Trip/Fishing Report (6/23 - 6/26/2021)

[darbwa]

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. 

[Phil Lilley]

Wonderful trip report... truly memorable.

[Ham]

Awesome. Love it

[RippingLips]

What a great trip!!  Great write up, and perfect company.  Cheers to Andyyyyyy!!

[bryanrob]

Great trip report!!

[DADAKOTA]

Sounds like an awesome adventure.