You know an angler is serious about trout fishing when his boat is painted to look like a giant brown trout.
That particular angler is a guide, and he portended good luck for Rusty Pruitt and me during our annual midwinter fishing trip on the White River on Jan. 19-21.
We, along with Bill Eldridge of Benton and Ed Kubler of Benton, longed for a repeat of our 2018 trip, which occurred in heavy snow. Fish started biting the instant the snow started falling, and they kept biting for the duration of the trip. We lost count of the number of brown and rainbow trout we caught and released, and it earned a figurative silver cup as the champion of all trips.
The 2019 edition appeared to follow the same script. We departed central Arkansas amid wet, balmy weather early Jan. 19. The temperature plummeted by the time we reached Clinton. Snow fell shortly after and became a full-blown snow shower from Marshall to Harriet.
The snow abated at Yellville and was finished when we checked into our cabin at White-Buffalo Resort, near the confluence of the White and Buffalo rivers. Our cabin was spacious and warm, with everything we needed for a weekend of fishing and relaxation.
After stowing our gear, we launched our boats at the Buffalo City Access, about half a mile from the cabin. The river was very high and fast from the continual flow of eight hydropower generators running around the clock. That meant all of the big rocks where we like to anchor at Buffalo Shoals were several feet underwater.
It was also too fast for trolling. Against such fast current, you must keep the boat stationary and advance upstream by inches. If you go any faster, it blows out a stickbait's action and makes it rise. The lure must run deep to big, current-breaking rocks where fish hide. The only way to do that is to drift bottom-bouncing baits, which required sacrificing valuable time to re-rig. We decided to search for eddies and broken water where we could troll.
The air was icy and wet, and it was made colder by a stiff wind that sliced through multiple layers of clothing. Even my plush-hunting parka was no match for it.
As expected, Buffalo Shoals was underwater. Pruitt and I motored about a mile farther upstream, but we found no fishable water.
Eldridge and Kubler had a much smaller boat with a 9.9-horsepower outboard. The river was too wild for them, so they drifted downstream and entered the Buffalo River. It offered no shelter, either. A north wind blew them upstream amid whitecaps.
We called it quits at the same time and reunited at the ramp. The day was about to get a lot better, though, because of the sumptuous dinner that awaited. On the first night of all our trips we dined on giant ribeyes expertly grilled by Kubler, along with corn on the cob, baked potatoes and salad. Kubler turned in his best work yet, and the day ended on a most satisfactory note.
On Jan. 20, we launched several miles upstream at Ranchette Access. From there we motored up and fished in the sheltered waters of Crooked Creek. Several years ago, under similar conditions, we enjoyed stellar fishing in Crooked Creek, where big brown trout stacked in the pools. We caught them with sinking jerkbaits.
This time we only caught a few skinny, poor looking rainbows trolling through shoals.
Eldridge and Kubler stayed closer to the confluence. Eventually they crossed the White River and anchored in an eddy behind an island. They stayed there all day and caught rainbow trout on PowerBait.
"Out of that wind, I even felt kind of warm," Kubler said. "A couple of times I almost went to sleep."
Pruitt and I entered the White River about noon and motored up to the boundary of the Rim Shoals Special Regulations Area. There we encountered the guide in the trout-colored boat. He used oars to keep his boat parallel to the bank as he drifted downstream. His two clients used what appeared to be 8-weight rods to spey cast big streamers toward the bank.
Pruitt and I got closer to the bank than I normally like in such fast water, but it gave us a revelation. The water was much slower right next to the shore, and I could troll at a reasonable speed.
We immediately started catching trout, and suddenly it didn't feel so cold anymore.
After about a dozen or so trout, it occurred to us that similar water was probably downstream among a collection of giant boulders. The rocks were far underwater, of course, but there was also a new pocket inside the rock line.
Our hunch proved correct. We slayed the rainbows and even caught a brown trout in a 300-yard section of water that we hit over and over.
The surprise of the day, however, was a nice-size smallmouth bass that hit Pruitt's stickbait. White River smallmouths are so pretty. They don't exhibit the smallmouth's characteristic bronze color. They shine like polished brass.
"I catch them around Mountain View, but I had no idea they were this far up," I said.
"I catch them all the time at Rim Shoals," Pruitt said.
Eventually the bite waned, and we retired to camp for Kubler's world-class cheeseburgers and a night of football on the tube.
When the games were finished, we gathered outside by a roaring fire and marveled at the Super Blood Wolf Moon.
"Isn't it neat?" Eldridge asked. "We were on Crooked Creek for the solar eclipse, and now we're here for the lunar eclipse."
We tipped our caps to the White River for its nearly impenetrable defense, but like Tom Brady, we rallied for the win late in the second half.
For all its many highlights, this trip earned its own championship trophy.
Sports on 01/27/2019