Worth the trip: Giant brown trout ices annual White River pilgrimage

The author caught this 28-inch brown trout on a Luck-E-Strike jerkbait on the White River on Sunday near the Ranchette Access while fishing with Richard Phelan of Little Rock.
(Arkansas Democrat-Gazette)
The author caught this 28-inch brown trout on a Luck-E-Strike jerkbait on the White River on Sunday near the Ranchette Access while fishing with Richard Phelan of Little Rock. (Arkansas Democrat-Gazette)


BUFFALO CITY -- Frankly, none of us truly wanted to spend Jan. 15-17 fishing on the White River.

The annual trip usually kickstarts the year for Bill Eldridge, Rusty Pruitt, Dr. Richard Phelan, Ed Kubler and me. We love the accommodations at the White Buffalo Resort, and the first night's meal is always in the year's top three.

But our hearts just weren't in it. Kubler couldn't go because of a prior commitment. We're an all-for-one, one-for-all group, and Kubler is the fuse that keeps the electricity flowing. We also dreaded the prospect of fishing in cold rain. We considered postponing, but the deposit was paid, and it might be a long time before all of us would have an opportunity to set aside three days for fishing in the near future.

Thankfully, White River trout have a magical way of curing all that's wrong.

On Saturday, we encountered heavy snow from Marshall to Yellville, but the precipitation turned to rain at Mountain Home. It was a torrent when we checked in with Matthew Leiboult, owner of White Buffalo Resort.

"It's going to be cold, but I know you guys like to fish in the snow," Leiboult said. "The rain is supposed to turn to snow this afternoon. If you want to go out, we've got a couple of boats for you."

Snow arrived late in the afternoon, a heavy, wet snow that seemed to identify more closely with rain. The vote was 3-1 to wait until morning to fish. Pruitt was the go-vote, because "we came up here to fish! If we're not gonna fish, why'd we come up here?"

The next morning was cold, bright and blue. Enshrouded with snow, the mountains were as beautiful as a new bride. The air had an unusually sharp bite, the kind that no amount of clothes deters. It is the first time I've ever felt uncomfortable all day on the water, but again, White River trout have a way of making you ignore it.

Eldridge and Pruitt anchored against a rock at Buffalo Shoal. Pruitt fly fished and Eldridge dunked PowerBait in the eddies. Before we got there, Phelan caught a couple of rainbow trout while trolling jerkbaits.

"I've got a spot up near Ranchette where we have a good chance at catching some big fish," I said. "We can fish here for stocker rainbows, or we can go for the jackpot. Your call."

Phelan wanted to spin for the jackpot, so we plowed several miles upstream through a bitter headwind to the promised land. Phelan immediately landed a couple more rainbows, bringing his count to five.

We were still about a mile downstream from the big fish water when I slowed down and started trolling through a narrow spot.

"Rusty, Bill and I anchored out here at dusk a few years ago," I said. "Bill hooked a giant. He fought it for awhile until it finally broke him off. Bill was so upset, I thought he was going to get sick. He still talks about it, and time has not softened the blow."

Eldridge talked about it later that night.

"I thought I had him until he made that last big run," Eldridge said wistfully.

As I relived that experience with Phelan, my bait lodged against something solid. Line peeled off my reel with a low whine as the boat continued upstream.

"I'm hooked on a rock or a log or something," I said. "Reel in. I've got to turn around and see if I can dislodge it."

It's easy. Just get downstream of the snag and pop the lure loose. That didn't happen. When I put pressure on the line, it took off like a jet.

"I've got a fish on! A big one!" I yelled. "Hold on, Doc. We're in for a rodeo ride!"

I didn't have enough limbs for this assignment. One hand held a rod with a violently fighting fish, and the other hand struggled to keep the boat straight and out of trouble while also trying to reel in slack line and keep tension on the fish. After a few minutes, I got the fish near the surface, and my heart leapt into my throat.

"It's a monster! Get the net, Doc!"

I pulled the fish alongside the boat, and Phelan deftly slipped the net under its snout and guided it to captivity. It was a 28-inch female brown trout, as skinny as a snake from the rigors of spawning.

As I removed it from the net, Eldridge and Pruitt motored up to us.

"Here's the fish you lost," I said.

Eldridge laughed and said, "It was bigger back then!"

After taking a few photos, I released the fish and watched with satisfaction as it swam away.

The water was lower than usual, so my usual fishing spots were either dry or too shallow. Phelan and I scoured them inside and out, but the big fish had relocated to deeper water. Still, Phelan racked up about 20 rainbows and polished off the day by catching a small brown trout at Buffalo Shoal. I caught only seven rainbows, but my brown was a fish of a lifetime.

I have been blessed to catch a few of those, including several while fishing with Eldridge and Craig Yowell on Memorial Day 2020. That was the last time we fished with Eldridge's father, who passed away in 2021. That was the greatest trout fishing trip of our lives, and we remembered it fondly over supper that night. We shared photos and videos of the day's exploits via smartphone with Kubler, who rejoiced in Tom Brady's latest triumph while lamenting the vanquishing of his beloved Pittsburgh Steelers.

Our misgivings evaporated in the frigid Baxter County air as we celebrated long into the night. None of us would rather have been anywhere else. We only wished a few more folks could have been with us.


  photo  Richard Phelan of Little Rock caught about 20 rainbow trout like this one Jan. 16 while fishing with the author below snow-covered mountains on the White River. (Arkansas Democrat-Gazette/Bryan Hendricks)
 
 


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