YELLVILLE -- An event as rare as a solar eclipse would be notorious for triggering three of the greatest minutes of fishing the world has ever known.
Only a fool would miss it.
That's how I enticed Bill Eldridge of Benton, Rusty Pruitt of Bryant and Ray Tucker of Little Rock to join me in an eclipse celebration Monday on Crooked Creek.
I first broached the idea two weeks ago, which gave me ample time to fire up my companions with frequent pep talks and pep texts. When we sortied northward on Sunday, we were as excited as children on Christmas Eve.
We camped at Rush Recreation Area on the Buffalo National River, a convenient launch pad for fishing Crooked Creek and, of course, the Buffalo River from Spring Creek to Rush. The campground is small but tidy, apparently because it doesn't attract many campers. It's remote and kind of hard to reach, but the solitude makes it a peaceful place to camp.
Our first night was festive. We've all had a long, busy summer, and we were ready to unwind. We all uncoiled rapidly and regaled each other with jokes and stories well into the night.
During Eclipse Morning's breakfast, we seriously debated whether to fish the Buffalo River instead of Crooked Creek. The water level was ideal, and watching smallmouth bass chasing shad along the gravel bar beneath the bluff sorely tempted us to switch venues.
Whatever was happening on the Buffalo would also be happening on Crooked Creek, we agreed, except with bigger fish.
"Where would you rather be at 1:15?" I asked. "Here, or up there with the hosses?"
We should have been on the water at sunrise, when the fish were active, but more important, we should have stayed on the Buffalo. Crooked Creek was almost too low to float, and it was clear that we would have to drag through most of the shoals.
When we finally launched our canoes at the Georges Creek Access about 10:30 a.m., fish were already inactive in the heat and bright light.
Despite the slow fishing, there was a palpable air of anticipation among our group. The light had an uncommonly bright glare, almost like welding light, but without the flicker. I noticed that we all kept our eyes low, as if looking at any part of the sky might blind us.
We caught enough fish to keep us engaged, and we all checked the time every few minutes.
Finally, we stopped at a gravel bar for lunch. Pruitt, Eldridge and I wolfed down hearty ham sandwiches while Tucker wade-fished downstream.
Pruitt, who brought four sets of eclipse eyeshades, put his on and announced that the moon had obscured the edge of the sun.
It gradually got darker, akin to covering a camera lens with a dark gray filter. We all donned our shades and watched in awe and delight as the moon progressed across the face of the sun.
It soon got very quiet, and a cool wind bent the trees. Then cicadas and tree frogs tuned up the way they do before nightfall.
We started fishing a few minutes before totality, and precisely at 1:15 p.m., all three of us caught smallmouths, a rare triple.
We caught a few more, but it certainly was not the three greatest minutes of fishing the world has ever known. It wasn't great by any measure, but we were thrilled to experience those three minutes together.
We found Tucker about half a mile downstream, engrossed in fishing. The magnifying lenses he wears on the bridge of his eyeglasses gave him a brief thrill. He attempted to tie on a lure when a bright light blinded him. His cheeks burned. The magnifiers intensified the sunlight shining through them, and it temporarily unnerved him.
Sharing that with this group was a mistake because we teased him mercilessly about it, but anyone that knows Ray Tucker knows he gives better than he gets.
As the moon disengaged, the brightness returned, and it was a little cooler.
In the last minute of the eclipse, I tumped a canoe for the first time in five years. A rootwad in the middle of a narrow channel was the culprit. When it was obvious that it was impossible to paddle around it, I warned Tucker to brace himself.
I tried to roll out to prevent the boat from flipping, but my foot wrapped around a tackle pouch and caught a thwart. The momentum of my departure completed the roll.
Eldridge and Pruitt said it all happened in slow motion, and that we made it to "eight." Eldridge scored it a 10. Pruitt scored it nine.
Eventually, the combined effects of heat, humidity and fatigue from dragging across rocks, through shoals and paddling against the wind sapped our enthusiasm. We put down the rods and made a beeline for our takeout at Kelly's Slab.
At least, the other three put down their rods. I caught my most and best fish in those last three miles while Tucker paddled. He complained bitterly, but whenever we reached attractive water, he said, "Go ahead and fish, B. I've got this."
It's been a long time since I slept so soundly as I did that night.
We all did, and I'll bet we never forget the Eclipse Celebration.
Sports on 08/27/2017