.June 20, 2005
Of Beanie Weenies and Men
One thing I’ve had plenty of on this experience is laughter and yesterday I thought I was going to bust a gut. We were in Mountain Home, Arkansas, which meant we were near Wapsi’s headquarters. Of course you know that Wapsi makes a lot of fly tying stuff. Bruce had told me before how he has been dumpster diving at Wapsi’s to recover what materials they throw away. What is Wapsi’s shrink is Bruce’s treasure and by gosh he went dumpster diving again yesterday. And, I got it on film! He came up out of that dumpster, waders still on, with a big bag of marabou plumes holding it like it was high sea booty. What a nut!
While on the subject of Bruce and his antics this cannot go unmentioned. Bruce has become a dangerous man. The danger lies in his bodily functions or lack of control in those functions. I don’t know though…his direction may have deliberate intent. What I do know is that the Beanie Weenies are going to have to disappear from the chuck box. Death by asphyxiation is not how I wish to leave these earthly bounds. Nope, when it’s my time to go to the big waters I hope to be standing in Blue River with rod in hand; then they can burn me and mix me with my home waters. I don’t know for sure if I believe in reincarnation or not but if I do I already know what ole Barry is coming back as – a Rainbow trout. So to all my fly fishing buddies out there – don’t you guys try feeding me a hare’s ear cause I’m not going to fall for it.
It’s 5:00 a.m., Bruce is still in the bedroll and I’m in the Schooner getting caught up on our reporting duties. Sleep was good last night with almost seven hours of shuteye time. My gosh, I have to believe the trout bum God resides in Arkansas and is sailing along with us. The weather has been wonderful and the last two nights the temperatures have been down in the fifties. Good sleeping weather although I brought only one sheet and it has been a tad on the cool side for my thin cut body.
Maybe we are getting our second wind. Bruce got a really good tan on his face yesterday. I mean really good…looks like he’s been drinking tons of rum or something. His pie is really red. After standing in the water for so long yesterday I thought my legs were shot for good but this morning I feel like running a hundred meter dash. Well, not really but I do feel good.
Honestly, I think the wear is starting to show some. The physical part of this experience is enough by itself. We have pushed ourselves really hard in search of trout waters. So far we have already sailed 902 miles and have a long ways to go. Then there is the mental part of the experience for me, which is learning new waters. The waters of Arkansas are much bigger waters than I am use to. Without trying to offend anyone these waters also have much less character than the waters back home. Bruce and I are different in our fly-fishing life. Although Bruce can do all the disciplines he is perfectly satisfied stripping a bugger all day and none of us can argue that buggers work. Bruce says the bigger the bugger the better. But, that’s not good enough for me. I get tired of reading that thing about “If I had only one fly to use it would be the bugger, blah, blah, blah. There has to be more to this than buggers and stripping. I want to perfect that drift, learn to nymph better, high stick better, cast upstream and slack line more effectively and learn why trout like something that looks like a hook with some thread on it. So…on this experience the learning curve is putting a little additional stress on me. But it’s all fun!
Today begins day seven for us and we have been pushing at such a hectic pace it seems we’ve only been out here for a couple of days. Our money is holding up quite well probably because we’ve already gone into the Survivor Trout Bum mode.
We are on the water a little after six because they are not generating this morning. The first thirty minutes is a disappointment but we do end up finding trout before they blow the horn. And Bruce went to dries this morning, battled a big brown only to lose the battle, and had a lot of fun with the dries.
Our first casualty of this adventure is my sweet little TFO 5 weight. One of the middle guides broke at the foot yesterday and it is not useable. I feel kind of naked without that rod. It has been very good and produced very well for me. Despair? Not really, just disappointment. This morning I broke out a 7 foot. 4 weight and over lined it with the reel and line from my 5 weight. I’m less than happy with the way it is handling. I still have the 8 weight which is too much hoss for these waters and then the little 3 weight which is going to limit me in applications. So…guess I’ll just go with the flow.
We are headed to the Cotter Bridge on the White right now. I think we may stop at the Mountain River Fly Shop and see if they have some zap-a-dap and try and temporarily fix my 5 weight.
We don’t spend a lot of time at the Cotter Bridge and decide to go on downstream. The river looks a tad higher today than yesterday. We wade across to an island and fish those waters for a while with not much action. Bruce leaves to go back to the main part of river and I stay with the island for another thirty minutes.
When I decide to try and cross the river I get in some water that is proving to be too much for me. I’ve been in trouble with water before and it’s not much fun. Bruce is way downstream so I’m on my own. I eventually make it to the bank but my heart is beating ninety to nothing. Crap…I know better.
We fish another hour with little results, only a couple of bows are engaged and battled. About the time we are getting ready to leave an armada of canoes are heading down the river and we see the biggest man we’ve ever seen in one of the canoes. All the other canoes had two people in them, this fellow had his own. He was huge!
We call it a fishing day at noon because we have to pack up, find a computer to borrow and sail to our next port of call the tail water of Norfork.
Today’s reflection: “If your thin as a rail, gray as a rat, and aging rapidly, don’t get in the swift water by yourself.”
Long live the White River and long live our home waters Blue River.
Barry & Bruce
The Blue River Bummers
Sail On With The Bummers
