AMITY -- For smallmouth bass fishing, Friday the 13th was my lucky day.
I joined an old friend for a long-delayed trip on the Caddo River. The weather was pleasant, the water was cool and refreshing, and the fishing was good.
My partner for this trip was Alan Thomas of Benton, formerly of Russellville. For years he was a regular guest on this page. He was my partner for most of the 2006 Summer Smallmouth Tour and for the annual End of Summer Celebration, which combined a stream fishing trip and a boat-in dove hunt on the Arkansas River near Dardanelle. Thomas was once one of the most prolific duck hunters on the Arkansas River, and he taught me the art of hunting the backwaters and sidewaters of Lake Dardanelle.
It all seems like yesterday, but those trips were quite long ago. Thomas is a professional now, with a lot of responsibilities that require a lot of travel. He abandoned duck hunting on the river when he joined a club at Bayou Meto Wildlife Management Area. We stay in touch, but we haven't fished together in four years. That was a trip on Sylamore Creek, where somebody abandoned a Ford Bronco in the middle of the water. It was up to the tops of the tires in gravel.
A reunion emerged when Thomas called during the week and proposed a trout fishing trip on the White River at Mountain Home. That idea quickly fell apart, so he pitched a smallmouth fishing trip on the Caddo River. Thomas really likes the upper portion of the Caddo River from Norman to Caddo Gap, but there's not much water that far upstream because of drought. Then he proposed putting in at Glenwood and fishing upstream.
"How about this?" I asked. "Let's put in at Amity, float downstream a mile or two and then wade fish back up to the ramp."
"I've never fished down there," Thomas said skeptically.
"It doesn't get fished much," I said. "Everybody takes out at Amity, but not many people go downstream from there. The next takeout is on DeGray Lake, and that's a long way."
We arrived about 10 a.m. Friday. Puffy clouds were gathering to the north, and there was a decent flow of water. Thomas loaded up a day's worth of gear in his kayak, and I did the same in my tiny aluminum canoe. We paddled downstream to the end of the next pool below the ramp. We tied our boats to our belt loops and began fishing. Naturally, covid-19 was a major topic. I got my second vaccine Thursday.
"The first covis shot made my arm really sore for about a day and a half," I said. "They told me it would probably happen again with the second one, but I took a Tylenol before bed last night and another one when I got up this morning. I haven't had any pain, but a little sore-arm is still better than getting covis."
"What are you talking about, covis?" Thomas demanded.
"Bill Rhodes, my friend in Sheridan that makes turkey calls. He calls it covis," I said. "Ever since I heard him say that, it's covis to me forevermore."
Thomas used to brag constantly about his outstanding eyesight. He could spot ducks in the distance long before anybody else, and he gave detailed descriptions of fish hugging creek bottoms. It was easy to think he was blowing smoke, but he often caught the fish moments after giving its description.
Things have changed a little. He is, after all, a little older. Trying to tie a new hook on his line, Thomas shoved his line to the right of the eyelet, to the left of the eyelet, under the eyelet and over the eyelet. Cursing under his breath, he dug a pair of drugstore reading glasses from his dry bag.
"What are you laughing at," Thomas mumbled.
"I'm right with you," I said. "I can't see diddly squat, but I'm too proud to wear 'cheaters.' I judge distance by echolocation and just hope I keep it out of the trees."
Thomas howled with laughter and continued trying on his lure.
Minutes later, he set the hook on mere water.
"He followed it all the way to my knees," Thomas said. "I think he was about to get it, but then he saw me and turned away at the last second."
"Naw, man," I said. "That fish was like, 'That dude can't see me. He's wearing cheaters."
Shortly after, another fish did steal Thomas' Zoom Baby Brush Hawg.
"He got my wallet, my credit cards and everything," Thomas groused.
Not long after, Thomas started identifying fish on the bottom.
"There goes a 3-pounder, getting out of Dodge," he shouted. "There's three together right there."
"Fred Sanford, you can't see nothin', you ol' fish-eyed fool," I taunted. "What'd you do with your cheaters?"
"I only need them for seeing stuff up close," Thomas protested. "I still see fine at a distance."
Like old times, Thomas caught one of the three smallmouths he claimed to see.
I wish I could report that we caught 25-35 fish like we frequently did in the past. We often caught at least one 3-pounder apiece and quite a few 2-pounders and better. Friday was not one of those days. We caught a smallmouth here and a Kentucky bass there. The biggest smallmouth was about 14 inches. My smallest fish was a 4-inch Kentucky bass. The bites came with consistent frequency to punctuate a conversation that covered a lot of ground.
In the riffle leading to the next pool down, Thomas caught four smallmouths in rapid succession. He anticipated a big one for an encore that never occurred.
At the end of the trip, at the mouth of the pool below the Amity ramp, I experienced a Green Sunfish Shootout. I caught four green sunfish on four consecutive casts. And just like that, the bites quit coming.
We finished about 3 p.m. We spent about four hours fishing and about two hours driving. We agreed that it was one of our best trips of the year, and we both needed it very much.