Maurice Rhoades

Jaclyn Allen

Engl 110

June 16, 2010

A favorite place (The spring river)

Fly fishing for trout is my passionate hobby, so it's not hard to understand how one of my

favorite places would be connected to my special interest; it is my fishing spot. I escape the

problems of life, concentrate on the trout, and enjoy my surroundings. It is a place on the Spring

River in north central Arkansas at the Missouri-Arkansas border. The location of my special is

just off highway 63 and a spring river access road.

The spring river flows from the great Mammoth Spring, so the water is always cold, but

bearable, if you have waders on. Just below the spring, where the water shallows out, it flows

between two high bluffs which shield it from the wind. However, these bluffs let plenty of sun

light in, which reflects like a mirror from the almost crystal clear water. The spring river is not a

fast river and because it is not fed by anything but the spring, the flow is constant and you can

always count on that as a fisherman.

At the place where I do my fishing, there is a small spot by a bridge where I park my jeep

close to the bluffs. I can put on my fly fishing gear there, and prepare my equipment for the days

fishing. This is the time to prepare my fly rod; I take it out of the velvet lined case and assemble

the rod by putting the three pieces together, making sure that the eyelets are properly aligned... I

attach my reel and string the line through the eyelets, and tie on my favorite fly. It is a handmade
fly by a local trout fanatic. The fly is supposed to emulate a small crayfish, which, I dont see any

resemblance, but I guess the trout do. I set the rod against the side of the jeep. Put my heavy,

rubbery, hip waders on, pulling the straps over my shoulders, hat, creel, tackle, and net. Dont

forget anything! Or it will mean having to hike back out to get it. Also, this time of year, mid

June, bug repellant and sun screen or the bugs will be buzzing about my face and ears and biting

as I fish, and the sun will burn my face by its bright rays and reflected light off the water. Time

to go fishing now; I should have been here a half hour earlier.

As I approach the river, I am hearing the sounds of the water running over and around the

boulders and gravel beds. It's not a loud sound, certainly not a roar, but more like music for a

trout fisherman's ears. I start smelling the ionization in the air from the rippling water and the

earthy smell of the wet river banks. These sounds and smells are already putting me in a relaxed,

almost hypnotic mood. At the water's edge I can see that it's not a very deep section of the river,

maybe two feet in spots, shallower in others, with the deepest three feet. I can see water flow

around the bigger boulders causing eddy currents to form on the back and sides' and a mist

gently rising above the cold water with the morning sun piercing it with its rays of light. As I

wade into the cold water, I start to feel it against my legs and feet but I steadily proceed anyway.

I am now getting excited, because my fishing day has started, and my thoughts turn to trout.

Stripping line from the real, I make a few half hearted casts just to properly wet my line as I

look around and down the river. On both sides of the river are maybe fifty foot bluffs, some spots

with pine trees extruding themselves from cracks in the rock face. Some vertical heights of solid

rock overhang reflecting pools of glass like water. And mostly oaks and walnut trees on top of

the bluffs, like sky scrapers towering over the scene below. Smaller scrub trees and other brush

are growing closer down by the river banks but are terminated from any further approach
towards the water by the dry gravel beds. I see that the river is not really that wide. Casting to

either side with just three or four strips of the line is possible if you are in the middle. Looking

down, I see that I have become a boulder with a vortex forming around my waders causing

ripples to form. As I look downstream I see that I am alone on the river and an even deeper inner

piece comes over me. A red tailed hawk flies over the bluffs; it seems he likes my special place

as much as I do. I spot him here almost every time I come, early in the morning when the mist is

still hovering over the water. Looking down the river again I see the pools and eddy's as they

form. The boulders are like little boats fighting the current. Some are small, the size of a basket

ball and some are as large as a Volkswagen. Gravel beds flank the boulders closer to the banks,

with occasional dark colored pieces of driftwood scattered about.

It's now that I get serious about the trout. I see trout rising for some kind of hatch that is

skimming just above the water but they are very small and I can't make out what they are. But, I

put my favorite fly to the test anyway. At the first deep pool under a rock face, the fly rod comes

to life and the bait is placed just on the upstream side of the clear pool. As the fly disappears into

the deeper water, I feel the familiar tug as the slack is removed from the line. The fight has

started and the only problem in my life right now is landing him. I may let him go if I catch him,

or I might keep him, but another wonderful, relaxing, day has started in my special place. It's

nice to know that I can come to this place and enjoy it for what it is, heaven for a trout

fisherman.