32 The river changes, wider, shallower, slower, warmer.

Chapter 32

Smooth, Wide, Warm and Shallow, All the Way to Sylamore.

Testing products on this trip gave me an opportunity to decide what belonged in the boat. It’s my opinion that some outdoor products are better suited for different situations. I am going to speak to how these products performed in this float fishing scenario only.

My drip coffee plastic filter holder is a Melitta #2. The little dripper worked super and would make a great couple of cups before getting too clogged up for the third to drain through properly.

Note: I lost the darned thing and now can’t find another one. This is a great little product and takes up very little space. I’ll keep looking for a replacement.

The coffee is always from Community Coffee. My choice is usually dark roast or chicory-flavored New Orleans blend. Most people don’t care for the slightly acrid taste, but I grew up drinking chicory coffee so I really don’t notice it.

I have given up on carrying a lantern. It is just too much hassle to worry about propane wicks and additional canisters of gas. Then there is the problem breaking the lantern glass. So now I have adapted to lightweight LED headlight. The one I am using right now is a Princeton Tec. It is comfortable and puts out plenty of light for working around a campsite. It’s not going to throw a big beam but neither does the lantern it replaces. I am happy with the price as well. The TEC is very easy on the batteries. Before Chris Leavitt and I started out on the first trip to Calico, I picked up a second one for back up. This time I paid less than fifteen bucks at Lowes. I haven’t tried the cheaper unit yet and I don’t know who made it, but at that price it should work out.

As I putt-putt down the river, I am enjoying the view and the day. I don’t know why these type situations trigger old songs running through my head. They are always old, old songs and usually triggered by a memory from the era the song comes from. The song and the memory may or may not have any thing to do with each other, but they are usually from the same time period. As the boat approaches Sylamore, I guess my subconscious drifted back to when I had grown up in a neighboring town and traveled through the area.
Here’s an observation from a guy who has seen many moon rises. When I was young I daydreamed a lot. I always dreamed of what if and why nots. Now that I am in my fall season, I daydream more not less but now the dreams are memories of what was and when.

In any case something triggered a 1962 or 63 song by a fellow by the name of Bruce Channel. As sixteen and seventeen-year-olds we had a bad habit. We smoked cigarettes. Before school, four or five of us would sit in my old Chevy and smoke one right after another until the bell rang. In cold weather the windows would be rolled up for warmth. The radio would be blasting from its little tiny speaker and we would be singing our off-keyed teenage hearts out.

We could make the guitar noises or do the doo-wop you name it. The smoky places mentioned in the song was that old fifty-three Chevy. Little did I know I would float down the North Fork with one of those same smokers, Mike Hill, some 45 years later.

In 1963, I never dreamed I would be introduced to Mr. Channel at a cocktail party in 1988 Nashville. It seems he went on to become a big time country music producer in the Music City. I was a big fan and was thrilled at having the chance to meet Bruce. He was gracious to a fault and seemed actually flattered that anyone would remember his one-hit wonder. In my mind that one hit was the best sing-along song in history. I heard Bruce had passed away this year. I’m glad I made him smile that one opportunity I had.

Hey, Hey yea, baby I wanna know oo if you’ll be my girl.

When I see you walking down the street I say that’s the kind of girl I’d love to meet.

Lawd she’s pretty, Lawd she’s fine, I’d like to make her mine all mine.

Hey, Hey yea, baby I wanna know oo if you’ll be my girl.

Hell of a song Bruce, God Bless you and thanks for the great harmonizing memories from a smoky, old four-door Chevy. I guess it was as close to a hillbilly doo-wop as we ever got. Thanks for the memory Mike Hill, Jackie Thomas, Virgil Anderson, Harris, Bickers and the rest of you cats.

Yes, we named cars then. I’m not sure who named my old Chevy with my football nickname but I think it was Bobby Bickers. Mr. Boothby painted the name on the truck and from that time on the old car had a name. I have to admit I got the idea after two JD’s kept cruising thru the lower high school parking lot. They were driving a black 49 Ford. Someone had used white paint to letter the words “Black Bastard” across the back of their trunk.

Now that was impressive to a sixteen-year-old just back from a year in military school where freedom is just another word you’ll never get to experience. I knew I wouldn’t get away with that sort of vulgarity at our house, but I liked the shock value just the same.

Sylamore was a big creek with a huge bridge crossing over it right next to the confluence. I wanted to travel up the creek a ways, because years ago it had a great reputation as a small mouth haven. I later learned, I could have motored up the creek just a couple hundred yards and been right at the doorstep of the Sylamore Campground. Next time I’m in the area I will check it out.

Where the Sylamore Creek dumps into the White River, the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission built access ramps on both sides of the river. There was a port-a-potty at the ramp on river right just across the creek from the Angler’s Trout Dock and Lodge. I bought a couple of bottles of ice cold water and a snack. Nice folks run this guide-oriented lodge and dock. They have committed to offering a shuttle service if you give them enough notice.

This is a good pit stop, as far as I saw, one of the few places to take on gasoline as well as ice and other supplies for the float trip. The campground might be just the right place to stop. Especially if you would like a good shower and a little more creature comforts than the ledge at Mt. Olive.

As I pulled into the Angler’s dock, one of the guides and the dockhand tried to help me secure my canoe to the dock. Being a novice canoe parker, I misguided the boat. Thank goodness the fellows on the dock kept me from crushing my new Loomis Crappie rod. It was sticking out in the front of the boat and I ran it into some sort of machine on the dock. The Loomis bent, warped and even did a little recoil dance but didn’t break. Man was I glad. Those things are not cheap.

I spoke to a couple of the Loomis sales reps at the Denver Fly Fishing Retailer’s Trade Show, expressing how pleased I was with the durability of the long rod. One of the fellows told me about an express exchange program they have for people who break the Loomis rods. The company will ship you one to fish with no matter where you are. I’m not sure how it works, but I think they are giving you a loaner until yours is repaired. But I would check that out before putting too much stock in it.

Next up: FISHING AT LAST