Chapter Three

Talk, talk, talk………….
Finally, we’re gonna shove off…I think.

It turns out that Bull Shoals State Park is a great starting place. The park has finest riverside campsites I have ever seen. It has great camping for both tent and RVs. Just as importantly the park has good showers and bathroom facilities. The showers and bathrooms become scarce as soon as you shove off from Bull Shoals.

The riverside campsites remind me off a lakeside State Park somewhere in up state New York. Sorry, too many years have gone by since that one. Can’t remember where or even when I did that trip. Wooden platforms built for tents with a nice little picnic table and right over the water. Neat deal. It was a beautiful lake and scenery was fantastic. Some of the state parks rival National Parks in facilities as well as locale. My opinion.
Bull Shoals campground is very busy so be sure to make a reservation.

Next to the ramp is a great little dock with a ship’s store. They have ice, bait and tackle and are happy to see walk-ins. In other words they are interested in your float fishing business. I purchased my ice and walked a short 25 yards to my boat.
As I loaded the boat for the floating set up, several people stopped to chat. Most had a friendly question or two while some offered advice. Some suggested places to stay or maps to purchase. Many of the people were from the campground and were more or less stranded due to the high water. When I say stranded I mean they came to wade out and fly fish but the water is too swift and far too deep.

Unfortunately for many families there would be nothing but bank fishing for this vacation. The sad part of that was the daddies had counted on teaching their kids to fly fish. They took their vacation from work, reserved a campsite, brought his camper trailer and left his small boat at home. Now he needs the boat. It’s not good to try to cast the fly with people walking all around the shore behind you. Not good at all. I could tell the joy was out of several dads’ plans.

I heard the same story from several campers as they made early morning mournful walks up and down the gravel beach. They looked as if they were trying to stare the water down. Some had been there almost a week but it had been the same each morning. Later in the day I stopped for lunch and heard the same story from a couple of retired Texans.

Looking back as I write this journal, I have to think the fathers were probably better off on the beach. The people I saw in boats were not catching fish. The water was too swift for the kids safety. They might not have had as much fun but everybody got to go home when the vacation was over. They probably stood as good a chance at catching fish from that bank as others in boats. I fished for three hours from a boat and didn’t get a bite. I blamed it on high water. Who knows when it comes to fishing.

Shoving off

As I pushed off from the State Park the quickening water tugged at the little canoe and away we went. I cranked the little motor and she started right up. I turned the craft downstream and the game was a foot. Six months of conception and planning coming to fruition. I didn’t want to get too excited. Only last month Chris Leavitt and I had made the same drive and preparation. Ended up having to come back to the trailer with less than a 100 yards under our keel.

Soon I was in the river fog and putting along at trolling speed. Trolling in still water would run me along at somewhere around 2 miles per hour maybe a little less. In this current, the GPS said I was topping seven. It doesn’t seem like much but speed is relative to what else is happening at the same time. For instance if you’re trying to fish and your hook gets caught on the bottom. The current doesn’t stop. It just keeps on moving you downstream, reel screaming, line playing out, the river doesn’t care that you are about to loose your brand new $5 lure. As the man said, it just keeps on rolling along.

I was very much concerned about the shoals. I had been warned about the possibility of capsizing or ripping the bottom open. But today, rocks were not to be a problem. The flooded river would carry me high above the rocky shoals and save scarring the bottom of the little boat. I halfway believed everything was o.k. but the other half of me was looking for what Buddy Joe Hipp calls “gloom and doom”. I was nervous to say the least.

I soon learned the boat responded to the little motor’s direction “sort of, kinda, when it got ready, at it’s own pace”. I had too damned much gear. Over planned this deal as usual. It was sluggish in its’ turns but constantly in need for tiller. The river seemed to have a pulling power of it’s own. It seemed to always be pushing the boat toward one shore or the other. Especially, when I was looking away or trying to accomplish other duties. Here I am going down a strange river too fast for my experience level in a tipsy little boat and I am trying to learn how to work a complicated GPS and a sonar device at the same time. Not to mention I planned on catching the World Record German Brown Trout or Troutzilla as he is known locally. I also intended to float 60 miles or so in a couple of days. Maybe just a little ambitious, huh?

What I learned fairly quickly was the tiller has to be priority number one. You cannot let the current carry you into a group of flooded trees or bushes. You cannot trust the covered shoals because instead of rocks and rapids you are now seeing angry-looking boiling water. I noticed my left hand had become glued to the little Mercury’s throttle handle. I had to keep the motor running at minimum speed, yet not let it choke out. The boat had to stay on course lest I go for a swim while chasing all my fishing and camping gear. I had visions of myself swimming along amidst a flotilla of my water-proof gear bags. There I am trying to gather them up and swim to shore in the cold, cold water. Argh, not a good day dream.