back into the fold of this annual experience. As late-night set in, the boys decided they were ready to hit the hay and headed to their respective tents. Just a few seconds later, my son came running back to camp at full sprint while we all heard an incredibly deep and loud guttural growl. We all jumped to attention as our eyes looked in the direction of my tent. Several more bellowing growls emanated from the trees and brush behind my tent. We all began to make loud noises, yell and shine flashlights at the bear that we could not see. After a few minutes of making noise, we went silent to see if we could hear anything again. Fortunately, we did not. Within minutes we all had very close neighbors as we moved our tents into a tight grouping. The idea of having distant neighbors just didn’t seem as appealing anymore. And the boys… they were not that tired anymore. After the two previous nights I had been through, I slept like a log. "If I fished only to capture fish, my fishing trips would have ended long ago." - Zane Grey The morning of day three was the typical routine but a little more pleasant as the high ridge across the river provided shade for longer than expected. As our voyage continued, the Buffalo twisted back and forth revealing bluff after bluff, each seemingly larger than the last. I found myself missing more than a few fish because my gaze and attention was not on my lure but on the beauty and serenity of this awesome place and, of course, our river guide, Andy (the eagle), who was still making his presence known. I do not think I have ever cared less about missing fish. In fact, our longest stop of the day was spent “paddle riding” through rapids, talking, laughing and drinking instead of fishing like we did on most of our float breaks. We also got some good photos of all of us in front of Elephant Head Rock. I think we had hit our stride and were all quite comfortable being on the river. A couple of miles past Elephant Head Rock, we saw an unfamiliar sight. There were creatures in the water and on the bank without gills or feathers and they walked out of the water on just two legs. We went by and chatted with the humans for a bit. Interestingly, they quickly asked if we had seen any bear or hogs – something I had barely considered before our trip began. They also asked if we had a firearm – something I still can’t imagine being necessary, helpful, or safer than being without. They were kind enough to give us some information about the rest of our trip and more importantly, some spare ice which was a dwindling commodity in our depleted coolers. For night three, we camped just past Hudson’s Bend, once again bathed in an astonishingly bright moonlight. We played some dice after dinner and laughed at our bear story and the thought of “Buffalo River Rub”. With rainflies off the tent, the moonlight was so bright, it was difficult to sleep and with early sunrises on these long summer days, it felt like we never really experienced darkness throughout the trip. Day four came early as I was ready to hit the river. Dwindling provisions made for a light breakfast and a quick camp breakdown. Despite plenty of effort, our canoe caught no more smallmouth on the last stretch of the Buffalo. As we came upon the White River the changing conditions were jarring. The breezes coming off the water were shockingly cool. The volume of water and the speed at which it flowed was a stark change from the easy-flowing Buffalo. We paddled aggressively to reach the island at the confluence of the rivers. There we made changes to our gear in the hopes of catching some trout. Having very little experience fishing for trout, I felt like a fish out of water in the cold, swift White. We fished using mostly rooster tails. A white rooster tail was the lure that hooked our only trout (a rainbow) on the short five miles of the white river. Our intent was to take it slow and easy and let the other two canoes catch us on the White but the rapid speed at which we were swept downstream made that nearly impossible. Our winged friend that had followed and watched over us for the entirety of our trip was once again with us making the moniker we gave him on day one so very appropriate. With the incredible speed of our rocket canoe, our trip (on the White) was short. As we unloaded our gear at Shipp’s Ferry, I think we were all ready to get back to the comfort and convenience of home and very grateful for the shared experience of the sixth Andy Hart Memorial Float Trip. My son, however, was relishing the fact that he “turned pro” on this trip since he walked away with the money for the first fish ($25), money for the largest fish ($100) and split the prize with me for most fish ($40 each). Thinking back on these trips can be almost as enjoyable as the trip itself and I now treasure the ability to look back on the previous posts on Ozark Anglers Forum. I am beginning to believe that enough time on a river can make any man a philosopher.
  6. I have been looking at the same stuff as I will be hitting the river on the 23rd for 4 days starting at Rush (never done the lower wilderness before). Looks like the water levels are dropping fast. You will not have any problems with gravel bars on the stretch you are floating. I can't imagine that we will have to worry too much about sudden river rises by next week. However, it is always smart to be ready for anything! Have a great time!
  7. Nice fish! What section of the river were you on?
  8. “The charm of fishing is that it is the pursuit of that which is elusive but attainable, a perpetual series of occasions for hope.” - Author Unknown The fifth Andy Hart Memorial fishing trip took place in late June on a new river. For the first time we took our memories of Andy to the Gasconade River. It was the 14th annual trip overall. Each year I have cast a wide net of invites to friends of our departed friend and for the first memorial trip we had 11 attendees float and fish on the Buffalo River. For the last several years, this memorial trip has become a father/son affair with at least 3 pairs but our group of six has remained solid and we have really settled into a nice routine that has made this trip fairly easy to prepare for as we all have an understanding of who is bringing what in terms of shared gear and meal prep. However, this year with COVID-19 throwing a wrench into everything in our lives, I decided to keep this year’s trip plan limited to our standard group and not send out a wider invite. A few days before our scheduled departure, our pair that drives down from Kansas City backed out of the trip, leaving just 2 pair on this trip. With a few strategic moves, we were able to revise our plan to have all of our bases covered for gear and meals. So we headed out on a Wednesday morning for Gasconade Hills Resort just south of I-44 and East of Lebanon, MO. As this was my first trip on the Gasconade River, I spent a great deal of time trying to prepare and understand everything I could about the river. The first decision to be made was what section of river to cover. The fact that we had to rely on an outfitter to provide canoes and transportation, we were limited to certain sections of the river. Because of information consumed on the Ozark Anglers Forum, I tried to get us on the river as far upstream as possible. We ended up using Gasconade Hills Resort to put us on the water at Anna Adams access for a 20 mile float back to their resort. Since there was little information to be found online about this part of the river, I peppered those working at the resort as well as our driver with questions about the river. None of them had any information whatsoever about the first 10 miles of our float because they had not put anyone on the river at the Anna Adams access in quite some time and I’m not sure if any of them had ever done that stretch of river personally. Feeling confident in our ability to handle whatever an ozark river could throw at us, we kind of enjoyed the feeling of trailblazing. It also made me confident that the waters we were about to navigate had experienced little fishing pressure. Many years ago, I made the decision to buy a canoe for these trips. I had seen how Al and others set their watercraft up to maximize ease of use and organization that makes piloting and fishing easier and more comfortable. However, after bringing my canoe on a few trips on the roof of my SUV, I decided it didn’t make much sense due to the fact that the other trip participants did not have canoes themselves and we were therefore still reliant on outfitters on whichever river we choose. So, in my planning for these trips I always ask about the canoes available and when possible, try to specify what we are looking for. Often times we have choices but on the Gasconade there are far fewer choices to be had. I was not looking forward to the fact that we would be in aluminum canoes for this journey but I did like the idea that the Osagian cargo canoe Gasconade Hills Resort had available were large with plenty of room for all the gear and supplies we bring on a 3-day trip. When we arrived at Anna Adams access, we began to load up the cargo canoes and chatted with our driver and a couple of other people nearby who were puttering around in kayaks. Once again, no one had any idea what lay downstream from that access point. Those kayakers had no intention of traveling more than a few hundred yards. As it turned out, we would not see another human outside of our group for the first 10+ miles of our journey. Upon stepping into our newly rented conveyance, I was immediately amazed at the stability of the cargo canoe and after navigating through our first downed tree in the first riffle we came to, I was also surprised by the very slight draft of our fully loaded vessel, not bumping a trunk only a few inches beneath the water’s surface. I am not about to try to make a case for an aluminum canoe on a fishing trip but the stability and space was very nice and comfortable. “Scholars have long known that fishing eventually turns men into philosophers. Unfortunately, it is almost impossible to buy decent tackle on a philosopher’s salary.” - Patrick McManus In the first mile or two of our journey, the river quickly revealed it’s circuitous nature as it wound through every riffle which were not infrequent in the early-going. Most of these bending riffles were fraught with challenging obstructions that required careful maneuvering and analysis. I relied heavily on ferrying through the turns, often slipping the nose of my canoe into the only navigable spot in the middle of a downed tree and then putting the canoe into forward with strong strokes and then bumping our way through and over limbs and trunks. The bite was slow early in the day and it took us a little longer than expected to start catching any fish. Starting our day in the early afternoon, it wasn't until later in the afternoon before the bite began to pick up. A few shouts of “Andy!!!” were heard occasionally, usually after a fish got off of someone’s hook. As we noticed a lack of good camping options at the riverside of the Gasconade, we made an early stop to set up camp when we found a decent gravel bar. By the end of day one we had caught (and released) a total of 22 smallmouth. Our early retirement on day one, coupled with the extended daylight that comes with late June gave us plenty of time to leisurely set up camp, eat dinner, clean ourselves up, play some dice and watch our campfire. We also toasted our departed friend who inspires us to keep coming back to the river each summer. I am always surprised how this trip brings me closer to Andy without even trying to make it so. It is always natural to talk about him when I am on a river. Whether it is the tradition of bringing oatmeal creampies as a snack, gravel bar waffle ball, or just getting tangled in a tree, there are always reminders of my friend when I am on the river. On night one of our camping trip I found myself telling my companions about something Andy would always do that I now find myself doing and I couldn’t even explain why. One of the things I typically bring on the river is fresh corn on the cob - already buttered, salted and peppered - to heat in the campfire. For whatever reason, I would never say “corn”, I would pronounce it “karn”. I found myself explaining that I pronounced it that way out of habit now just because Andy always did just as he would refer to Interstate 44 as “the farty-far”, and subsequently I often do so as well. We come on this trip to have fun and catch fish but it is the little things (sometimes very little) that make it truly special. The night was very cool for late June, even a bit chilly, which made for comfortable sleeping conditions. After a good night’s sleep we got our morning routine in motion, eating some breakfast burritos, drinking cold, canned coffee and breaking down camp. We were back on the river a bit earlier than normal and the conditions were very cool and comfortable with a partly cloudy sky. As we moved downstream the Gasconade slowly transitioned to fewer riffles and longer and slower pools. As the pools seemed to slow, and required more effort to move along, the big cargo canoes tipped their hand so to speak. I quickly realized why they have that squared off transom in the back. I certainly would have loved to have a small trolling motor to push that heavy beast through the frog water! The fishing began slowly again on day two but began to pick up about mid-morning with a string of nice fish in the 15” range. My son hooked one that had to be at least 15” that I netted for him as he brought it towards the back of the boat. As I removed the lure and pulled it from the net, I explained that he needed to hold the fish firmly so I could get a photo of him with what was surely his best smallmouth of his young fishing career. As I was attempting to make the handoff to him, the fish shook its way free of my grip, landed on our cooler and plopped back into the river. I was devastated. I didn’t even think to measure it first and now it was gone! My son was sweet enough to console me and tell me that we would just have to catch a bigger one. Almost immediately, I hooked one of very similar size which I landed and he took a photo of me with my fish. “Nothing makes a fish bigger than almost being caught.” - Author Unknown A great run in a short period of time, where all four of us caught several very nice smallmouth from 12-16”, came to a crawl so we stopped for a lunch break on a nice gravel bar where we played some wiffle ball home run derby. It was a fun diversion that kept us busy for a little while on a clear and hot afternoon. After an enjoyable lunch stop, we hopped back in the canoes and tried to pick up where we had left off. However, my son and I experienced a significant drought, not landing a fish for at least a couple of hours. On one occasion I hooked into another very nice fish. I had her within a few feet of the boat when she broke me off at the lure (I was using 4/15 power pro green braid with an 8# fluorocarbon leader of roughly 8’ tied with a uni to uni knot). I really hate losing any lure, hook, weight or line in the river but when I know that I have left a hook in the mouth of a smallmouth it is simply devastating. I spent several minutes rubbing my head and wondering what had happened. How could that fish break me off in open water? I should have had more than enough strength in my line to horse that fish in. My drag was set fairly loose. I regularly check my line for any abrasions near the end. I just couldn’t grasp what went wrong. After retying, I got back to work. It wasn’t long before I felt a bite and set the hook…immediate snap and my line was broken again. Now I certainly was not sure if this was a fish this time as I never felt anything but the bump that just as easily could have been the bottom but when I saw that the break was in exactly the same spot, I began to doubt everything. Was my fluorocarbon line old? Yes. Was it brittle due to its age? Was it my knot? I have used a Palomar for decades but the squiggle left at the end of my line had me even doubting my favorite knot. I wish I could say that was the last lure I lost on this trip but unfortunately that is not the case. I did make the decision to lose the leaders and go straight to only braid and that did seem to help. I also tried other knots but I am leaning towards old brittle fluorocarbon as my scapegoat. A very frustrating stretch for boat number one with no landed fish resulted in boat number two stretching their fish count lead to double digits over ours and no one could claim to have the apparent big fish of the trip as both boats landed fish over 15”. Our drought finally came to an end when my son made a relatively short cast into a deep pool with moving water and many downed trees as we were navigating a bending riffle. He thought he was hung up but we quickly saw a flash of a large fish and I immediately reached for the net. Subsequent to a short but intense fight, I netted his 18” largemouth. This time, I was sure to measure the hog on my cooler before trying to hand him his catch. Just over 18”! A real beauty of a fish. I then went to hand him his catch so I could get a photo of him with it and…I dropped it…onto the dry box…and into the river. I did it AGAIN!!! This time I was crushed. And once again, it was my son consoling me for the missed opportunity. Every time I apologized, he would tell me, “How can I be upset? I got to catch the fish!” He really is a great kid and there is no one on earth I would rather share this time with. The afternoon was similar to the previous one but this Thursday afternoon was a bit hotter than the previous day and the fishing may have been a little slower as the river itself certainly was. This required more time with a paddle in hand and a little less time with a rod in hand. As shadows began to grow on the Gasconade, we knew we needed to start looking for a good spot to camp as good spots are far more sparse than on other Ozark rivers. We paddled through long, slow pool after long slower pool finding nothing but sand and mud banks with heavy tree cover. While this section of the Gasconade did not have towering bluffs and inviting gravel bars or even particularly clear water, it has a different kind of wild beauty. At times the trees over-stretching the river from both sides created what seemed like a tunnel stretching downstream. That, coupled with the complete solitude and sizable fish made the choice of the Gasconade worthy of our efforts. “One thing becomes clearer as one gets older and one’s fishing experience increases, and that is the paramount importance of one’s fishing companions.” - John Ashley Cooper We had every intention of setting up camp early once again and enjoying a leisurely evening, but the lack of suitable camping spots caused us to paddle for what felt like miles looking for a decent gravel bar. Once we found one that was decent (at best) we made the decision to set camp. Once again, we were treated with a cool, comfortable evening with stars out in force. A waxing crescent moon rising late, gave us plenty of darkness - a great vantage point for star gazing. I quickly noticed a satellite moving across the sky from right to left, then noticed one moving overhead and away from our vantage point, then another followed the same line, then another and another and another. A train of satellites that were perfectly spaced one after another continued a procession that lasted for at least an hour! I had never seen anything quite like it. The comfortable sleeping conditions resulted in a very restful slumber for our whole crew and gave me time to have breakfast ready for everyone as they finally showed themselves. We were on the river again in no time, happy to leave behind the small, weed-covered gravel bar we called home for the night. Of course, behind the next bend in the river we came across a beautiful, big, flat gravel bar with partial tree cover that looked like it was made for river campers. All we could do was shake our head and commence fishing. Again on our third day the pattern of longer, slower pools continued. We had some decent runs here and there but, by all accounts the river was very slow in this section despite the fact that the water levels were noticeably above normal. The cargo canoes required application of significant elbow grease to slip through the nearly dead pools that came with the addition of headwind on this particular Friday. We came across the only other canoe on our entire trip with less than 5 miles remaining on our 20-mile journey. Fishing was slow but steady on Friday with few of notable size. I did get another 15” smallmouth with a white jerk bait as well as a 30”+ gar that took the same lure. The shout of “Andy!” rang out on an handful of occasions, a way of thanking our friend for the gift that continues to give, years after his departure. The time you spend on a river with friends is special. When that friend is your son, it is priceless!
  9. Thank you all for all of the input! That’s why I love this forum. Such a great place to get ideas!
  10. Looking back through old content. Looks like Al forgot those photos. I have been wishing I lived in New Zealand these last several months!
  11. I think there is plenty in this response that is helpful! Thank you Al. But what I would love to know is, what is the setup you use to throw that light buzz bait or that 1/8 ounce lure? I am trying to get an understanding of the combination that works for relatively light baits.
  12. 1. Ideally I would like to be able to cast 1/4 ounce lures with some distance and accuracy. 2. I have been using nothing but 6’ rods on my canoe trips but am considering going with a longer rod if it means I don’t have to throw my arm off to get the job done. 3. Standard grip but I am open. Used a pistol grip a lot as a kid (lightning rod - vague memory, not sure who made it, probably no more than 5.5’) and felt like I threw that thing pretty well. 4. I’m probably more of an arm caster but I’m not sure. I certainly use both. 5. For the sake of this discussion, let’s not put a price limit on it. After all good time spent fishing is priceless!
  13. I am hoping to get some information about casting gear for river use. I have long been a fan of casting gear but as I began fishing rivers more often, I started to throw spinning gear more to get longer casts with the lighter lures (compared to lake fishing for largemouth). I now bring only one casting set up on river trips but find that when I throw a small buzz bait I have to take a mighty swing to get any distance and when I have to put everything into a cast, I loose the accuracy that makes the casting gear attractive in the first place. So I will ask it this way, if you are fishing a river from a canoe, what is your ideal set up with casting gear including lure weight? I know Al is a big casting gear fan so I am hoping to get his take but I’m sure he isn’t the only one.
  14. I had been catching a lot of fish on breakwaters but that bite seems to be slowing down. 10 days ago they were hitting top waters aggressively off breakwaters. I then started catching them on a 7” purple worm and now I am only catching them occasionally on a variety of lures. I can’t find the right pattern right now.
  15. I consider South Grand anything south of Goat Island, mid lake would be from Goat Island to Patricia Island or maybe Sailboat bridge. That’s my take on it anyway. I didn’t fish today but instead boated all the way from Disney to Blue Bluff in Elk Creek and I had a lot of time to think about that classification of the sections of the lake as I was perusing the chart book.
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