Twenty-five or so years ago, Curtis Hughes made a wrong turn and by sheer accident came upon Blue River. After completing a geology report on ten-acre rock near Reagan, Oklahoma, Curtis was headed home when he made that fateful wrong turn. He wound up at an intersection and directly across from him was a sign that announced Blue River and trout fishing. Curtis decided to check it out and since that day some twenty-five years ago, Curtis has courted, romanced, and had a love affair with Blue River.
Today, I have asked Curtis to be my guide and teacher in hopes of learning more about Blue River. Our starting point is the Blue River bridge on state highway 7 about nine miles north of Tishomingo, Oklahoma. We arrive at our destination about 8:30 in the morning. The great thing about having Curtis as a guide is not only is he a fine fisherman but he is also a well versed historian of this area. When asked about Blue River, Curtis will deliver a detailed narrative that takes on an air of cherished reverence. As we gear up with tackle, bait, cameras, and other necessary equipment, Curtis tells me about the history of this particular area. It seems we are standing on a site that once was the village of Belton. Belton existed in the late 1800's through the early 1900's and in the days it was thriving Belton boasted a sawmill, gristmill, casket manufacturer, and a two-room schoolhouse. The foundation of the schoolhouse can still be seen.
As he finishes his history report, I ask him what today's plan will be. It's at this point he tells me we will be hiking two miles up river and fishing our way back. Sounds like an excellent plan to me so off we go.
After what I am certain is three miles of hiking I ask Curtis if perhaps I misunderstood when he said a "two mile hike". It is at this point, that he explains that when he said two miles he meant "as the crow flies", and that we still have a way to go. As we continued our "two mile hike" we both notice signs of the wildlife that inhabit this area. We cross a good number of deer tracks as the rain dove pray for rain. A heron, startled by our approach, suddenly takes flight while other fowl soar through the air. And of course there are the creatures of the water. All of this wildlife, God's creatures one and all, living in a sanctuary created for them and shared by us is already making this experience a success before it even really gets started.
After our "two mile hike" we finally reach our destination and it is here that we realize that this is going to be a tough day of fishing. The recent abundance of rain has caused the river to rise somewhat making traversing to the "fishing spots" more than difficult. The recent rains have also caused the waters to be much less clear and pristine as they normally are and then there is the wind. The wind is straight out of the south and rather strong today which means we will be facing her all day as we backtrack from the north. This will make fishing for Curtis not a pleasant task today since he came prepared to fly-fish. He really didn't come to fish today but rather to "test the waters" to see if there are any remaining trout in the river, not to mention he came almost solely as my guide. I came to catch catfish and I am armed with my mainstay Zebco 33, bobber, sinkers, and number 4 size hook. As bait, I have chosen night crawlers and brought chicken livers as backup bait. After careful consideration we decide to pass up the swiftness of the water at this first site and we start back downstream.
Less than an eighth of a mile downstream, we find our first real opportunity where we both can fish. Our lines have been in the water for only a short time when we both get a strike. We must have dull hooks today because we both miss, but the expectation gives us cause to stay. After a fairly long lull in nibbles, bites, strikes, or whatever one wants to call it, we move further downstream.
As we make our way downstream looking for our next spot, we hear from time to time the music of the river. This music is what I call real "rock music". It is rock music played by Mother Nature, using the waters as her voice, and the rocks as her instrument. She plays in a natural amphitheater with the creatures, the trees and plant-life, and on this particular day two men as her audience enjoying her performance.
A little farther downstream we find our next spot. Here I get to watch Curtis with his fly rod. I have always admired fly-fisher's and their art. Fly-fishing truly is an art with the angler being the artist and the fly rod being the paintbrush. I watch intently as Curtis slowly and gently tickles and teases this watery vein of Mother Earth. Mother seems to be enjoying the attention he is giving her because she has blessed us with a partially overcast sky that keeps the sun from burning us down. However, the wind is relentless today and we go to another plan.
After about three hours on this north portion of Blue we decide to have lunch. A quick stop at Scotty's Blue River One Stop and a rather good barbecue sandwich for myself, and hamburger for Curtis we are rejuvenated. Now, we are off to the Blue River Campground and an area that Curtis calls the "north camping area". Everyone else calls it Area 2, but not everyone else knows Blue like Curtis.
It is our hope that the wind has died down when we reach Area 2, but upon arrival, we find just the opposite. However, this is a most promising spot with numerous falls and deep holes that have to be home to some lunker catfish. But again, it is the conditions that today are our foes, We experience the same results here with lots of bites and nibbles but no catches. We both blame it on the "thieves of the waters"...the pan fish.
As I am preparing to call it a day, I look at Curtis and see the disappointment in his face. Disappointment that doesn't stem from his lack of success, (he didn't really come to fish), but rather from mine. Little does he know that it was only a few short weeks ago, that I was catching beautiful channel cat out of this river, average size 3 to 4 lb. Little does Curtis know that this is been one of the most enjoyable, rewarding days of my life.
Those of us who fish know that there are good days and not so good days and I believe that neither is the absolute point to "going fishing". I believe that the absolute point to fishing is simply the opportunity to be within, in the middle, somehow remotely and diminutively involved in this great thing we call nature. This experience of "going fishing" gets us away from the daily grind of the workplace or the mundane of everyday life...perhaps only a short while...but still for a while. It is a chance to look up in the sky...and see nothing but sky. A sky that is not interrupted with telephone, electrical, or cable lines. Simply just sky.
I really can't explain it to the point that it would make any sense to anyone who hasn't seen or visited Blue River, but there is something about this river that keeps calling me back, time and time after time. Perhaps, like Curtis some twenty-five or so years ago, I have sparked a romance that has led to a love affair. A love affair with a partner that is unconditional but at the same time never makes a promise. Her name is Blue River.
