First Trip to the White River

First off, I LOVE brown trout.  I think they are the most beautiful freshwater fish in the world (that is not hyperbole, and sorry brook trout) and I would prefer to catch one small, pretty brown trout over ten stocker rainbows any day of the week.  Since catching my first brown on Lake Taneycomo, I have been fascinated by their feeding habits, differences in appearance, and somewhat elusive nature (at least here in Missouri).  While resarching brown trout, I stumbled upon the fact that the White River is somewhat of a Mecca for brown trout fishermen.  After seeing some jaw dropping pictures of browns that looked a little like a Spinosaurus, I knew that I had to fish this Jurassic river at some point.

     

See the resemblance?

Admittedly, I don't have a lot of time on my hands with two young sons.  I love them to death and wouldn't trade them for the world but I certainly don't have the free time that I used to.  Also, being a teacher with two young sons (my daycare bill could afford a lake house and I am not kidding) doesn't exactly afford a surplus in the fishing budget.  I'm not complaining, don't get me wrong, but I can't exactly shell out a thousand bucks to go down to the White River for a few days.  You might be reading this thinking "a thousand bucks, is he serious?"  Yes, I am.  If you figure in food, gas, and lodging, you're looking at a pretty good chunk of change.  If you figure in a guide for a day, with the going rate of $400 for a full day, guided trip takes up a lot of the budget.  Now I haven't hired very many guides in my life but if I am going to go after trophy browns on one of the best brown trout rivers in the world, I don't have time to try and find the good spots, the right techniques, and water generation schedules.  If this place was in my backyard, that's a different story but Lakeview, Arkansas, is about 5 and 1/2 hours from my front door.  If you put the two together, you have an expensive and rare opportunity that I want to take seriously because it might be a once in a lifetime type of trip.  Could I have done this trip on my own?  Heck no!  However, I know a guy that is as generous as the day is long and has made more sacrifices for me than I can count.  This guy has done everything in his power since the day I was born to make me happy and to provide opportunities for me that are life-changing.  I'm talking about my dad.

While sitting around the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve of 2015, I opened a and enveloped from my folks.  Inside was a hand-written note that served as a gift certificate of sorts.  It stated that it was to serve as a coupon for an all-expenses paid trip to the White River and was to include the cost of gas, lodging, food, and a guide.  Now I have to admit here, this was a bittersweet present at the time and dad, if you are reading this, stay with me here.  At the time of this particular Christmas, my wife and I had a son that was 5 and a son that was almost a year old.  Part of me thought that this was exactly what I needed with a busy life and budget that gets stretched each month.  Another part of me was a little on the sad side.  I thought that there was a VERY strong chance that this present would never been redeemed because of time constraints and the responsibilities that come with having a career and a young family.  A part of me was even a little sad or bitter because I felt like it was a logistical impossibility.

Well, I don't know about you, but life sometimes has a way of grooving you a pitch right down the middle of the plate when you need it most.  Fast forward to January of 2017 (that's right, over a year since the present was given) and my dad and I had a chance to talk about the aforementioned trip.  We first kicked around the idea, strongly considered the idea, and then finally put the wheels in motion for this trip to happen during my spring break between March 13-17.  Child care was planned for, the wife was on board, and all systems were go...with one exception.  We had to find a place to say and a guide to hire.  The lodging seemed like a no brainer.  Gaston's Resort has an outstanding reputation and my dad was partial towards it since he had read so much about it in The Kansas City Star over the years.  The real problem lied in the selection of a guide.  In case you have never tried to research guide services on the upper part of the White River, let's just say there are a lot to pick from.  I later found out that there are around 100 guys that guide on the upper part of the river and 100 more fellas on the lower part of the river.  That's a lot of data, references, and pictures to pour over.  What made things ever more confounding was whether we should hire a fly fishing guide or fish with spinning tackle?

After talking to some fly fishing guides, I decided to NOT go the fly fishing route.  I did this for a few reasons.  Number one, I don't have a lot of upper body strength.  The guides told me that we would be throwing heavy rods, with heavy line, and heavy flies.  I just didn’t know if I could physically do that all day.  I also know that I typically take a few fish to get warmed up, shake off rust, and get a feel for strikes.  The guides also told me that I should only expect 1-3 strikes in a day.  If you look at this from a logical point of view, then fly fishing (for me) could have ended up with striking out and getting skunked on an expensive trip of a lifetime.  I don't like getting skunked.  I sure as heck don't want to get skunked on a guided trip.  We decided to fish bait.

I had my reasons for this as well.  While my dad said that he was find "just being along for the ride" and didn't care if he fished much, I didn't want him to be miserable.  We have both fished Lake Taneycomo with bait and know how to bounce bait along the bottom and how to differentiate between the feel of gravel and strikes...most of the time.  Also, you just can't deny the effectiveness of live bait.  It catches more fish because it’s real and what the fish are used to eating.  Finally, I figured that this would be the best method to hook a BIG brown.

Even after making that decision, I was still stuck with a LONG list of guides.  Days and weeks were passing by and I needed to make a decision.  After having a friend from work suggest Donald Cranor of Cranor's Guide Service, I threw my hands up in the air and thought "What the heck?  This guy looks legit!"  I went to his website to find out how to contact him and was blown away by how detailed and professional it looked.  I figured that either this guy is some internet ninja with an apt for Photoshop or this is the real deal.  I hoped for the latter.  When I contacted him, he was as nice as you would expect a guy from the south to be and made me feel like I had made the right decision.  I was a little disappointed to find out that he was booked for the day that my dad and I wanted to fish, but he promised me that one of "his guys" would be able to take us out and take care of us.  I was a little disappointed because I wanted THE Cranor of Cranor's guide service and not some apprentice or part timer.  However, guides were getting booked up and I didn't want to start from square one again so I would "settle" on the "other guy".  Spoiler alert: the "other guy" ended up being an AMAZING guide!

Now when I say that I wanted to go after a "big brown" I had to rein in my expectations.  To expect a trophy from a fishery in one day of fishing is setting yourself up for disappointment.  Instead of hoping for a wall-hanger, I settled on hoping for a brown that would be my biggest so far, which isn't much of a stretch.  My biggest brown came from Lake Taneycomo and was about 18 inches long.  It was skinny and probably only pushed 1 and 1/2 pounds.  After all of the pictures and stories I have seen and heard, I didn't think this was an unreal expectation.

My biggest brown prior to the trip.

On top of the guided trip, I was also fortunate to find out that my former high school basketball coach had moved to southern Missouri and become an avid fly fisherman.  We were able to incorporate fishing with him into the trip which was an added bonus.  To make the situation even better, he said that he had a drift boat and knew a few parts of the White River where we would probably have some luck.  Did rekindling an old relationship with the promise of hopeful fly fishing just work it's way into the trip?  Again, I was cautiously optimistic because this was coupled with the fact that his daughter was supposed to be moving to Texas that week which could derail the entire plan.

So reservations were made, deposits were put down by my dad, and the days slowly crept by.  I felt like a little kid waiting for Santa since the day after Thanksgiving and it felt like the departure date would never arrive.  It also seemed possible that some obstacle would step in and squash the entire trip.  A sickness, a death in the family, and unseasonable snow storm; they all seemed to peek over the horizon and haunt my thoughts/hopes.

Thankfully, the day came that my dad and I were to leave for Arkansas and the proverbial Boogeyman stayed in the closet.  My bags were packed, dad showed up on time, and we were southbound and down with the wind blowing in our faces.  The entire feeling was surreal.  Three days of fishing, no responsibilities, and a new fishery loomed on the horizon.  I have said it before, and I will say it again; the best feeling you have on a fishing trip might very well come on the way to going fishing.

Day 1

So for the first time since the planning of this trip, I started to get excited.  As my dad and I pulled out of my driveway, I slowly felt all of the responsibilities, stress, and duties fade away in my mind.  It must have been noticeable too because I talked his ear off until we stopped for lunch outside of Springfield.  We covered topics that ranged from trout feeding habits, wills, barometric pressure, politics, MOMO (the Missouri Monster) and family members but my mind was starting to narrow on how and if we would catch some brown trout.

Outside of Springfield, we took Highway 160 as my dad had planned.  He wanted to take a more scenic route through a section of Mark Twain National Forest and I'm glad we did.  While we got a little turned around because we missed a turn, it just added to the father/son time that we were enjoying.  Also, I'm glad I don't get car sick.  That is one hilly, twisting, and winding road!  It was also surprising when we stopped for some adult refreshments that we encountered a life-like statue of MOMO.  The irony was not lost on us and we got a good laugh out of that.  If you don't know what MOMO is, I suggest you look it up.  It is pretty interesting.

Have enough people tried to steal MOMO that he needs his own security system?

After the MOMO sighting, we crossed the Arkansas border and were getting closer to Gaston's Resort.  As I mentioned before, we had both heard about Gaston's and knew that it was a good fishing lodge with a restaurant and landing strip for small aircraft but that was about it.  As we followed the signs (which there were plenty of and thank you to Gaston's management) we noticed a small menagerie of birds located just outside the result.  There were domestic turkey, wild turkey, guinea fowl, pheasants, and peacocks.  I started to wonder if they were kept solely for fly tying purposes but that is probably the unhealthy direction my mind seems to navigate towards.  We pressed on.  We pulled up to the office at a little before 3:00, checked in, got our fishing licenses, got dinner reservations, and headed to our room.  It wasn't anything fancy but was clean and nice which is just what we wanted.  A television, a heater, two beds and a shower with warm water.  It was a bargain at twice the price.  I quickly proceeded to put on my waders and rig up a fly rod.  I was on the water by 3:30.

I knew I had about 3 hours to fish before our dinner reservations and thought it would take about that long to get my first bite.  I'm not kidding.  Now I don't know about you, but I struggle on new water and I struggle mightily.  I try the old tricks that have worked on other bodies of water, get frustrated when they don't work as expected, try things that others suggested, get frustrated when they don't work, question why I fish in the first place, wonder if there are fish in the water where I am fishing, and then go back to using the tried and true methods.  At some point along this continuum, I usually pick up a random/stupid fish that renews my confidence and efforts and helps me to start putting pieces of a fishing puzzle together.

I fished a spot downstream from the resort where my former basketball coach suggested.  To make a long (2 hour) story short, the water was fast, shallow, appeared to be unfishy (to me), and I quickly lost feeling in my fingers as well as motivation.  Not only did I fail to hook a fish, I failed to even SEE a fish.  I shouldn't have been surprised that I was struggling on new water.  This wasn't new to me but it still got me down.

I decided to head back to the room and either spot some fish along the way or go ahead and get ready for dinner.  I met my dad outside the room and we started talking about the fishing I experienced and the fishing that was to come.  We talked about how the water LOOKED similar to Taneycomo but was shallower and faster in places.  It was at that point that I thought I saw some trout rising.  Now I was a little skeptical about this because I hadn't heard anything about the dry fly fishing on the White, and I thought I was maybe seeing small fish or even ripples that were being made by the current.  With my dad being a little skeptical, I pursued the fish anyway.

The fish I had seen rising were on the far side of the river, but as I stepped into the water, I spotted about four fish rising on the near side of the bank.  They were consistent but I had no idea what they were feeding on.  I have a general rule when this happens.  I put on a Griffith's gnat.  This method works about half of the time and I was happy to settle on those odds.  I cast to the first fish and was not surprised when I spooked it with lousy casting.  I always spook the first one.  When I cast to the second fish, I thought I had a chance with it, but it disappeared.  As they say, "the third time is a charm" and I hooked my first White River trout.  It wasn't big, and it was probably a little dumb, but that was one of the most memorable fish of the trip.  It was like finding the first corner piece in a puzzle and put a BIG smile on my face.  To top things off, my dad saw the whole thing and I later realized that my excited echoed off the bluffs on the far side of the river.  Inadvertently, folks knew that I caught a fish and while I was thrilled, I was also a little embarrassed.  That concluded day one.

Day 2

While my dad and I both had our alarms set for 6:00 to meet our guide at 7:30, both of us were awake before the wake-up call.  I don't know why he was awake so early, but I was awake because I felt like a kid on Christmas morning.  I had been waiting for this opportunity for a long time and my hopes and optimism were through the roof.

We bundled up and caffeinated up for our long day on the water.  The high temperature was supposed to be in the lower 40's but our morning started off in the upper 20's.  So with multiple layers and ready to fish the White River for the first time together, we headed down the boat ramp at Gaston's Resort where we saw a guy that appeared to be getting a boat ready for an outing.  His name was Pete (of Cranor's Guide Service)and he was our guide for the day.

Pete informed us that water was being generated at the dam upstream and that we needed to get downstream to beat the rising water.  He said that the water would be lower, clearer, and we would encounter less debris in the water which would have given our bait a hassle.  He let us know that would be bouncing on the bottom and drifting bait.  The bait we started with was shrimp but over the course of the day, we used Powerbait and other scented artificial baits.  This was a technique that my dad and I were familiar with as it is a common tactic that is used on Lake Taneycomo when water is being generated.

As the morning went on, we both picked up rainbows here and there.  Most of them were stockers with my dad catching one exception that was probably 15 inches.  We both missed fish, landed a few, and kept a few for my dad's buddies back home.  Truth be told, I don't eat fish.  I don't care for the taste.  If they tasted like t-bones, I would be fishing for a limit every time out but they don't so I don't.

As we inched closer to lunch, something started to dawn on me and it wasn't a good feeling.  At the start of the day, I was thinking that the shrimp technique made sense because browns are meat eaters and maybe this was the method to catch browns on the White.  However, after catching nothing but rainbows, I started to worry about the possibility that maybe I had made a horrible mistake.  Maybe I hadn't let Pete know that we wanted to go after browns.  Maybe he thought that we just wanted to catch as many fish as possible.  Maybe my poor communication was going to turn into a day of stocker rainbows that my dad and I have managed to do on our own for years without the help of a guide.  My heart started to sink.  I started to feel like this trip was going to be a waste.  I didn't want this to happen but didn't want to be a rude jerk by letting Pete know that I wanted to go after browns.  I was stuck in a bad place and didn't know how to get out of it.

At lunch, I discussed the matter with my dad.  He felt the same way and thought we should say something to Pete about going after browns.  However, before we could say a single word, Pete addressed the matter.  He told us that the water had been shut off up at the dam and that the water would be dropping soon.  He said that with the conditions the way they were in the morning, the technique we were using was about all we could do.  I let him know that I would LOVE to go after some big browns if it was possible and he informed me that the conditions were now right to do just that.  I COULDN'T BELIEVE IT!  There was no mistake or miscommunication!  There was just bad conditions that had just improved.  To me, this was the point when the day really started.  My hope was renewed and my optimism was increasing quickly.

We had drifted about 16 miles over the course of the morning and had a long run upstream.  While it was around 35 degrees, we would now have the wind (and snow that had started falling) in our faces.  It actually wasn't too bad if you bundled up your hands and face and we saw some cool stuff on our run.  We saw some bald eagles, a blue heron grab and eat a trout, and an otter that was screwing around on the bank.  About 20-30 minutes later, we arrived at another one of Pete's boats where he kept his sculpin bait.

Pete said that he catches his own sculpin that he uses to target browns.  He also gave my dad and I an education on sculpin behavior.  He told us that they were able to change their skin color like a chameleon, and could blend in with their environments.  This made sense because they had to do something to survive and remain a part of the ecosystem.  Pete grabbed a few sculpin that he carefully selected (not sure about the criteria) and we were on our way again.

As we approached a bend in the river, he dropped the anchor.  I have to admit, it seemed like a pretty unassuming spot.  I didn't think it looked any different than the rest of the river, but then again, I had only spent 6 hours on the river whereas Pete had logged 37 years.  I just assumed Pete knew what he was doing.  He did.

As he prepped the bait and was about ready to put a hook through a sculpin, I noticed that he skinned it first.  This got my attention and my curiosity got the better of me so I had to ask, what was up with the skinning process.  Pete reminded me of the sculpin defense mechanism of camouflage and said that we needed fish to see the bait.  No skin = no camo.  I'm not sure why that wasn't more obvious to me.  I chalk it up to frozen brain cells but hey, I was starting to get feeling back in my toes again...which was nice.

So there we were; rigged up, baited up, and anchored up.  Pete told me to try to cast to a particular spot near the bank.  He said that my bait would bounce along the bottom in a similar manner to how we had fished earlier in the day and to be ready to feel the weight bouncing along the rocks.  He said that if the bouncing stopped that I could be hung up on some moss or I might have a bite.  He said to gently lift the rod tip up and see if I felt something pull back.  He also said that if I didn't feel anything, to lower to rod tip back down and see if the weight started to bounce along the bottom again.  He said if it didn't resume its bouncing activity, then I might have a fish on.

Now I'm not going to lie, my adrenaline was pumping.  This was what we came for.  This was what I had waited over a year for.  This was what we froze for.  The place was here and the time was now.  I double checked to make sure that I was preparing to cast to the right spot and made my heave.  I felt a bounce, felt a bounce, felt a bounce, and then didn't feel a bounce.  Pete asked me if the bouncing stopped and I said yes.  He told me to raise my rod tip to see what I could feel.  I felt nothing.  He told me to lower the rod tip back down to feel for bouncing.  I did not.  Then he calmly told me to go ahead and set the hook.  That all happened in about 5-6 seconds.  I set the hook and felt something similar to lightning surging up the line and heard the sound of singing drag.  Pete said, "There's a brown."  YOU DARN RIGHT THERE WAS A BROWN!

The power of the fish was incredible and to be hooked up with what I knew was a nice brown was a feeling unlike any other.  After a few minutes passed, I got the fish up to the boat and Pete netted the beast.  It was a beautiful fish and I was thrilled to land my first White River brown trout.  My next thought went to the tale of the tape.  I wanted to know if I had achieved my goal of my biggest brown trout ever.  The fish measured about 19-19 and 1/2 inches and aside from being my longest brown, this fish was beautiful.  The browns, the yellows, the black spots, and red spots, the halos...all of it was beautiful.  After some pictures and measurements, we got the girl (no kype jaw) back in the water and watched her successfully swim off.  I had almost forgot that there was still time to fish when Pete said, "Throw back out there and try to catch big brother."  He rigged me up again and told me to cast to the same spot.  Again, I was suspicious of this because I thought the fight would have spooked everything within 50 square yards but again, my now 6 hours of fishing prowess on the White was still slightly less than Pete's 37 years.  I cast back to the same spot.

The next fish did NOT bite in the first 5 seconds.  The second fish took about thirty seconds to hook.  The bite came in pretty much the same way and the fight was similar.  It peeled some drag, gave some violent head shakes, and wasn’t thrilled about coming close to the boat.  It turned out to be about 20 inches long and was every bit as beautiful as the first fish.  I had just caught the biggest brown of my life…again.

Now at this point, I didn’t think catching anything bigger was likely or even possible this late in the day.  We only had about an hour left to fish and I had already accomplished what I wanted.  To be honest, I had kind of let my guard down and started to relax.  My adrenaline rush was starting to subside and now I was just fishing for pure enjoyment.  We didn’t catch any more fish in this particular spot so Pete let the boat drift a little ways to fish a little further downstream.  I was casting, bouncing, having pauses in bounces, and bouncing again.  Again, I really wasn’t expecting to catch anything else.  So guess what happened?

I was bouncing along the bottom with my bait when it paused.  I wasn’t sure if it was hung up on moss or had a bite but lowered the rod tip and didn’t feel any further bouncing.  I set the hook and it happened with the subtleness of a broken shoelace.  This fish took off like a shot downstream.  This fish had a nastier attitude and peeled more drag than the other fish.  I started to wonder if this fish was bigger but predicted that it just had a tougher mean streak.  As I slowly fought it closer to the boat, Pete and I finally got a look at it.  It looked like a similar sized fish that was in the 20 inch range.  I was still dumbfounded by the fishery and in awe of a similar fish.  Then Pete got the fish in the net.  This was NOT a similar sized fish. 

Pete commented that we had only seen the back and profile of the fish from above and couldn’t see the girth and boy did it have some girth.  When it rolled over in the net, this fish was A LOT thicker than the other fish.  A LOT thicker.  I immediately knew that this was the biggest brown I had ever caught and I knew it was a nice fish when Pete got out the digital scale and moved around the boat a little faster than he had the rest of the day. 

He said that the fish weighed in around 5 pounds and I think I might have squealed like a little girl at that point.  To me, this was a true trophy and the fish of a lifetime.  We took a few pictures and checked the length which came out to be 24 inches.  Pete also estimated the girth to be about 16 inches and told me to put the fish in the net but to not let it go.  I noticed that he was doing something with the scale and asked to see the fish again.  He told me that the scale had accidentally been set to measure in kilograms and that he had fixed the problem.  He put the fish on the scale again and he asked me what I thought of the new measurement.  6 pounds, one ounce sounded like a heck of a big deal to me.  Pete got the fish in the water, got some water rushing through its gills and off it swam.  It all happened so fast that it didn’t really sink in but it slowly crept into my conscious and good gracious did it feel good.  I had caught a true trophy brown (as defined by the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission) on the White River on my first trip and could not have even imagined that was possible.  I am incredibly grateful for my dad, Pete, and of course the good Lord making this entire, amazing event possible.  I’m a lucky guy and that fact is NOT lost on me, nor is my gratitude towards those that were so gracious with their time and efforts.

With about 15 minutes left to fish before our time was up with Pete, he baited me up again and I cast out.  I didn’t get any hits after a few casts so Pete pulled the anchor again and we drift a little further downstream. On my second cast, a fourth bite came and why wouldn’t I have another bite?  This was the White River after all and this was becoming commonplace.  This fish was a fighter as well and just as beautiful as the others.  She checked in at 19 inches and was successfully released like the other three browns.  

With a small ride left to the boat ramp and our time up, this was the last fish for the day.  Now it is rare for me to feel ready for the end of a fishing day, but what more could I have asked for and what more was there to do?  I felt fulfilled and satisfied.  Truth be told, I was looking forward to warming up a little and feeling my toes again as well as look at the pictures and video because it felt like I had just lived a dream.

Day 3

After an outstanding dinner at the restaurant at Gaston’s, we both slept pretty good but we both still woke up before our alarms too.  I was up because I was looking forward to fly fishing with my old high school basketball coach from a drift boat and doing some wading.  I have no idea why my dad was up.  He informed me that he had enough of the cold yesterday and would be sitting this one out.  Instead, some coffee and a newspaper were in his future.  Maybe a donut, maybe not, he’s a wildcard and I stopped trying to calculate his movements a long time ago.

We packed up our stuff, bid farewell to Gaston’s, loaded up the truck, and HAD to stop by the bird menagerie on the way out.  It was worth the 3 minutes and the pictures don’t do it justice. 

We arrived at Rim Shoals to meet coach and got there a little early.  There was NO WAY I was going to show up late to meeting coach to go fishing.  I showed up late for practice once.  ONCE!  It didn’t happen again and it wasn’t going to happen today.  I was NOT going to run sprints up and down river.  Rim Shoals was also the spot where we stopped our drift with Pete the previous day.  Coach worked it out to meet us here so we could fish the catch and release area located there and so we could see a little more of the river downstream.

Coach showed up on time and quickly started getting his drift boat assembled.  I was extremely excited to fish out of a drift boat for the first time.  I have seen them on fishing shows and on other rivers but never had the chance to actually experience fishing out of one. 

We went upstream a ways from the boat ramp to the start of the catch and release area and anchored up.  Just like yesterday, I failed to see the allure or defining qualities of this particular spot and again, I put full faith in my guide.  I never would have guessed that fish were holding in the shallow, fast water we were fishing.  I guess I have come to favor deep, slow pools with long drifts but this was to be a learning experience. 

Coach has become pretty partial to fishing soft hackles and has been passing some of his knowledge along to me.  He helped me catch my first soft hackle fish at Bennett during catch and release season and on this particular day, he continued to teach me the ways of the soft hackle. 

So there we were, anchored up in fast, shallow water in a boat that I had never fished out of with a fly I was still a little unfamiliar with.  The stars had aligned (sarcasm).  In all actuality, I started getting bites pretty quick.  Coach pointed out the spots to hit and how to retrieve the fly and while the bites came pretty frequent, the landing of fish was something that I struggled with.  Another factor that I failed to mention that might or might not have played a factor with my low landing percentage was that we were fishing with barbless hooks.  Since this was a catch and release area, barbless hooks were required.  Again, I have been spoiled with barbed hooks and was learning another lesson.  After landing a few 10-12 inch rainbows and missing a bunch more, we drifted down to an island. 

Coach said that the dam had been generating water for a while and that it would arrive sometime soon and make the fly fishing more difficult so we were on a little of a time table.  Also, my dad was wanting to get on the road around 1:00, so we didn’t have much time left in our morning together.

We anchored the boat at the point of the island on the upstream side and started to fish one side.  Coach, with his expertise and knowledge of the river, was getting a strike on what seemed like every third cast.  I was struggling mightily to get hits but my casting had gotten better after getting out of the boat and I was just enjoying the smell of the water and the sun on my face.  I caught another rainbow or two before we moved to the other side of the island.  We noticed the water was starting to come up and coach suggested I let my fly swing down near the bank of the island since it would be offering sanctuary to fish trying to find slower water.  Again, I missed a few but finally hooked a fish and landed it.  To my delight and shock, it was a pretty little brown that I would have traded all the rainbows for.  It was about that time we noticed the boat.

Now I remember seeing coach anchor the boat in shallow water, but with the rising water level, that water wasn’t shallow anymore.  Subsequently, that boat wasn’t anchored anymore.  Now it sounds worse than what it actually was.  The boat was lazily floating down the river near the side of the river we were standing on.  Coach caught it without needing any help and disaster was averted.  We fished the same side of the island where I caught the brown and I missed a couple more fish.  At this point, the water was REALLY moving and coming up quick.  Coach had a five horsepower motor that he was a little worried about having the strength to run upstream if the current increased.  We had about 15 minutes before we had to take out so we found a wide stretch of water near the boat ramp where the current was less worrisome.  We drifted along the far bank of the boat ramp.  I think I missed one more fish but right before we were ready to call it quits, I had one last bite and actually landed the little fella and he WAS little.  He was probably 7-8 inches long and both coach and I thought it was a brown when it was in the water but when I got it in the boat I could not believe my eyes.  It took a minute to set in, but I actually managed to land an Arkansas cutthroat trout.  Now I knew there were a few cutthroat (and fewer brook trout) in the White River, but I never thought I had a chance to actually land one in the short amount of time that we were fishing the river.  That, and I missed more than half of the strikes I got on this particular day.  Regardless, this was a great way to end the trip and coach congratulated me on completing the “mini slam” by catching a rainbow, brown, and cutthroat in the same day. 

This trip was more than I ever could have asked for and surpassed all of my expectations.  It took over a year to plan and a lot of things had to work out just right to even make this trip possible.  I owe a huge amount of thanks to a lot of people that helped me have the experience of a lifetime and some amazing memories.  I cannot thank Cranor’s Guide Service and specifically Pete Cobb for all of his knowledge and guidance.  My dad and I already talked about having him take us out again in the future now that we know he is a genuinely nice guy with an amazing wealth of knowledge about the river.  Gaston’s Resort is an amazing place and my dad and I were THROUGHLY impressed by the accommodations.  I don’t think we could bring ourselves to stay anywhere else if/when we come back. I want to thank coach for being my fly fishing guide and helping me fish out of a drift boat for the first time and helping me land my first cutthroat.  Most of all, I want to thank my dad.  Without him, I couldn’t have afforded this trip and might not have actually followed through on making this trip for a long time.  We don’t get to spend enough time as father and son together because of busy schedules (actually, it is MY busy schedule because he’s retired and can’t remember what day of the week it is), so the time we were able to hang out was extremely meaningful.  Thank you dad, I love you, and thank you for all of your kindness and generosity.  You’re a great dad and I am proud to be your son!