35 The friendly folks you meet in Cotter, Arkansas

35


Cotter’s Home Away from Home.
Saturday, July 21, 2007


First stop was to go by the White Sands Motel. The little motel by the Rainbow Bridge had become an inexpensive alternative to a commercial campground. When I called the Cotter campgrounds I just didn’t get the feeling they were interested in tent or hammock campers. The Cotter Trout Dock had been more than accommodating. They were not a campground, but they were kind enough to let me crash in their pavilion. I just didn’t feel like imposing on them again.

The motel charged varying prices according to how much occupancy they had. The rates went from the $45 dollar range down to $38 or so. The RV campground had wanted $25 for a tent site. I found the people at the White Sands to be more than nice and stuck with them. The motel is nothing fancy. It’s just an old roadside motel from back in the fifties. The new owners are trying to do some fix up. I’m sure it will take quiet an effort to catch up to the years of neglect. However, the little place has a special kind of togetherness funk going for it.

I loved visiting with the guests. I really enjoyed the slack times when people were coming in or getting ready to go out again. When you step outside your room, the parking lot is right there. The talking points are all lined up and waiting to be put into the water. I’m talking about the guests’ boats and pickups. In the mornings the people are out at the boats fiddling with gear. They’re getting the fishing outfits ready for the trip home or the day’s fishing. Others are standing outside their rooms smoking or just hanging out with a cup of coffee. There are wooden park benches outside each room and the people take full advantage of the fresh air. I talked to a lot of folks and found it took the little motel from a zero to a five star experience.

Warning: If you are going to pick fault with your room like I do when I’m on business travel, you’re not going to like the place. However, if you will take it for what it is and for what you are paying, and then throw in all the nice folks you get to talk to, I think we are looking at a bargain. I liked the place. I like the people. Hellava deal.

My next stop was to check in with the folks at the Cotter Trout Dock. I needed to make final arrangements on our shuttle deal. I was to put the canoe in at Cotter and travel to Norfork. I was asking any available guide advice on going up the Buffalo to camp. The consensus was that there were some fine camping sites along the river and it was a good idea. I intended to go up the Buffalo until I ran out of daylight or ran into shoals that would stop me. The idea was to float back down the following day doing a little small mouth bass fishing and checking out the scenery. Obviously the GPS would be running and I would get some mapping done as well. At that point I think our agreement was that they would pick me up in Calico Rock at Jenkin’s Boat Dock. I was to call Debbie when I was ready for the shuttle. As usual it didn’t work out as planned. But it worked out. One thing is for sure on the river. One way or another things work out. And a bad day on the river is still better than a great day in the city.

My next stop was KT’s Bar B Q. I couldn’t wait to tear into another of their pulled pork sandwiches. They do it right with slaw on the sandwich and hot sauce on the table. I filled slap up. Great baked beans. They were better than mine and probably some of the finest beans I have ever eaten. Try KT’s if you ever get to Gassville.


Chapter Three

The New Supreme

After supper, I came back to the motel. I wanted to park in front of my door so I could unload the expensive gear into the safety of the hotel room. I had to circle the little car and trailer around in a tight parking lot. It took a little maneuvering but the rig fit perfectly in the little space. I began to carry all my gear into the room. The boat was literally five feet from my door. That would be another amazing attribute of the White Sands. You couldn’t do that at the Swissotel of Chicago. When I finished I moved the rig over away from the door so other people could park near their rooms as was intended. When I finally had the rig parked, a couple of fellows drove up with a brand spanking new 20-foot Supreme fiberglass jon boat. They were pulling it with a huge, super-long pick-up truck. They were really going to need a super-long parking spot and, uh oh, guess who had the only one available in the little parking lot. Yup.

So for the third time in 30 minutes, I pulled around in the tight circle and eased her back in front of my door. The two men said their room was next to mine and it would only be blocking our two rooms so no problem. These two fellows were my introduction to the talking hotel guests of White Sands. I know that must sound funny to people, especially those who were raised in a small town like I was. But after having lived in big cities for so many years, I am just not used to people striking up conversations and, well, just being neighborly. That’s sad isn’t it? When we got everything parked, I asked to look at their boat. It was a beauty. She was twenty feet, six inches of fiberglass sweetness. The boat had the classic “river guides” look of the long, wide jon boat. However instead of river green color, she had a great sleek-looking paint job consisting of nice bright colors with a blue trim. The White River guides were the first boats I have ever seen with this look and style. I am told it goes back to the days of having to pole up the river. The old river men needed something long and narrow so they could walk the pole up the boat especially when going over the many shoals offered by the White.

The two men were father and son. The older fellow looked to be in his early sixties and the son looked to be in his thirties. They were from Ardmore, Oklahoma and had been coming to Cotter since the younger man was 5 years old. Now they were buying a boat together and would continue on in this lifelong pursuit of the monster trout.

The fellows said they bought the boat from a local dealer in Gassville. I would later learn it was Dave of Dave’s Boats. They said the boats would be going up by some $1500 bucks next year and that prompted them to buy one. This was a deluxe model with all sorts of live wells, a bilge pump, trolling motor wiring and many other gizmos. The guys were super proud of their new fishing partner. The boat cost them around $6600 smackers and they felt it was a bargain.

I was told the Supreme line of boats were being made in a small cinder-block building just across the river from the White Sands. The building was the same one Forest Woods started his Ranger Boats in many years ago. I don’t know anything about them other than when you stop by, the guys working there are all very nice and will give you directions and all that neighborly stuff.

The new boat owners had traded around back in Ardmore and come up with a 25 Yamaha to power the boat. They said it was far more than the boat needed since the boat rode over the water so easily. The boat was comfortable looking with the four-legged cushioned chairs and all the built in equipment. The father and son are going to really enjoy their last ten or fifteen active years together. I can’t think of a better investment for a father-son relationship. The son said he builds airboats for use on the Red River but had wanted a White River guide boat since he was a child fishing with his dad. Now he had one. I don’t know who was prouder, the father or the son.

Later that evening I went down to the river to fish. I decided to try the point between the trout dock and the boat ramp. I wasn’t the only one with that idea. There were a couple more fellows with the same plan. At first I sent out a yellow Mepps of some sort. I still don’t know the names of the various lures. I was told the trout around Cotter are interested in yellow bait no matter what you’re casting. Something about them being fed corn as puppies.

I tried casting for a few minutes but kept getting hung up on rocks and grass. I wasn’t getting any bites and the two fellows on both sides of me were catching small trout. I asked what they were using. They were both fishing on the bottom with a White River rig. The fishermen were both using corn and power bait. They didn’t know each other but both were locals and knew the routine. I tried a different lure, lost it and left at dark with the knowledge that I hadn’t a clue what I was doing. I decided to go back to my room and try to set up a White River rig for the next day’s float.

Chapter Four

Here’s Fog in your Eye.

The next morning I woke up to a dense fog rising from the river. My room looked out onto a patch of woods growing from atop the river bluff below. The motel is just above the railroad tracks as they line up to cross the bridge. The automobile bridge, known as the Rainbow Bridge, was actually at the end of the motel parking lot. The river wasn’t visible from the motel even though it was less than two hundred yards below the hotel location. The fog was high up in the air directly over the river. By now I know enough about the river to ascertain cold water was flowing from the dam thereby creating the fog over the river. At first I thought the fog would delay my start due to lack of camera visibility. I was there with a vow to bring back pictures this time.

I made a teapot of hot water with the little Coleman stove. I went outside to sit on the bench and enjoy a leisurely cup of joe. But before I could actually sit down, I realized I might have a chance to shoot some neat fog shots from the bridge. Coffee mug in one hand and camera in the other, away I went doing what I do best, searching for pictures. I was able to snap a few quick shots from the middle of the bridge as the fog began to rise. Then the railroad bridge looked really tempting so I grabbed a few there.

After an all too brief shoot, the fog had lifted to the point that the scene lost it’s magic. I went back to the room noticing as I went that the fog was drifting downstream with the cold water. As the volume of cold water released from the dam swept down stream, so did the fog. The normal temperature river didn’t create the fog, only the estimated twenty-degree difference in temperature could do it. Amazing stuff. If you look at one of the pictures posted on the blog, the fog is rising from the riverbed just down stream from the Trout Dock’s little marina. When I saw that I finally understood how the cold water creates the fog by contrasting with the hot air. As the cold water passes and goes on downstream, the fog rise follows the cold water down stream. When the fog dissipates, apparently it means the batch of coldwater has moved on. If my theory is correct the fog should stay away until the next time the dam lets out more water.

When I got back to the motel I knew it was time to pack the boat and move toward the river. For some reason it takes me an hour or so to load and rig the little boat for running. As I brought everything out of the motel room and loaded it into the boat, I noticed several people were starting to come out of their rooms coffee cups in hand.

The family from Greenbrier……more conversations.

One attractive lady was from nearby Conway. She said her family, several brothers, sisters, nieces and nephews, were there with her. She told me her father had brought these same folks up to Cotter thirty years ago back when they were kids. Dad was gone but the tradition was still intact. It was kind of funny, later I would overhear middle-aged brothers and sisters having a good-natured argument about who made off with the last of the fried pies the previous night. When my grandmother made them I think she probably heard some of those same arguments.

This family sported Corvettes and some other very nice cars. They were talking about leaving Cotter and heading down to Gulf Shores on the Alabama coast. Sounded to me like they had all done well and were enjoying life. I guess the White Sands definitely has more going for it than budget pricing and funky fifties décor.

I finished rigging the canoe and loaded the motor into the back of the little HHR. The folks at the front desk were friendly and I decided I would use the White Sands on my return trip. The room, with coffee maker and shower, had been just fifteen dollars more than a campsite. They even had a little pool where the motel guests and their families had played the previous evening. They couldn’t have had more fun if they were in a fancy roof top pool in Chicago or Houston.

The couple from Kansas…….chatting again.

As I was placing the little Mercury in the HHR, another of my motel neighbors popped out of their room. They were a married couple from Lawrence, Kansas. They immediately got busy loading kayaks and mountain bikes onto their Toyota. The room must have been a little crowded with all that gear and the people as well. I had my car radio on fairly low and it was tuned to one of the XM jazz stations. The man from Kansas came over and wanted to talk music. He was wearing a Lead Zeppelin T-shirt. He was a part-time guitarist who played in some local bands back in Kansas. He worked for a big corporation in a printing plant and had done so for twenty years. He said the corporate culture was getting to be too much for him. He was trying to figure a way out. His wife had recently quit the plant scene by attending college and graduating. Now she was off to a new career and was making more money than ever before. He was still figuring out what he was going to do. One thing seemed for sure, he had had enough of working for the man’s time card. I encouraged the independent streak yet wondered if he was ready for the freedom and its prices. Not everyone is suited to working independently. Apparently, I was never meant to work in a structured, corporate, politically correct environment. I am beginning to believe there is a streak of independence that must come from drinking mountain water when very young. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Like it or not. Right or wrong.

The couple loaded up and were on their way for a little more vacation time before they had to get back to work in Kansas. I wished them luck and cranked up the little wagon. The Cotter Trout Dock was less than a mile down the hill and actually almost directly under the Rainbow Bridge. Soon I was bouncing my little boat and trailer over the rough, and I mean rough, railroad tracks entering the Cotter Park. Then we were at the Game and Fish Ramp and ready to launch the canoe. The fog had lifted. The water was at a medium height. Perfect for floating and fishing without a care in the world. I was feeling great. Quite a different situation from the last time I put in for a venture down the White. No butterflies this time, only righteous expectations. The water was so clear, one foot in depth looked like four inches. The water was cold but not near as cold as last time. At least this time, it didn’t hurt my toes to stand in it.

I was ready. I put the boat in and motored over to the Trout Dock’s little bay. I pulled her up on shore and went in to howdy the folks. Ron and Debbie were there. Debbie fussed at me because I had arrived late. I missed the guide who was going to give me my briefing on the lower Buffalo. I intended to spend the night on one of the gravel bars, so it would have been smart for me to visit with the gent. Whoops, this trip pictures were a priority. I would have to get along with whatever information I could pick up on the river. But I was satisfied in having photographed the foggy river. I guess I ought to fess up. The picture-making opportunity had caused me to completely forget to meet him. Ron said the water was dropping fairly fast. That was my briefing for the day.