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March 30, 2010

A little White River History lesson

Hey, everyone!

I love it when I run across stories about the history of the White River… it gets me to imaginin’ exactly what it was like when my dad was here many years ago; fishing this very area of the White River in the late 1950s & early 1960s.

What’s even more cool, is the fact that it really hasn’t changed all that much… in many ways the Ozarks is just like it was those 60 years ago, more or less frozen in time.  And I hope we can keep it that way, too.

But today, it takes some serious work to keep the area pristine and the rivers healthy.  One such organization is the UWRB — the Upper White River Basin Foundation.  This group of fine folks keeps an eye on all things relating to the rivers & entire watershed in this area.

I thought y’all might be interested in what they do — their website is http://www.uwrb.org/.  When you get a chance, check them out!  They have a lot of great information there, and if you have ever had the urge to help protect our Ozark Waters, you definitely want to get in touch with these folks!

Anyway, there was a great story about the history of the Ozarks & White River in particular I thought you would enjoy.  With their kind permission, I’m reprinting it below:

Old Men of the Ozarks

How Culture, Tradition, Great Waters and Good Fishing Created a Sportsmen’s Magnet

John E. Moore, Jr.

The deep blue hole in the James River reflected the grey limestone bluff towering overhead.  Below the bluff, a couple of feet from the bank, my little crawdad crank bait splashed gently into the water.  Its retrieve over the rocks below the surface was suddenly arrested by the sharp strike of a smallmouth bass.  As the fish dove for the sheltering rocks on the bottom, pressure on the taut line turned its head and it began a series of lunges and runs in a vain effort to free itself.

After several minutes of play the bronzeback swam alongside the boat where I lifted the 18 inch beauty clear of the river.  After disengaging the hook and snapping a picture I slid the fish back into the stream where it swam slowly into deeper water, happy to be free.

James River, limestone bluffs

Lime Bluffs along the James River, in the Ozarks

Small mouth bass & John E. Moore (author)

Small mouth bass & John E. Moore (author)

Down the larger watershed to its outflow below Bull Shoals Dam on another day, I stood in the bow of a john boat on the White River now unshackled from its restraining reservoirs upstream.  My line cast into the riffle at Rim Shoals suddenly tightened with a fish on the light tippet.

Swimming briefly into the current, the trout turned and headed downstream as I palmed the reel applying as much pressure to the line as I dared.  Tiring after several runs, the chunky rainbow swam toward me as I reached for the net attached to my vest.  A quick dip revealed a two pound trout which was gently unhooked and released to be caught another day.

These snapshots are representative of experiences I’ve had on rivers and streams of the region amorphously defined as the Ozarks.  Sometimes the catch is a smallmouth bass, as often a rock bass or “goggle eye,” and frequently a brown or rainbow trout in the region’s outstanding cold water fisheries.

For some 60 years I’ve been fishing these waters, first with my grandfather who regaled me with stories of catching big catfish on the White River.  I grew up on the fishing and hunting lore of the Ozarks and have enjoyed firsthand friendships with some of the region’s legendary characters and know some of those now gone through stories still told.

Bob Watts (Trout Diva's Daddy) fishing White River around 1955

Bob Watts (Trout Diva's Daddy) fishing White River around 1955

As a youngster in the 1950’s I fished the creeks and rivers during construction of the major reservoirs on the White River—Bull Shoals, Table Rock and Beaver in the early 60’s.  Although their construction shifted angling focus to the new lakes, float fishing the rivers and streams has continued to be both popular and productive and a legacy with a rich and storied history.  This story begins well over a century ago.

Rainbow Arch Bridge, White River in Cotter, Arkansas

Rainbow Arch Bridge, White River in Cotter, Arkansas

From the first exploration of the Ozarks in the early 19th century, the rivers, springs and streams have defined the region which has its heart in southwest Missouri and northwest Arkansas. Characterized by rugged, wooded hills and free flowing streams running clear over gravel bottoms, the Ozarks was settled by Scotch-Irish whose distinctive cultural traditions colored the history and lifestyle of the region.  Fishing, hunting, fierce independence, conservative politics and fundamental religion have been historical traits of the region, now mellowed and homogenized by the larger culture, with remnants caricatured in Branson tourist attractions.

Although the Ozarks is still largely rural with small communities like Easyville, Blue Eye, Morning Star and Windy City, the region includes dynamic cities like Springfield and Branson in Missouri and Bentonville, Rogers, Springdale and Fayetteville in Arkansas.  Bentonville is the headquarters of Wal-Mart and Tyson Foods has its corporate offices in nearby Springdale.  Springfield, the region’s largest metropolis known as the “Queen City of the Ozarks,” is home to Bass Pro Shops and Tracker Marine.

It was the outdoor tradition of the Ozarks, highlighted by fishing and hunting, which gave both inspiration and impetus to the founding of the Bass Pro enterprise in the early 1970’s.  The founder and owner of the now nationally famous sporting goods emporium, Johnny Morris, grew up in the Ozarks fishing and hunting with his dad and his uncle.

Johnny’s dad, “John A.” to distinguish him from his son, “John L.,” observed when Johnny was in college that his son would probably “never amount to a damn thing because all he liked to do was fish.”  Johnny proved his father’s judgment wrong, much to John A.’s proud delight, as he grew a sporting goods juggernaut based on his passion for fishing and the outdoors.

Morris’ Bass Pro Outdoor World stores in the Ozarks not only sell outdoor merchandise, but are also museums for pictures and memorabilia of the region’s outdoor heritage, a theme which has been adapted to the regional traditions of the company’s other stores around the country.  Johnny prizes the tradition of outdoor sports as much as anyone I’ve ever known and he is devoted to passing this tradition on to his customers and particularly to youngsters.

A couple of hours away in Flippin, Arkansas near Bull Shoals Lake, this heritage prompted the founding of another outdoor icon.  The Ranger Boat Company, manufacturer of Ranger Bass Boats, was developed by local entrepreneur Forrest L. Wood.

Forrest Wood in the Outdoor Sport Gallery

Forrest Wood in the Outdoor Sport Gallery

Wood grew up poor in the Ozarks and as a young man guided fishermen on the White River and Bull Shoals Lake in its early days.

After building a few wooden boats, he began using fiberglass and having been a fishing guide, had a knack for incorporating features appealing to fishermen.  The development of these boats in the 1960’s coincided with interest in bass fishing tournaments around the country and the company’s reputation for quality propelled it to prominence among fishermen and competitors in the marine industry.

Successful companies like Bass Pro and Ranger Boats have roots that run more than a century deep in the Ozarks.  As construction of railroads in the late 19th and early 20th centuries opened the region to outside visitors, float fishing the rivers became a magnet drawing anglers throughout the Midwest.

The White River, the dominant watershed in the region and its major tributaries, the James, the Kings and War Eagle Rivers, were beautiful streams running clear along limestone bluffs.  The rivers inspired enterprising promoters like the late Jim Owen of Branson who developed successful businesses hosting fishermen for float trips on the James and White Rivers.

While there were other float operators on the White River, it was Owen who became the most widely know publicist for floating and fishing the Ozarks.  As Mayor of Branson for ten years and disciple of the old scriptural admonition that “he who tooteth not his horn, the same shall not be tooted,” Owen regaled the media of the 1930’s and 1940’s with promotions about the beauty of the region and its outstanding fishing.  His Owen Boat Lines specialized in week floats from Galena on the lower James River down to Branson on the White River.

The boats used to float the rivers were known as john boats, locally built craft which had evolved to provide a safe, reliable conveyance for floating and fishing the rivers.  A long, narrow, shallow draft boat usually made of native pine, the river john typically accommodated two fishermen with a guide paddling in the stern.  In place of seats, canvas folding chairs were used by fishermen as they cast to the most promising water.

Old John Boat on the White River (photo by Trout Diva)

Old John Boat on the White River (photo by Trout Diva)

These time proven boats are still used, but aluminum has replaced wood and few are made to the narrow, twenty foot pattern followed by those hand built boats of earlier years.  Canoes are more commonly used today for floating and fishing.  In the White River below Bull Shoals Dam, however, modern fiberglass interpretations of the classic river john are still popular with guides and fishermen.

One of the fishing veterans of the region, Charlie Campbell of Forsyth, Missouri continues today to prefer the john boat over the ubiquitous canoe for fishing rivers like the James.  Charlie, now 76, grew up on the rivers and lakes of the southern Missouri Ozarks and his legendary fishing success earned him, along with his entrepreneur friend Johnny Morris, a place in the Missouri Sports Hall of Fame.  Tall and lean of frame, Charlie is as gentle and soft spoken as he is passionate about fishing.

A native of Ava, Missouri, Charlie built his first wooden john boat with his brother as a high school student.  After getting a degree from Drury College in Springfield, Charlie settled in Forsyth in 1957 as a teacher and coach in the local schools.

His summers free, Campbell ran a guide service and recruited other teachers as guides for fishermen on three day floats on the Buffalo and James Rivers.  By that time the White River had been impounded by Bull Shoals Lake and Table Rock was nearing completion upstream.  The salary for guides was $15 per day, Charlie recalls.

In 1973 Charlie left coaching and opened a marine shop in Branson where he met the young Johnny Morris who had Charlie rig out his boats with motors, trolling motors, fish finders and other gear for bass fishing.  Charlie knew what fishermen were looking for and he and Morris began talking about a bass boat package to be featured in the early Bass Pro catalogs.

Charlie put the specifications together and contracted out the fabrication of the first Bass Tracker boats.  Including a 35 horsepower Johnson outboard,  trailer, trolling motor and depth finder, the original package sold through the catalog for $2995 complete, ready to be hitched to a customer’s pickup truck and driven to the nearest lake.

Campbell continues to represent Bass Pro and with his wife Wanda, regularly fishes both the rivers and lakes of his native Ozarks.  Charlie and Wanda joined fishing buddy Jerry Mackey and me one August morning for a day’s float to fish the lower James River.

Charlie and Wanda Campbell with JerryMackey

Charlie and Wanda Campbell with JerryMackey

There were few others on the river that day and we took our time as we cast along the banks and into the deep holes for bass.  The contest for which boat could catch and release the most bass that day was nip and tuck, with Charlie and Wanda pulling ahead at our take out point with their tally 25 to Mackey’s and my 22.

The James River and other tributaries of the upper White River continue to be warm water fisheries with bass the prized catch.  With construction of the big reservoirs, however, the upper White was largely lost, with new cold water fisheries below the dams the gain.

The cold water discharged through hydroelectric turbines created ideal habitat for trout and stretches below each reservoir boast excellent fishing.  Stocked regularly with rainbow and brown trout from hatcheries operated by the conservation departments of Arkansas and Missouri, these cold water fisheries draw anglers from the region and far beyond.

Charlie and Wanda Campbell with a double on smallmouth

Charlie and Wanda Campbell with a double on smallmouth

The White River below Bull Shoals Dam in Arkansas is arguably the best cold water fishery in the Ozarks and consistently ranked as one of the best in the country.  For more than 50 miles downstream from the dam the river runs free and cold.

Stocked with trout after completion of Bull Shoals in 1952, a thriving new float fishing business emerged.  The communities of Mountain Home, Lakeview, Cotter and Bull Shoals grew and guides, outfitters and resorts found good business with anglers who came to pursue trophy trout.

Gary Flippin, owner and operator of Rim Shoals Resort some 24 miles downstream from Bull Shoals dam is one of these White River entrepreneurs.  Flippin’s family came to Arkansas with statehood in 1836 and gave its name to Flippin, Arkansas, the home of Ranger Boats.

Growing up in nearby Cotter, Flippin began guiding fishermen at age 14 for trout on the White River, and after an early career as a railroad engineer, he returned to his first love of fishing and guiding.  The fishing camp and resort he developed sits beside a blue ribbon section of the river set aside for trophy trout.  Fishing there is catch and release using barbless hooks, a practice followed by many fly fishermen on other parts of the river.

The Governor of Missouri, Jay Nixon, and his family have a vacation house at Rim Shoals and are neighbors to Flippin, who says the governor gets down to fish as often as his job will permit.  Flippin observes that Governor Nixon is a fine fisherman and a dedicated conservationist.

Brown trout are the big fish in the White River, with occasional lunkers of 8-10 pounds or more.  They reproduce naturally in the river, which doesn’t get above 65 degrees in the hottest months.  Rainbows make up the largest part of the stockings, and range from about 12 inches upward in size.  There are also cutthroat and brook trout in the river, but are not often caught.

The lore and traditions associated with the rivers and lakes of the Ozarks continue today with excellent fishing for bass, trout and other game fish.  The “old men of the Ozarks,” a club I’m now eligible to join, has given color and substance to the region’s reputation for great waters and good fishing over the years.  The Ozarks’ economy today depends on its remarkable rivers, lakes and streams and attracts millions of visitors each year to enjoy these water resources and related attractions.

The tradition of float fishing and the outdoors companies it spawned has given new dimensions to the lore of bygone years.  Anglers and other visitors will find a warm and cordial reception as they encounter the legacy of the old men of the Ozarks.

{the End}

Well, what do you think?  I really enjoyed that story, and I hope you did too…  once again, my thanks to the Upper White River Basin Foundation & John E. Moore for allowing me to reprint his great story.

See you on the River, folks!

Your White River Trout Diva
His Place Resort
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January 3, 2010

The Big ‘Un… A Trout Fishing Story by Bob Watts

Filed under: Ozarks stories, Trout Fishing — Tags: , — admin @ 5:38 pm

Hello, everyone!

I hope you enjoyed your Christmas and New Year…  Steve and I did.  Yup, we had some quiet, alone time…  It was great!

Anyway, today I have another story that my Daddy, Bob Watts, wrote about fishin’ the White River that I wanted to share with you…  I hope you enjoy it!

The Big ‘Un – A Trout Fishing Story by Bob Watts

Rainbow Arch Bridge

Rainbow Arch Bridge, photo courtesy of AR Highway Dept

Most fishermen go through three stages before they take their final fishing trip…

The first stage is that they want to catch as many fish as they can.  About half the fishermen I have ever met are still in stage one.  Sure, if a big one comes along, they’ll take it.  But they are usually more thrilled by the number of fish they caught than one stray big one.  “Yeah, had a great trip.  Caught at least a couple dozen, and one really good one.”  And that “one really good one”?  Well, you’ll notice it took second place.

The second phase is they want to catch as big a fish as possible.  After all, a photo of a really big fish usually draws more attention than a photo of a whole bunch of ho-hum sized fish.  And besides, if you have already figured out how to catch a lot of fish, you probably need a new challenge.  Catching a big one could be just what you are looking for.

As far as phase three goes, the few fishermen that get there are trying to catch as smart a fish as they possibly can.  Now the thought of holding up a 10” trout and trying to explain why this particular trout was so darn smart is something that really doesn’t appeal to most people…

“Hey, did it fight real hard?”

“Do you plan to mount him?”

“If you have him for a fish dinner, what are the rest of your guests going to eat?”

“If that trout is so smart, how come you caught him?”

“What time are you due back at the institution?”

So, the wise fishermen generally stay away from trying to catch “smart” fish.  About the only thing phase three has going for it is that there is really no sure way to figure how intelligent a fish is.

So when you tell ‘em why you think your 10-incher was extra smart, they can’t prove you’re wrong!  And besides, it’s also about this time that the crowd you’re talking to starts to lose interest real quick-like…

How can you tell?  Easy.  Your first clue is when they turn around and start to walk away.  Yeah, both of ‘em.

(Suggestion:  If you ever find yourself on the way to catch the last remaining intelligent trout in Lake Empty, or anywhere else for that matter, turn around and head for the golf course.)

Now, where was I?  Oh, yes.  It was 1955, and I was fishin’ the White River near Cotter, Arkansas.  At that time, it was already a trout fisherman’s dream come true.  The word about the fabulous trout fishing there had not yet permeated the trout fishing community, either.

How good was it? Well, I am thoroughly convinced, based on my vast personal experience, that there were plenty of trout in the river at that time that had never seen a trout fly.  Matter of fact, you could fish the river for a week or so and never see another fly fisherman.  That should tell you all you need to know.

Now, there was this stretch of water just above the railroad bridge at Cotter that was about perfect for fly fishermen.  Took a little walking through some tall weeds to get to it, but well worth the effort.  In the two months I was there in 1955, caught at least fifty trout up to about 5 lbs at this particular location.  But since I was still in phase two, was bound and determined to get one at least 6.

So one day, there I was again, just above the railroad bridge.  Was using a woolly worm I tied myself.  10-2x hook wrapped with lead wire, a peacock herl body, and grizzly hackle.

Well, the strike I had been waiting for all those years finally came.  I knew right away it was a big fish.  Man, was I having fun.  Sorta lost track of time.  Then along comes a boat floating downstream with a guide and two customers.

“Looks like you’ve got a pretty good one on.  Seen him yet?”

“Nope, but sure does feel like a good one!”

At this point, need to change the subject for just a little bit.  Bull Shoals Dam is 18 miles upstream.  Back then, they would almost always turn the generators on at about 8:00 a.m. during the week.  It took a little more than 4 hours for the water to start rising around Cotter.

Once the water started rising, waders had about 15-20 minutes to get out of the river – or maybe drown.  No, am not kidding.  Several people a year drown in this river, some because they didn’t pay attention to the rising water!

Now back to my big trout.  Suddenly the guide had some good news and some bad news for me.

“Just saw your trout.  It’s a dandy.  Looks like he might be 2 feet long!”

Good grief! A trout that long in this river would probably weigh at least 8 lbs.  But then came the bad news…

“Guess you know the water’s coming up?”

Well, no, I didn’t.  Did a chill run up and down my spine?  You bet!  I had not been paying attention to anything since I hooked this trout and had no idea how long the water had been rising.

I knew right away that I did not have time to land this fish and then get back to shore safely.  Told the guide I was going to break the line and head for shore.  Then patted myself on the back for making a wise and intelligent decision.

He reply was something I would have never thought of.

“Hey, wait a minute.  If you can hold that trout that trout right about where he is now, believe I could net him real quick and you would still have enough time to get back to shore.  If we get this guy, I’ll drop him off at Millers (the local trout dock which was about a half mile downstream) as we go by.”

Sounded good to me.  Figured I could spare a minute or two.  Still can’t quite believe it but he netted that trout on his very first try.  He cut the line and I set some kind of record getting back to shore.  Even at that, did get a little water in my waders which I guess was to remind me that I came very close to getting into some serious trouble.

OK, now I was back at my car.  Always carried some spare dry clothes so changed pants and off I went to Millers.  This trout dock was located in a small lagoon just off to the side of the main channel of the river.

As I drove up, I could see several people standing around and some pointing down at one of the screen wire fish cages.  Were they pointing at my trophy trout?  You know, the one I had been after about half my life???

The answer was, “No”.  They were pointing down at a wire cage with a big hole in the side.  My trout was nowhere in sight.

Good Grief!  Turned out the screen wire was apparently old & rusty.  The trout that I had been after for about half my life had poked a hole in it and simply swam away.

But wait a minute…  I had planned to get a picture of me holding that monster trout and spending just a little time looking at the faces of the admiring group of people that would be surrounding me!

Not to be.  Almost enough to make a grown man cry.  Almost did.

Turned out that the guide who brought my trout in to the dock did measure & weigh him at least.  The length was indeed right at 24 inches.  That was the good news.  The bad news was that the trout was very thin and only weighed 5 ¾ lbs, not the 8 or so lbs. he should have weighed.  Why so thin?   No one seemed to have a good answer.

Actually, things didn’t turn out all that bad.  I sure didn’t want to eat the darn thing.  Been my experience that big rainbows don’t taste nearly as good as small ones, anyway.  Besides, would have been a little suspicious about eating a trout that was that thin.  Have it mounted?  Nah, too thin.  But on the bright side, I can now look forward to catching a real trophy trout that just might be extra fat!

Sometimes things have an unexpected way of working out for the best.  Wonder who’s responsible for that?

.
Your White River Trout Diva
His Place Resort
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October 15, 2009

Trail of Holiday Lights – Ozarks region

Filed under: Ozarks stories — Tags: — admin @ 10:11 am

Arkansas Trail of Holiday Lights - Ozarks region

Wow…  it’s hard to believe the holiday season is coming… 

Yeah!  The holidays are upon us…  Check out some beautiful sights in the Arkansas Ozarks this year!

Light up your holiday!
From a twinkle in the eye of a child to the millions of shining lights across the state, Arkansas illuminates with wonder and awe of the holiday season. Melodic voices mix with the heavenly scents of local goodies and waft in the air. Laughter tinkles as strangers and neighbors alike gather ’round the courthouse square. Magic fills the air, flushing cheeks pink and turning adults into believers.

http://www.arkansas.com/things-to-do/trail-of-lights/

Enjoy!

October 14, 2009

Origin of “Ozark”

Filed under: Ozarks stories — Tags: — admin @ 1:50 pm

I love learning about the history of this beautiful area.  A friend of mine just wrote an interesting article about the origin of the term “Ozark” that I thought you might find interesting…  Enjoy!

Written by Kelley Linck of Ozark Mountain Region

Historical photo of the Ozarks

photo credit Springfield Missouri Library

Photo courtesy of http://thelibrary.springfield.missouri.org/lochist/periodicals/ozarkswatch/Ow301g.htm

The Ozark Mountain’s namesake is of curious background.  What does Ozark mean?  There are multiple theories, and I will cover some of them here:

Considered by some to be the most accurate theory, says that French Trappers shortened the phrase “aux Arkansas”, meaning “going toward Arkansas”, to “aux Arks”. The word “Arkansas” refers to Arkansas Post on the Mississippi River. Arkansas Post is today a National Memorial under the National Park Service.   An English traveler, John Bradbury, first used the name “Ozark” in print in 1809, and the term “Ozark Mountains” first appeared on a map made by S.H. Long in 1815, thus “officializing” the name, according to Phyllis Rossiter’s “A Living History of the Ozarks”.

Yes – this seems to be a good an acceptable explanation as taken from thelibrary.org web site – but wait..   The  ozarkmerchants.com web site which was developed to promote the actual town of Ozark, Arkansas has this explanation:

The origin of the word Ozark is French and comes to us from the early French explorers who first navigated and mapped the mighty Arkansas River in the late 1600’s and early 1700’s. After France gained control of the vast land which later became known as the ‘Louisianna Purchase,’ the French sent surveyors and cartographers to explore their new lands in the New World.  These Frenchmen first entered the huge Arkansas River at its mouth, and confluence with the Mississippi River, where they and other early explorers and Native Americans had established the settlement at Arkansas Post. The French cartographers did their job well and mapped the river bends as they traveled upriver for several hundred miles.  They named the northern most bend in the Arkansas River as the Aux Arcs which easily translates as the ‘to the top arc’ – the northern-most bend in the great river.  This geographic feature is plain to see in the topographic map above and moreover, it was a very distinct and significant location for early travelers.  The phrase Aux Arcs was spoken by non-French peoples in a manner that eventually sounded as ‘Ozark.’  (In the French pronunciation, the ’s’ in ‘arcs’ is silent.)  This most northerly point was used by many early pioneers as a jumping off point from the Arkansas River to explore the vast set of ridges, rivers and mountains to the north of that ‘top’ bend … and these mountainous lands were eventually referred to as ‘The Ozarks.’  The town of Ozark was established at the top of this huge, northern-most bend of the lower Arkansas River.

Well to me, that makes even more sense.  It is also word for word what the know all web site wikipedia.com has for explanation.

But further searches brought to me the most in depth and researched explanation of the word that I have ever read – Here is a teaser and a link to a continuum of the story on the Springfield, MO Library web site:

The exact origin and diffusion of the term Ozark will be forever embedded in the hazy generations of colonial exploration in the Mississippi Valley. A variety of bogus explanations can be found that connect meaning to the term Ozark(s) as one of “bows” or “bends” or “bois d’arc/bois aux arcs” (reputedly “wood for bows”), “azoic arc mountains” from an old geologist’s term, a provincial composite of the rivers Osage and Arkansas, Os and the Ark, for Os-Ark, and more. However, Morris Arnold’s groundbreaking work in colonial Arkansas during the past fifteen years provides help. The geographic origin was in the lowland forests of the Arkansas Delta, a land where the White, St. Francois, and Arkansas rivers met camps of Indian families, adventurers, and backwoodsmen who hunted bear and deer for the regional economy of New Orleans.1

Arnold’s work indicates that “from the earliest times, the Frenchmen dated their letters ‘Aux Arcansas’ meaning at the Arkansas, i.e., where the Arkansas liQuapaw] Indians lived.” … Read the entire story here

Enjoy your research, and if you find or know of a better explanation, let me know.

Kelle

October 10, 2009

Buyin’ a Foxhound in the Arkansas Ozarks

Filed under: Nature, Ozarks stories — Tags: , — admin @ 2:31 pm

My Daddy hung out in these Ozarks hills long before I was born…  It took awhile for the locals to warm up to him; if you can call it that.

You see, in the 1950’s, there were enough moonshine stills in these hills that any outsider was considered a possible ATF (Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms) agent sent straight from the gov’t.  There wasn’t much room for “outsiders”.

Still, my Daddy loved this area so much that after a time of gettin’ to know the locals through fishin’ the White River, occasionally they would let him into their “inner circles”…  well, a little bit, anyway.  Here’s one of my Daddy’s recollections from around 1955…  Hope you enjoy it.

foxhound2

One Way To Buy An Arkansas Fox Hound

By Bob Watts

Say “fox hunting” to most people and they immediately think of a passel of beagles who look like they had the same mommy and daddy, a bunch of people on horses who apparently ordered their red and white riding apparel from the same catalogue, at least one guy making as much noise as he can blowing on a brass horn, and a dead fox.

And let’s don’t forget the brave young man wiping fox blood on his face. Apparently, killing a fox has something to do with him becoming a man. Really don’t understand this since he didn’t kill anything.  The fox was being chased by two or three dozen dogs barking as loud as they could, a dozen or so people riding gigantic horses, hollering and screaming as loud as they could, and let’s don’t forget the guy with the bugle who was blowing it as hard as he could.  If the fox died at all, it was probably from a heart attack.

Now, have I ever been fox hunting with some of the locals? Nope. Guess one reason is that some of the locals didn’t trust me from the day I arrived until the day I left. Another reason is that I had no dogs to contribute to the hunt or moonshine whiskey in case anyone got a little thirsty. Guess I could have offered to bring some Coke or 7-UP but never got the opportunity…

On the other hand, did I talk with some of the locals about what went on at the fox hunts around there. Yep. Here’s what they told me to the best of my recollection. Keep in mind that was over 50 years ago. Anyhow, a few of the good old boys and sometimes a few young ‘uns would apparently get together about dark, somewhere out in the boonies. A campfire was built, and the dogs were turned loose. And then the good old boys, with their guns, would follow the dogs right?

WRONG!

They would stay right by the camp fire and start listening. That’s right, listening. Seems like each dog had somewhat of a distinctive bark (they called it a voice) and the owners, at least in some cases, could recognize the bark of each of their dogs. They could also tell if a particular dog lost the scent, or picked up the scent, was just plain lost, or whatever.

A little betting sometimes took place like, “I’ll bet you a quarter that one of my dogs picks up the scent before one of yours”. That’s right. The hunt is not a hunt at all. It’s just a bunch of good old boys sitting around a campfire, listening to their dogs, some drinking a little moonshine whiskey, and visiting. Some might call it gossiping but probably not a good idea down there especially if some fox hunters were within earshot.

So what ended the “hunt”? Not sure. Maybe the dogs got so far away they couldn’t be heard. Or perhaps they ran out of things to talk about which is relatively easy for men to do. Then there is the possibility that one or more of them figured they’d had enough moonshine for one nite.

Camping in Ozarks

So they would put out the camp fire, jump in their pickups, and go home. Wait a minute. Wait just a goldern minute. Go home? How about the dogs? You know, they’re probably all wore out from all that running and barking. Surely they would like to get back home for some fresh water, food, and a little shut eye. And isn’t there a dead fox around somewhere that needs picking up?

Well, first of all, there’s rarely a dead fox. While these dogs are pretty good when it comes to chasing foxes and barking incessantly, they never seem to get around to the killing part. The reason is that the foxes down around Cotter almost always outrun the dogs. Was told it has something to do with the rocky terrain which favors the fox.

As to the dogs getting back home that nite, forget it. When they get on the trail of a fox, they usually find some stamina they forgot they had, so they just keep on running and barking far past the bedtime of their owners. Next thing you know, tomorrow arrives and it’s now time to go round up the dogs. Now it’s true that I’ve never been fox hunting. But I have been dog hunting which is what you do the day after you go fox hunting. So here’s the way it went the one time I was invited to go. My host was a local named Cowboy.

We drove out to about where the fox hunt occurred the previous nite. Then Cowboy pulled out a horn which I guess was made from a horn which used to belong to a steer or some other kind of critter. He blew it several times and then we started waiting. Sure enough, in a few minutes, one of his hounds showed up. Good grief! It was panting heavily and limping on all fours. Looked just awful.

Cowboy gave it some water, then blew his horn again, and we waited another ten or fifteen minutes. No second dog. So off we went, drove about a mile and stopped again. On the way, Cowboy explained that the rocky terrain tore up the paws of the dogs bad enough that they had to be treated with some kind of homemade salve. It was something like two or three weeks before they were well enough to go running and barking again.

The next two stops were totally unproductive. Now it was about noon and suddenly we were on an old country road that looked like it hadn’t seen a motorized vehicle in quite some time. After a while, we came across a log cabin like farm house that looked as if it came right out of “Shepherd Of The Hills”. For those of you too young to have seen this great movie, it was about hill people and how they lived about a hundred years go.

Holy smoke! First off, didn’t see an outhouse. Surely they don’t — well, perhaps it’s out of sight behind the house. Something else I didn’t see was a power line or a propane tank or a telephone line. So how did they keep warm in the winter, cool in the summer, do laundry, wash and dry the dishes, provide power to the ice box and deep freeze, watch TV, and visit with the neighbors? Guess they just did the best they could.

There was an old lady sitting in a rocker on the porch.

“Morning Mrs. (can’t remember her name)”

“Morning Cowboy.”

“Don’t suppose you’ve seen any of my dogs?”

“Yep. Got one tied up down at the barn.  Henry’s down there now.” (assumed Henry was her husband)

“Well, I sure do thank ya.”

She raised her arm in recognition but didn’t say another word.

So it was down to the barn where Henry was fixin’ something. A few brief words were exchanged and then Henry said something like “Care for a little sip?” Cowboy replied in the affirmative and Henry disappeared into another part of the barn.

Came right back carrying a plastic Clorox bottle. Oh no. Were they going to poison me? Turns out they weren’t. The bottle was full of what was apparently genuine moonshine whiskey probably made by Henry.

Guess the purpose of using the plainly marked Clorox bottle was to keep casual observers from discovering the contents. Sure hoped they’d washed that bottle out real good before filling it back up.

So the three of us squatted down and started passing the bottle. Now I had never learned to squat but figured I’d better learn real quick. By the way, that moonshine was delicious.

Moonshine still in the Ozarks

Now let’s talk a little bit about Cowboy’s dog whose name was Max. As we approached the barn, Max stuck his head out of the entrance to see who was coming. When he saw Cowboy, did he come running and wagging his tail? Nope. He just squatted down as if he had done a bad thing and was hoping his punishment wouldn’t be too severe.

Fortunately, Cowboy was not the punishing type. He just walked over to Max, patted him a couple of times on the head, then lifted up one of his paws and examined it. Looked just fine. Hmmm.

Now only Max knew exactly what happened last nite. But Cowboy and I now had a pretty good idea…

Believe it went something like this:

“Good grief. I’ve only been hunting two or three hours and already my paws are sore. After all the hunting I’ve done over the years, the pads on the bottom of my feet are starting to look like big blogs of scar tissue. And did I mention that my throat is starting to get sore from all that barking?  Now it’s getting cold, and starting to rain – not exactly good for my joints. Hey, give me a break. I’m no spring chicken anymore.

Hello, what’s this? Looks like a barn ahead. A good place to get out of the rain and take a short nap – you know, ten minutes or so. Heck, they’ll never miss me. And I am a little thirsty so I’ll get a drink out of that water trough. ————- Holy smoke! You’d think they would clean this thing out once in a while. Well, no use making a federal case out of it. It’s starting to rain a little heavier now, so I’ll wait a little and then go outside and find me a fresh puddle.

Wow, does this hay feel good. Well, maybe 20 minutes. Heck, I deserve it. Zzzzzzzzzzzz. Oh no! Not now. Sounds like a couple of my buddies have picked up a new scent. They’re barking their fool heads off. Suppose I oughta go help ‘em. But they are probably a mile away. Could be they would have lost the scent by the time I got there.

And besides, the fox could double back and head this way. If that happened, I would be in a perfect place to ambush the little devil. Yeah, the smart thing to do is to stay right here where it is nice zzzzzzz and warm zzzzzzzzzzz and dry. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.  Guess my 20 minutes is about up. zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz To hell with the foxes! zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Man with foxhounds in the Ozarks

Next thing I knew, we were headed home. As we drove along, I began to realize that this day turned out to be a once in a lifetime experience, at least for me. It was like being in a new world, a place that very few people know anything about. Reading about it or perhaps seeing something similar on TV or on a movie screen would have been one thing, but to be an actual part of it for a few hours was something so special that it was far beyond my ability to put into words. So I won’t try.

Now if you can’t understand how this experience could be that special to anybody, make sure to tell your doctor next time you get a chance. Your condition may still be treatable.

OK, started out to tell you one way to buy an Arkansas fox hound, so let’s get at it. Was having my usual breakfast at the Waverly Restaurant in Cotter, Arkansas and visiting with the owner Jim who was behind the counter. Suddenly there’s this guy standing next to me.

“I‘m looking for a man they call Cowboy.” Actually, Cowboy was sitting two stools over. Jim didn’t say anything but nodded ever so slightly toward Cowboy. He apparently wasn’t sure that Cowboy wanted to be identified to a stranger.

“Are you Cowboy?”

Cowboy continued to look straight ahead and slowly replied:

“That depends on who’s askin’”.

At this point, you need to know that, back then, there were still some illegal stills operating not all that far from Cotter, so some of the locals figured that a stranger just might be from the Alcohol, Tobacco, & Firearms Dep’t.

“Well, I’m Billie Ray Morton from Mountain Home.”

“Oh yes, I’ve been expecting you. Have a nephew who works at the same feed mill you do and he told me you have a real good male hound dog you need to get rid of. So if he’s so good, why do you want to get rid of him?

The ice was now broken. Billie Ray said that he had just accepted a new job in a city about a hundred miles away. He would be living with his brother and there was no place to keep the dog. Well, the two men started talking about the various characteristics of the dog including the type of “voice” he had. Gosh, didn’t know dogs had a voice. I thought they just barked. Then it was on to age, stamina, how fast its paws healed up after a hunt, the breed (can’t remember) and on and on. The price of the dog was $40. There was no bargaining.

Cowboy asked if Billie Ray if could deliver the dog. The answer was yes if he could deliver the dog in two days about noon. Cowboy said ok and told the stranger how to get to his house. He also told him that he could be still out on the river fishing and if that was the case, asked him to just drop the dog off there. Said he had two hounds in a pen off one side of the house and when the new dog saw ‘em, he would stay right there until Cowboy got home. They both agreed that this would work. At this point, Cowboy gave Billy Ray $40, they shook hands, and that was it.

I had just witnessed an almost unbelievable business transaction. I saw a man buy a dog he had never seen from a man he had never seen. There was no mention of a bill of sale. Nobody seemed at all concerned that the dog might run off after he was delivered or be stolen. And Cowboy was apparently not at all concerned that Billy Ray might run off with both the dog and the $40.

So first chance I got, discussed all this with my friend Jim, the café owner. He had an amazingly simple answer to all my questions. It went something like this.

“Bob, I’ve lived here most of my life and witnessed all kinds of small business transactions where there is no paperwork. What holds these contracts together is the good word of the folks involved. Down here, a man’s word is one of his most valuable possessions.  When a person starts getting the reputation that his word cannot be trusted, living somewhere else seems to become a lot more attractive. ” I wasn’t sure what he meant but decided not to ask.

Men around the campfire in the Arkansas Ozarks

Now relax, I’m not about to give my readers a small lecture about the world becoming a better place if people would put more value on other people always being able to trust their word. I told the dog purchase story because I thought it was interesting. What makes it even more interesting is because it is true, to the best of my recollection.  Hope you enjoyed it!

August 26, 2009

A Summer at Cotter

Filed under: Ozarks stories, Trout Fishing — Tags: , — admin @ 11:02 am

Well, this week I’m going to tell you a little story…  Or, actually, I’m going to let my Daddy tell you a little story.  You see, my Daddy used to trout fish the White River all around Cotter, long before I was born.  I had no idea that he’d ever been here until after my husband Steve and I bought the resort in 2002. 

I remember how excited he was, and boy, he had plenty to tell me about the area!  (Come to think on it, there was plenty he would NOT tell me either…  like how he got kicked out of one of the finer Cotter lodging facilities of the day…  Hmmm…  I’ll have to ask him about that again…)

Oh yeah, forgot to mention…  after you read this, you’ll realize that I am indeed my father’s daughter.  It took a man like this to create the White River Trout Diva…

I’ll let him tell y’all about it in his own words…  enjoy!

A Summer at Cotter 

By Bob Watts 

It was the spring of 1955.   Just got out of the Air Force for the second time.  This last tour was about 4 ½ years.  Didn’t get any trout fishing in as I was never stationed anywhere close to some trout.  Do I like to fly fish for trout? Well, let’s put it this way — for many years, it was my second favorite thing to do. 

BobWatts1

My Daddy, Bob Watts in 1955 at the Cotter Big Spring Park

Didn’t take long for me to find out that they had built a power dam on the White River called Bull Shoals Dam.  The river below the dam had been stocked with rainbow trout in 1951and the rumors were that the trout were growing at an unbelievable rate of a lb. or two a year.  Couldn’t find anyone who had been there or was willing to admit it. 

Next thing I knew I was on the road to Cotter, Arkansas.  It was right on the banks of the river and should have been a good place to get some information on where some wade-able water might be that had public access.   When I got there, simply could not believe my eyes.  There was so much water coming down that river that a full grown elephant couldn’t have waded across!  Well, I did see a boat dock, so I drove down to it to find out if the river ever got low enough that I could wade out and do a little fly fishing.

Well, I got good news and bad news.  The good news was that the water during the week was low enough in the mornings to wade out and do some serious fly fishing.  But about noon, the water started rising due to the power generators being turned on at the dam several hours earlier.  You had about 10-15 minutes to get out of the water or else. 

On weekends, the good news got better.  The high water didn’t get to the Cotter area until mid-afternoon or so.  However, the problem with the good news was that you had to find something else to do on weekday afternoons.  Back then, Cotter had a population of less than a thousand.  Not a whole lot going on.  Hmmm…  Wonder what the elephants did?

The bad news, according to the “experts” at the trout dock was that “trout here just don’t seem to like trout flies”.  Seems the only way to catch ‘em was to rent a boat and motor, hire a guide, buy some worms, or crawdads, old shrimp, or some prepared baits and perhaps some small crank baits.  And gosh, all those things were available right there at the trout dock.  Now how lucky can a guy get?

Well, didn’t believe for one minute their “trout here don’t hit trout flies” story, so the next morning I located some beautiful shoals about a mile below the trout dock.  Not another fisherman in sight.  With water this beautiful, seemed too good to be true.  Tied on a solid brown marabou streamer, waded out, and made my first cast.  What happened next is borderline unbelievable but I’m going to tell you anyhow. 

I made three casts and broke off on three trout!  Now, it’s true that my leader was tapered down to 6x (only about 2 lb. test). On the other hand, I was no slouch with a fly rod, either.  Over the years, had caught a lot of nice trout with 2 lb. test leader.  Well, at this point, I was a nervous wreck, so I waded back to shore to calm down a little and tie on some heavier leader and a new fly.  My hands were still shaking so bad I had trouble getting the knots tied.  Knew right then and there I was right in the middle of a trout fisherman’s paradise.

For about the next three hours, I caught a couple dozen or so rainbows in the 1-3 lb range.  And in spite of the heavier leader, still managed to break off on one more trout.  Well, nothing good lasts forever and long before I was ready, here came the high water and ended my fishing for that day.  I drove to town, checked out of my motel, & headed home.  Loaded my camping gear, portable fly tying kit and, oh yes, a few clothes in the car and headed right back down to Cotter.  I had a chance for a once in a lifetime experience in trout fishing and wasn’t about to let it go by.

Well, didn’t take long for me to develop a reputation for a guy who was catching a lot of trout.  So, one afternoon three men from the Arkansas Fish & Game Commission showed up at my tent.  They were making a promotional movie about trout fishing on the White River.  It would be shown on various TV stations in some of the surrounding states.  Then they asked the $64 question.  Could I catch some trout for them in front of their movie camera?  My answer was probably, but with no guarantee.

So the very next morning, there we were, about a mile above Cotter.  They got the boat positioned right where I told them so out I waded to hopefully start the show.  I was certainly wondering if I was about to make a fool out of myself.  But then, if I did, it wouldn’t have been the first time.  Now are you ready for this?  On the very first cast, I hooked into about a 3 lb. plus rainbow.  Whew! Guess good clean living finally paid off.  Good thing, too.  Was about to give it up as an unrewarding venture.

So a few minutes later, there I was, right next to the boat, getting ready to net this gorgeous trout when the guy with the movie camera hollered out, “Look up here at the camera and smile”.  Well, I looked up but sure didn’t smile.  I saw that this world class imbecile had forgotten to take off the lens dust cover.  Not one frame of film had been taken.  And if that wasn’t enough, they were getting low on film, one of the guys in the boat said he really needed to get to the shore to take a leak, and I just heard thunder.  Good grief!

Now for those of you who might have said sometime in the past like “this guy (me) is not playing with a full deck” or something just as insulting, listen up! Almost immediately, I had what turned out to be a brilliant idea.  Told ’em to go ahead and film me landing that trout.  Then I would wade back to my starting point, and hopefully hook another trout.  They could film this up until the time I was about to land the fish, then splice in the film that was taken about me landing the original trout.  Hope you were able to follow all his.

So here we were, starting all over again.  This time it took me about half a dozen casts to hook a trout.  Trouble was, it was only about half the size of the first one.  So did what I could to make it look like it was much bigger, like let him get out in the swifter current, take more line off the reel than was necessary, and so on.  Finally got to the point where they could splice in the original film.  As loud as I could, I hollered, “Stop filming”.

So, is that the end of the story?  No, it’s not.  Glad you asked.  Almost two months later, was fishing along one day when I noticed two young ladies sitting on the river bank.  Could tell by the way they were dressed they were not locals.  Wasn’t hard to figure out.  Their husbands were probably out on the river somewhere fishing and drinking beer as fast as they could.  Their thoughtful, caring husbands probably told their spouses that the river was probably too dangerous for them and after all, they wouldn’t be gone all that long. 

Suddenly one of the ladies yelled out, “Hey mister, aren’t you that guy we saw on TV?”  But before I could answer, guess it was the other lady’s turn.  “Hey, how about catching a big one for us just like you did on TV?”  Now, what I felt like saying was that sure lady, and while I’m at it, I pull a $20 gold piece out from behind your ear.  But at this particular time, I was sort of their hero, so why spoil it?  So, told ‘em yes, I probably was the guy on TV and yes, I would try and catch a big trout just for them.  Gosh, seemed like I had been through this before. 

Well, almost immediately, hooked a nice trout.  And almost immediately, I started getting help about how to land that trout.  “Don’t let it get away”, “Be careful, don’t lose him”, “Give him some line”, “Look out!  He’s liable to break the line”, “Keep a tight line”, “Don’t let him jump like that”, and on and on.  Hmmm…  Maybe their husbands had a little better reason to leave the ladies behind than I first thought. 

Well, I did manage to land that trout, showed it to the ladies, and then released it.  Then my ego got an unexpected boost.  “Gosh, mister.  You just gotta be the best trout fisherman on this whole darn river.”  Well, looked around, didn’t see anyone within earshot, so figured what the heck.

I agreed with ‘em.

Cowboy Collie

Filed under: Ozarks stories, Trout Fishing — Tags: , , — admin @ 11:01 am

Well, you know what they say;  the more things change, the more they stay the same.  Even back in the 50’s, there was “division”, if you will, between those who bait fish and those who fly fish. 

It’s only fitting that  my Dad would write about bridging that gap over 50 years ago, and finding common ground with others who truly love the White River, even if only for a day.  It’s just the kind of man he is. 

We could all learn something from him.

I’ll let him tell y’all about it in his own words…  enjoy!

COWBOY COLLIE

By Bob Watts 

Cowboy Collie in 1955 at the Cotter Big Spring Park Cowboy Collie in 1955 at the Cotter Big Spring Park

He was a big man, about 60, and always wore overalls and a wide brimmed straw hat.  Lived right there in Cotter along with his two fox hounds.  Apparently no wife.  Walked with a limp caused by supposedly trying to ride a buffalo in a small circus back in his younger days.  He fished the river about twice a week and had the reputation of catching more big trout than just about anyone else.

He kept about every trout he caught over about 2 lbs.  Some would probably have gone at least 5.  So what could one man do with all those trout?  Well, sad to say, he fed ‘em to his fox hounds.  Now that didn’t go over too well with a lot of the locals, especially the fishing guides, whose livelihood depended on tourists coming down there and all hoping to catch a big trout.  Cowboy simply said he didn’t like the taste of trout and was sorry they ever built the dam.

I first noticed Cowboy in a restaurant located on the ground floor of the Waverly Hotel in Cotter.  I usually had breakfast there about 6:30 a.m. and he would often be there having coffee.  We never spoke.  Believe one reason is that some of the locals figured that I might be a secret agent for the ATF.  (Alcohol, Tobacco, & Firearms Dept) Yes, there were still several illegal stills operating in the surrounding hills

One morning, all of a sudden, he finally spoke to me.   “Well, young man, have you been getting your share of the big ‘uns?”  I could hardly believe he spoke to me.  I replied something like “Well, I get a big one occasionally, but sure haven’t learned how to catch ‘em like you do”.  (right out of Dale Carnegie).  Apparently, I said the right thing. 

“Well, I’m going out in about 30 minutes, If you want to come along, meet me at Millers (the trout dock) in 30 minutes and don’t be late.”  Then, as he was walking out the door, he turned and said, “And don’t be bringing that switch you use.  I got all the tackle we’ll need.”

Holy smoke!  I just got invited to go fishing with the best big trout fisherman on the whole river.  And if that wasn’t good enough, I now had a new name for my very expensive fly rod – a switch…  Oh well.

When I got to the trout dock, Cowboy was already in his boat bailing it out.  Since the boat was kept in a covered dock, assumed it leaked.  My first impression of the boat was that it was probably built around the beginning of time.  There were some random splotches of a dull green color along the sides of the boat.  Probably some very old green paint that had not yet fallen off, or some mold.  I was leaning toward the mold, but before I could figure this one out, up the river we were going.

We stopped in some quiet water just off the main current.  Cowboy threw out the anchor which was made from a Folgers coffee can filled with cement with an eye protruding out of the cement.  Ohh-kay.  Next he handed a rod and reel which could have handled at least a hundred lb. fish.  Then, here came the bait.  It was a peeled crawdad tail.  Turned out that was the only bait he ever used!

Well, we hadn’t been there 5 minutes when here came a boat with 3 locals in it.  One of ‘em hollered out something like, “You want one this morning?”  Cowboy replied in the affirmative.  Well, one what?  Didn’t ask, as I had already learned that the less questions I asked down in that country the better.  Saw Cowboy look at his watch and then it was back to fishing. 

Now would like to tell all of you that we proceeded to catch a lot of big trout, but we didn’t.  Guess even Cowboy had some bad days.  After about 45 minutes, the largest trout we (actually Cowboy) caught was about 2 lbs.  During this time, I did notice Cowboy check the time on his wrist watch several times.  At one time, I thought I saw a Mickey Mouse imprint on his watch, but no.  Surely not.  He also started shading his eyes and looking upstream. 

All of a sudden, Cowboy said, “O.K.  Bring in your bait.  We’re moving.”  He then headed straight out to the main current and kept his outboard running at just the speed necessary to keep us from going either upstream or down.  Yes, he kept shading his eyes and looking upstream.  Then I saw something that was round and green floating down with the current.  Cowboy suddenly grabbed his oversize landing net and netted – are you ready for this – a small watermelon!

Apparently, the 3 locals knew of a watermelon patch up the river somewhere and picked out a few.  One was for Cowboy which they promptly threw in the river.  Hey, thanks guys.  The watermelon was delicious!

So here I was, in a boat that made ugly look good, with an old man who, after one glance, you just knew owned the boat, fishing with tackle that was an insult to all rainbow trout, using peeled crawdad tails which was, and still is, absolutely forbidden by all snobbish fly fisherman like myself, eating watermelon, and with my shirt stained all down the front with watermelon juice.  My napkin happened to be what I was wearing.  Come to think about it, my shirt wasn’t all that clean before the watermelon came along.

Anyhow, all I needed now was to have one of my fly fishing friends come by in a boat & see me.  I mean, how embarrassing would that be?  I would probably never hear the end of it.  Oh, well.  So kept right on fishing (if you can call it that) and almost before I knew it, it was a little after 12 & the water started rising.  Now Cowboy would not fish in high water, so off we took to go back to the dock. 

On the way, got to thinking.  I really had a great time that day.  Got invited to go fishing with a man who was close to being a legend in his own time.  The weather was great and the scenery was outstanding.  Got kicked off my fly fishing high horse and landed with only minor pain which soon went away.  Saw a brand new way to order watermelon.  Guess not too many people have ever seen anything like that.  And to top it all off, realized that the fact that we did not have a very good fishing day was really not all that important.

Oh well, as the old saying goes, live and learn…

March 31, 2009

MyDaddy

Filed under: Ozarks stories, White River — Tags: , , — admin @ 4:28 pm

Trout Fishing, Cotter, Arkansas

Here’s a picture of a fly fisherman in the Cotter Big Spring Park around 1955.  OK, so this picture is not as colorful as the ones on the website, but trust me — the man in the picture is about as colorful as it gets!  That’s my Dad, Bob Watts.

I guess this place is just in my blood, because I never knew my Dad had ever fished the White River when Steve and I got the place… He started fishing here sometime after the dam was finished and the first generator was turned on in 1952.  Trout had been introduced, but there were still a lot of small mouth bass in the river — they didn’t disappear overnight, I’m told…

The dam was built between July 9, 1947 and July, 1951, with its dedication on July 2, 1952 by President Harry S. Truman.  On Labor Day in 1952, Senator John McClellan “threw the switch” and cranked up the first generator.

Anyway, Dad would come down here and camp alongside the river when it was much more primitive than it was today, and even managed to get kicked out of some of the finer local establishments of the time…  (He’s not giving details, however.)

Also, you’ll have to excuse Dad for harvesting the fish in this picture — people weren’t as “conservation-minded” back in those days…

Looking at this photo reminds me of why I love my Dad so much!  From the time I was small, Daddy taught me to love fishing and have a real appreciation of nature.  Having this man as a father is what turned me into the White River Trout Diva, I’m sure!

Little did he know that almost 50 years after this picture was taken, he and Mom would be able to live with us here for 4 years.  Mom & Dad live with my sister now, but his real home will always be here on the banks of the White River.

Life comes full circle…

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