Bennett Springs Trout - Christmas 2016
It was an early start when Jack and I pulled into Jake's driveway at 4:45 AM. The unseasonably warm morning was a welcome development as we thought about our day on the water, winter fishing is not for the timid. We drove east and then south to Clinton, Missouri, stopped for some breakfast and fuel then wound our way through the countryside of small rural farms, rolling hills and the stark landscape of a Midwest winter.
It is always a good idea to stop and gather local knowledge, finding a fly shop is a best practice, Readings took this to a new level. We entered the building to see an unbelievable expanse of inventory, expensive gear arranged in stacks, piles and semi organized racks. The owner, a passionate man who had dedicated the past 38 years of his life to his shop and the industry began our visit with a long winded lecture on the origins of the holographic crackleback. We bought some flies and a net then made our way to the water.
We decided to fish the upper section below the first rock dam, this was after scouting the area thoroughly. We backed the rig into a spot overlooking a smooth pool with a picnic table and bench nearby , then unloaded our gear including an auxiliary propane heater and coffee making equipment. On this morning I decided to go nostalgic, it had been sometime in the mid 1960's since Gramps had strung up his 7' Fenwick fiberglass travel rod, as I made the first few drifts I thought of where he might have been over 50 years ago with this same cork handle in his hand, most likely watching a #12 Humpy bounce through a lively riffle, no doubt catching fish as he always did. Gramps has been gone now over twenty years but somehow with his rod in my hand I feel his presence. The first fish comes to a Zebra midge and I play him out and bring the net gently under. With the rod and reel laying beside I take a photo and somehow feel a sense of achievement, the old ways are sometimes the best, the richest.
Jack waded into the flat water just upstream from me, we tied on new flies and adjusted his float, he found the rhythm, rolling the cast upstream, mending and letting the fly drift freely across the stone bottom. It was not long until the first bright rainbow struck and Jacks' first fish of the day was in the net, a long road back from his accident and journey east to join us and be part of our family.
Jake rigged up quickly and was off to the base of the dam, a product of nimble fingers and sharp eyes. I glanced his way and saw him land his second fish of the morning, it would turn out to be a fine day for him, his skill and natural ability for this sport evidenced once again. Like with many things that are part art and part science, he is an artist.
We broke for lunch and made some coffee on the single burner camp stove, the sun was out and it was pushing 50 degrees, we rested and ate leftover tenderloin and chicken from Christmas dinner, soon we were back on the water. Jack managed another fish and seemed to find the joy in it all after battling the frustrations of his cloudy vision and limited mobility. Sometimes we need to take what the game gives us and find joy in the process, opportunity to spend time together with friends and family is what living is all about, these sporting traditions, linked back to my grandfather, father and uncles now passed down to my son and one day to Henry, my grandson. Life is good and we are blessed beyond measure.
The afternoon would pass and the 4 o'clock horn sounded marking the end of the fishing, we packed up and made the three hour drive back to Lawrence. Jake caught eleven fish including two browns, Jack brought 2 or 3 to the net and I managed a half dozen. We arrived safe home with thoughts of our next adventure beginning to tumble around in our minds.