During my second deployment in the Navy working a
security detail, a FNG walked up and asked me where he could find a “bulkhead
remover”?Being completely serious, I
explained that my department was out but I was sure the Damage Control (DC) department
had some.The DC department was located
10 floors down and on the opposite end of the ship.
Camp at Moose Lake
In the Navy a “bulkhead” is another
name for a wall.Of course, this was the game that was played
on each of us at some point during our early days on a ship and it was my duty
to keep him on his quest.
Changing the spools on 8-10 weights for the afternoon sessions
View of the lake from camp
Bald Eagles were a daily seen. Often flying right over my kayak.
As painful as it is to admit, I’ve been fooled by another
wild goose chase. This time, chasing
unicorns.The elusive and cunning muskie,
a fish of 10,000 casts.I would like to
believe they exist but I don’t know anyone that’s caught one.In fact, I’ve never actually seen one in the
water.Sure, I’ve seen the pictures on
Facebook and other social media sites.I’ve
stood in awe of the impressive wall mounts hanging from fly shops and tackle
stores.
St Croix River smallie
I’m convinced it’s a ruse to protect the trophy smallmouth fisheries.More than likely, it’s purely entertainment
purposes.Like that time your father
stuck you in a field to hunt snipe.Imagine the joy those in the know get from watching you walk into a
fly shop and ask for the musky area.They point over to that one obscure corner of the room that seems completely
out of place.Traditional flies are
created to match the hatch.They appear
more natural and resemble what you would find on the water. In contrast, the muskie
section looks like it belongs in a store off Bourbon Street.
Hanging from the ceiling and every nook are huge streamers made
of the most obnoxious colors available. If you’re feeling particularly adventurous, you
can purchase your own bright and shiny materials to create your own modern
art. A far cry from matching the hatch
and one I think has a more direct purpose, aside from the in-store humor of
course!
On the water, you’ll be the star of the show, clearly seen from
a mile away punishing yourself while you wrestle a foot-long fly over your head
with a 10 weight.Over 4 days, I never
saw another person throwing those huge Vegas Showgirl streamers.I did run into several boats that asked me
if the muskie were biting in a manner
that suggested they already knew the answer.Almost like I was on the outside of an inside joke.That
moment stuck with me.Eventually, I figured
out the joke. It’s a myth created by
anglers purely for entertainment purposes.
Upper Mississippi River
High's in the 90's and lows in the 50's made for foggy mornings
If you ever find yourself on the water and you see a guy
slinging a chicken that appears to have just participated in "The Color Run", do your part and be sure to continue the
tradition.When he asks, “if the muskie
are biting”, show him a picture of a 52 incher, tell him
it was taken just a few days ago and explain that the best area is over there while pointing to the other side of the lake.At least a two-mile paddle away. Once you’ve figured out the game it’s your responsibility
to help others on their path to enlightenment.
For best results open the video on YouTube and watch in 1080/60
Driving across the rugged landscape, DW our Shuttle driver from Amistad Expeditions, detailed his quickest turn around. He hadn't made it out of the North SNA when he got a call from a park ranger to turn around and come get the guys he had just put on the river. The ranger happened to be at Dolan Falls when he watched a kayak go over the falls slamming its occupant against the rocks. This was the warning we received; don't trespass, don't be a victim, don't be someone else's problem, and take care of yourself on the river. There's no one coming to save you. If you exit the river, it better be a "life or death" event.
Nick and James fishing
Looking down at the river from the side of the cliff, I could see how such an accident could easily occur. My first impressions of this place I had been dreaming about for two years was one of natural beauty that intoxicates, no seduces you, but holds no such feeling for those that choose to tempt the Devils. I was about to tempt it with three guys I had met the night before.
Dolan Falls
The first few hours felt more like a dream than reality. Nothing I had seen accurately portrayed how imposing the landscape was. The bluffs towered over us from every direction and seemed to never end. Dotted with cactus and other inhospitable vegetation, it was an intimidating sight. In contrast, the river was the most vivid and inviting turquoise blue color. It was cool to the touch and refreshing to drink. The adventure was about to get real.
Devils river carp
3-tier falls
The roar of Dolan Falls woke me to the first formidable obstacle of the trip. A 10-foot waterfall that had to be portaged. Nick and James made the drop first followed by Dave and me. Initially, I was worried about the dynamics of the group. This trip would require patience and a high level of teamwork. Both were on display and executed flawlessly at the falls. I knew the trip was going to be a great one when Dave decided to do a backflip off the ledge.
James sight fished this catfish
The rest of the day was spent running the various rapids, fishing and portaging the shallow areas. Like everything else on the Devils the portages weren't easy. Some required dragging your kayak 50 yards or more. Others required getting in and out of your kayak every few feet negotiating the catacomb like ledges. We didn't fully appreciate the impact of the portaging until the sun was starting to set. We were still over a mile from camp with two rapids to run and only 1.5 hours of daylight remaining.
We pulled into camp and got set-up with 30 minutes to spare. With hammocks strung from the trees, we started to boil water for our dehydrated meals. Nick began to talk about the gourmet cuisine he had eaten on his last trip with Reel Fly Adventures two weeks prior. Everyone's thinking about steak, when I read the label on my MRE, "Chana Marsala". How did that get here? It should read "Chicken Marsala". From the label, an Indian curry dish with chilies and rice from the Punjab region of India. Nope, that's not going to work. I felt like the Punjab region of India might be digestive disaster waiting to happen and I only had three WAG bags. Decided to pack it out and save it for another trip.
The next morning, we got an early start thanks to Nick's alarm. It might have been the first time I have ever heard an alarm on a camping trip. Dude is a machine. Before I could drink my first cup of coffee, Nick was packed and sitting in his kayak. He was super eager to get some fishing in during the morning hours and I honestly can't remember when he left. It didn't really matter. Wednesday would be the day of 25 mph tailwinds. Plus it's always cool to meet other people who get as excited about fishing as I do. However, my engine requires three cups of coffee before starting.
Beautiful smallie Dave caught
We cursed the winds and I nearly killed James on day two. It wasn't my fault. The passing lane is on the left. It's clearly written on every sign along the highway in Texas. He was negotiating the last drop of a rapid (out of my view) when I started down. His hazard lights were flashing so I passed on the left yelling, "coming through." He jumped into the river to avoid the collision but it really wasn't that close. That's the highlight of day two. The tailwinds helped us cover 7 miles of river before 3pm. The 25-30 mph winds tried to strangle me with my fly line and more than once I had to duck to avoid a face piercing. Running the many rapids proved the most exciting part of the day, unless you're James.
The "Canyon"
Hieroglyphics
We pulled into camp around 3pm. Sitting in a hammock enjoying the tranquility of a wild river with new friends isn't a bad place to be. It provided a great opportunity to reflect. We discussed how our kayaks handled the river, what patterns worked and what we would do differently next time. As the afternoon passed, some wade fished and others napped. But as the sun was setting, we all found ourselves sitting along the river's edge watching the western cliffs shadow move slowly up the eastern slope. That night the winds shifted and the temperature dropped sharply. The last day we would face a ferocious head wind.
Thursday started with everyone filtering water for breakfast. It was the last day and the vibe I sensed was one of disappointment. No one wanted it to be the last day. Our pick-up time wasn't until 4 pm so we had a full day on the river planned. We fished when and where we could but the winds made it a difficult prospect. Then it happened, I saw another boat on the river. We had seen 4 guys at the start but never ran into them or anyone else during our trip, until today. It was the perfect reminder of why I came here. Its remoteness means you'll likely be alone most of your trip. It was also a reminder of what DW said on day one, no one's coming to save you.
Sight fished the last day at the take out
Each of us traveled to this wild place to find something. Whether it was fishing, an adventure, or to check off a bucket list trip. I'm confident we found what we were seeking. We arrived as strangers but left as friends forged in the fire of the Devils River ready to tackle that next adventure.
The Video (for best quality open and play on YouTube)
As I was driving off the Isle, my mind couldn't escape the strong scent of salt in the air. My eyes focused on the occasional passing of a shrimp boat heading down Bayou Lafourche. I was feeling refreshed. The excitement of a new day filled with a new adventure had captured my attention. I was ready to write a new chapter to this story. How would it go?
I made a couple phone calls to get caught up on river levels. I held out hope that the Flint River would be floatable. In my heart I knew it was out. The lady that answered the phone, speaking in a deep southern accent, confirmed my suspensions, "we're not putting people on the upper river now." Shoal bass would have to wait. I was homeless and lost at sea. I needed a direction!
I called a buddy to see what his status was leading into the weekend. I'm up for floating in the Ozarks but not over the weekend. That's maddening! Luck was on my side and he could meet me Friday morning for a quick overnighter. We planned to meet at 8 am. A late start for me but he's a good friend so I agreed with just a little verbal motivation (trash talking)!
I arrived at the access and unloaded quickly. So quickly in fact, I left my wading boots in the truck. It was funny until I had to swim down a flip flop in the first fast run. I quickly sent a text begging my good friend to bring me some shoes.
The weather was exceptional. No rain, warm days and cool nights. As expected the first afternoon was slow. Around 4 pm my, thoughts slipped to finding a gravel bar to camp. I didn't want to be late the next day. The day still held hours of fishing. I just needed to be more judicious with my stops.
In an instant, the day changed from, a good friend isn't late to a good friend understands your late because the fishing redlined. Time became measured in the space between eats. I didn't make it to the planned gravel bar. I fished up until I couldn't see and made a cot camp in the dark. Being honest, I regretted that decision when I was gathering drift wood in the dark wearing flip flops. Snakes have found a fascination with me or my kayak lately. See below...
Found this water snake in my kayak while unpacking
I was up well before the light of Friday morning. I greeted it with loaded bags, eagerly awaiting the itinerary of the new morning. The sleepy fog was slowly lifting from the water as my line landed softly. Then it went tight and darted to the surface. A smallmouth bass exploded from the river and began dancing in slow motion. My itinerary interrupted, no chance I'll be on time.
I saw the half empty kayak sitting at the edge of the river first. Scanning for the owner to whom I owed an explanation for the delay. Then he greeted me with a "good morning" and a dysfunctional fly reel. My good friend came to the party with a new box of fly line in one hand and my new wading shoes in the other. His excuse, "the dog ate my fly line." Shenanigans!
A few good laughs followed with more verbal motivation soon ensued. This little hiccup was only a short delay. Being a good friend he finished rigging up down river. It didn't take us long to realize we had timed this trip perfectly. Rewards...
The irony of a road trip is timing. On one hand, there are no time constraints. You're free to take the scenic route. Stay an extra day or depart early if you like. Choose your path as you make it. It's freedom from time! But, on the other hand, timing can be restrictive. My trip to Southeast Louisiana was met with high muddy water. My trip to Georgia was cancelled because of high water. We timed the Ozark stop perfectly and were rewarded with countless hours of uninterrupted fishing. When we departed the river on Saturday the area was overflowing with people. Good timing!
