Increasingly, as I approach retirement two trends seem to be going in opposite directions. Though I grew up fishing several times a week on Kansas farm ponds, sand pits, and lakes while paying very little attention to the creeks and rivers, I find that today most of my fishing takes place in moving water. Clear, intimate streams with a diversity of pools, riffles, and runs have lately taken a very prominent role in defining whatever it is that I seek while fishing. Naturally, this type of water is in very short supply in this part of the world and thus this need, this craving for clear, running water generally requires some amount of travel to satisfy. This travel requirement drives the other recent trend–I’m finding it increasingly difficult to match up busy schedules with folks who share a similar addiction and am therefore forced to feed my addiction by going it alone.
While my buddy Randy was off the last week of Dec., fishing at Taneycomo, I was up in New York cross country skiing with my granddaughters. By the time I returned, Randy had returned to teaching. The result was another solo trip for me, seeking wild trout in clear water on the first Monday of the new year. Going solo has its advantages–more time for introspection, more wildlife observed, and sometimes the entire stream is yours for the day.
Got up a couple of hours before sun-up and started on the 4 hour drive…
to a legendary small creek with a population of wild, pure bred rainbows…
oops, this is the lowest I’ve seen the creek over the last three years, in fact it is a loosing stream, going underground here:
I find catching trout in such conditions to be difficult so I went several miles downstream to find more water…
and springs…
Fishing was great but the catching was tough—almost started the new year with a skunk but finally caught this little guy.
Here’s a small video of the same fish:
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There are others…
and naturally there are those (much larger) that I saw—but couldn’t catch.
All in all a good fix for the addiction and a good way to start out the new year. On the way back going by one of the rural Missouri homes I braked hard when I saw a yard full of stacked oak firewood and a sign that indicated $35 a rick. Filled up the truck and now I have a good excuse to head back down again.
BW