A Day on Current River with Billy Smith

A Day on Current River with Billy Smith Bill Cooper for 9-17-20 Billy Smith is the owner and operator of Scenic Rivers Guide Service and Tours based in Eminence. A local legend, Billy spent his working life with the National Park Service. However, the Current and Jacks Fork Rivers have been Billy’s lifelong passion. I’ve been on the rivers with Smith numerous times, but a recent day I spent with him on Current River shall remain one of my favorites. I met Billy at Shady Lanes Cabins in Eminence as we have done for a decade. He greeted me with his usual broad-faced smile and laughter. If I never caught a fish with Billy, I would always enjoy his company. He is one of the most jovial people I’ve ever met. Positive and upbeat, I always part company with Billy feeling uplifted and positive. Billy and I were out to catch smallmouth bass and get a little work done, too. Billy and I both are acquainted with Gayle Julian, the owner of Jewel Bait Co. in Midway, Arkansas. Scott Pauley, of the Missouri Division of Tourism, introduced us to Julian at different times. Jewel Bait Co. is a great American success story. An innovator and a highly motivated individual, Julian has done well in the fishing industry and brought many superb products to market, which has upped many anglers fishing game. As Billy and I headed out of Eminence towards Log Yard access, southeast of Eminence, on Current River, he kept a steady monologue going about the surrounding area. He pointed out several areas of interest where he had recently seen the wild horse herds and elk. Too, he noted a field near Powder Mill, where a black bear had been sighted recently. It’s always fun to be in the truck with Billy. He is a virtual encyclopedia of information. Billy began rigging several fishing rods before we put the boat in the water. I worked on filming an episode for Outside Again Adventures, featuring the Current River and Jewel Bait Co. lures. Billy proved to be the perfect spokesman by first showing how to rig specific lures, and then demonstrating later how to fish them. Billy first tied on a Jewel Ned Head jig and rigged a TRD peanut butter and jelly Ned worm, one of his favorite smallmouth baits for Current River. The second jig he tied on included a Gem Shad 2.0 jig head coupled with a Ki-Tech swim-bait. Next he demonstrated how to rig a Texas-rigged bait with a Jewell Rock-Crawler weight. It is flat on one side and flips over in the water, making it easy to slide across the river bottom. After rigging a half dozen rods, Billy headed the boat upstream through spectacular scenery along Current River. Billy knows the river like the back of his hand and soon stopped at one of his favorite fishing holes. True to Billy’s form, he hooked the first smallmouth of the day on his second cast on a Jewel Gem Blade 2.0 Spinnerbait. “This bait is great,” Billy said. “It’s more streamlined than most spinnerbaits and glides through the water with ease. Billy had guided Gayle Julian and Scott Pauley on the river a few weeks prior and was thoroughly impressed with their casting abilities. “I thought I was an accurate caster,” Billy said. “But those two guys could consistently put a bait on a dime. They were incredibly accurate.” As anglers we continually eyeball one another. Billy was obviously taken with the casting abilities of Julian and Pauley. In turn, I am equally impressed with Billy’s abilities. I suppose if I fished as much as those guys, I’d be fairly accurate, too. Billy steadily caught fish at a variety of his favorite spots on the river. He often uses YUM Dingers, and I brought him a bag full of the popular plastic worms in a variety of colors. He broke out a Jewel Squirrel Head jig and I suggested he use a Mardi Gras colored Dinger with it. I’d had great success with it over the summer. Billy caught a nice small mouth within his first few casts. “That Mardi Gras is a good color fro the river,” he said. When we discussed the trip over the phone, Billy indicated that he might cook me a shore lunch. I watched in amazement as we beached and Billy quickly went to work setting up a new portable stove, which Dave Murphy had sent to him after a fishing trip. I’ve been known as THE GRAVEL BAR GOURMET on Ozark streams for a couple of decades, and have cooked untold numbers of meals for others on float, camp, and fish trips. I’ve got nothing on Billy Smith. He sat in a comfortable camp chair while organizing his cooking gear and food. I watch closely as he dropped walleye filets into bubbling hot oil. Billy soon handed me a palate of deep fried potatoes and onions, golden walleye filets, with a dill pickle and tangy peppers. It was one of the most beautifully plated meals I had ever seen prepared on a riverbank. I quickly dubbed Billy my Gravel Bar Gourmet Brother. Billy and I relaxed, enjoyed our meal together, and once again voiced our opinions and thanks for the lifestyles we are able to live in the Ozarks. And we pondered the future, wondering aloud what our grandchildren will inherit from us. Billy and I both have been heavily involved in protecting the Ozarks. Yet, we wonder if we did enough. Billy recently toured Sarah Parker Pauley, the direct of the Missouri Department of Conservation, and an accompanying fisheries biologist, down Current River for a few hours. They listened intently as Billy expressed his concerns about the health of the river and the future of the smallmouth fishery. I’m certain Billy tossed in a few stories about area history, Ozark culture and big fish of the past. No doubt they were entertained as well as educated. That’s what Billy Smith does. Cutline: Billy Smith cooked walleye and all the fixings for Gravel Bar Gourmet Bill Cooper on Current River. Call 573-225-3390 to book a trip.

Grandson Catches Trophy Gasconade River Smallmouth Bill Cooper for 7-29-20

I’ll never forget taking my 9-year-old grandson, Ronnie Cooper Austin, on a recent fishing trip to the Gasconade River near Vienna, Missouri. I suspect Ronnie will long remember the trip as well. He caught a trophy size smallmouth bass that would make any veteran smallmouth bass fisherman envious. The day dawned hot and still, one of the hottest July days we’d seen thus far this month. We prepared well. A small cooler pac contained plenty of water bottles and snacks. We wore shorts and took along plenty of sunscreen and towels for those dips in the river that were sure to come as the day warmed even more. Ronnie spends the summers with me and we are on the constant lookout for a new adventure. He had never ridden in my jet boat and seemed anxious to do so. We made our plans to go to the Gasconade. We readied our fishing rods, straightened the fishing tackle and cleaned the boat. We also made sure that our life jackets were on board. I prefer to hit the water at daylight, before it gets too hot. Ronnie, on the other hand, is not so much an early riser. We compromised. I woke him up about 7:15 a.m. He had a bowl of cereal while I made our lunches and put all the necessary gear into the bait and truck. I live about 30 minutes from the popular Bell Chute access provided by the Missouri Department of Conservation. A small primitive campground is maintained underneath a grove of giant sycamore trees, which provide excellent summertime shade. Pit toilets and a grand boat ramp round out the few facilities at the access. We arrived at the Bell Chute Access at 9:30 a.m. The campground was empty and the parking lot only contained one compact car. We had the river to ourselves. It looked to be a great day on the Gasconade. After I launched the boat, Ronnie guarded it while I went to park the truck. He insisted on shoving us off, so he could get in the water and get a little wet. He commented on how good the water felt. The air temperature already hung around 90 degrees and there was not a breeze. The Gascosage BassMasters had held a tournament at the access the previous Saturday. I told Ronnie that the tournament participants had released over 120 bass at the boat ramp. We motored just a short distance downstream from the ramp before we began fishing. I picked up a bait caster rigged with a YUM Dinger 5-inch Mardi Gras colored worm. Ronnie trapped a spinning rod rigged with a Arbogast Buzz Plug. We wanted to catch his first bass on a topwater plug. I dropped to the trolling motor and headed to the shaded east side of the river. A steep bank with rock rubble sloped to the water’s edge. I flipped the worm to the edge of the water and allowed it to sink. I fully expected a trike on my first cast. Didn’t happen. Ronnie flung his topwater bait with impressive accuracy and sputtered the frog across the surface. He continued his efforts with the enthusiasm of a 9-year-old boy. Several casts later, I felt the familiar tick, tick of a bass picking up my worm. I tried to set the hook. Ronnie had switched to a rod rigged with a blue/black fleck YUM worm. A few casts later he began yelling, “Pawpa, I’ve got one. A few seconds later, he swung a chunky 13-inch smallmouth bass into the boat. “I caught the first fish, Pawpa.” he said with obvious pride. I hooked a couple of decent fish, but both got off. It quickly became obvious that tiger fish that had been released at the access earlier in the week had already dispersed. We tightened our life jackets and headed the jetboat upstream. We came to a gliding halt after a gorgeous 7-mile ride upstream. Towering bluffs, draped in bright blue skies and puffy white clouds lined the river banks. Black turkey vultures spread their wings while perched on ancient cedar trees high atop the dolomite bluffs. Once we reached our destination upstream, we grabbed our worm rods and began casting. I immediately began getting hits in the rock rubble near the shoreline. I hooked a couple of bass, but both got off. Shortly, my line began mocking off quickly. I set the hook and my 7-foot rod arched heavily. I told Ronnie I had a good fish. We wished for a net. Momentarily the fish wore down, and I slid a chunky 18-inch largemouth bass into the boat. The big fish had come off of a sand bank. I ran the boat back upstream to repeat the drift. Less than ten feet away from where I caught the big largemouth, Ronnie yelled as his riot bent over, “Pawpa, I’ve got one. It feels really big.” Ronnie handled the fish well. He soon wore it down and I lipped his 18-inch smallmouth bass and swung it into the boat. He was thrilled and we took many photos before he released the gorgeous fish. A lengthy swim break refreshed us before we returned to fishing. We managed to catch two more 17-inch bass and a host of smaller ones, but nothing under 13-inches. I hooked one more big largemouth, but we only enjoyed the show as the big bucket-mouth went airborne and flung the worm back at us. It was a marvelous day on the Gasconade for Ronnie and I, one we will not soon forget. He summed up the day when he asked, “Pawpa, do I Get bragging rights for my trophy smallmouth?” Cutline: Ronnie Cooper Austin bested his Papaw with his trophy smallmouth on the Gasconade River recently.

San Felipe Fly Fishing for Tarpon Bill Cooper for 5-19

I stepped off of the plane in Merida, Mexico into 93-degree temperatures. The memories of ice and snow in Missouri melted away. I would be enjoying big city cuisine prior to heading to the tarpon rich waters of San Felipe and then to the jungles of southern Campeche State to hunt ocellated turkeys. I’m the guest of Jordi Gene, the owner of TanKab Outfitters. Jordi is passionate about the outdoors and a key figure in the outdoor industry in Mexico. We began planning my expedition while Jordi was a guest in the CnR Outfitters deer hunting camp, for which I worked in the fall of 2018. Jordi’s plans for the Yucatan sounded to good to be true. Upon my arrival in Merida, Jordi picked me up and delivered me to Casa De Camposampiero Hotel Boutique, near his home. The entire several block area once served as a working hacienda complex with many small homes and parcels of land. The charming area has now been swallowed up by a growing Merida, but retains its quiet neighborhood and peaceful surroundings. The comforts of Casa De Campsampiero lulled me into a tranquil sleep, while the cooing of pigeons and doves woke me early the next morning. I stepped out the door of my room onto a veranda, next to the pool. Morning doves drank at the pool. Within minutes coffee was served, followed by a delightfully delicious breakfast. Jordi and I spent the following day working at his office on a proposal for mangrove restoration and outdoor education for children. We paused often to talk about past hunts we had shared and those we were soon to enjoy. The following day Jordi’s driver transported me two hours to San Felipe, on the tip of the Yucatan coast, not far from where the Gulf of Mexico collides with the Caribbean. San Felipe is a small fishing village, well off the beaten path. Most residents are dependent on the sea for their living, working steadily with commercial nets ad pangas. San Felipe Fly Fishing guides Fito Avila and Pedro Figueroa met me at the BandB San Felipe. Dedicated fly fisherman, the talented pair of guides chattered rapidly, explaining to me the tremendous tarpon fly fishery which existed at San Felipe. After a late dinner at a local cafe, Fito and I agreed that we would pick me up at the motel at 6 a.m. the next morning. The morning came early, but I was up and ready to go. Excited is an understatement of my demeanor. A nervous energy pervaded our morning meeting. Fito tales in broken English, a bit concerned about me understanding him. We shared coffee and fruit before meeting up with Pedro at the marina, a mere 100 yards away. Pedro is a big fellow with a grin and handshake to match. We laughed and joked as we loaded the panga with our fly fishing gear, my camera gear, and a cooler with drinks for our morning expedition. I dreamed of my first hook up with a San Felipe tarpon as the small motor chugged to smoky life and slowly pushed the boat form the crowd of colorful pangas, which lined the docks, and into open water. Wind on the face felt so good in the 90 degree temperatures. Within in view of the village, Pedro shut the motor down and picked up a mangrove pole from the bottom of the boat. Shoreline mangroves stretched as far as the eye could see. We rounded a point and Pedro turned the long panga to enter a small freshwater river entering the ocean. I immediately spotted tarpon rolling under the beaches of mangroves overhanging the water less than 50 yards away. With the stealth of the jaguar, Pedro silently poled the panga towards the unsuspecting fish, as Fito readied his fly rod and tensed for action. Fito glanced at me with a nervous grin and began stripping line. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my cool and maintain a steady camera while Fito made his first false casts. The fly landed perfectly. Several baby tarpon swirled, but none ate the fly. A tarpon swirled 25-yards out. Like a cat hunkering to pounce on mouse, Fito lowered his profile and delivered a perfect cast, just fee ion front of the cruising tarpon. Strip, strip. The water exploded as the tarpon hit warp speed and inhaled the fly while simultaneously going airborne. Fito broke into what I later dubbed the tarpon two step. The 12-pound tarpon few towards the sky once again, and raced toward Fito at break neck speed as soon as it gained the water. Fito could not gain line quick enough to catch up. The fly fell from the tarpon’s bony mouth, a common occurrence when fly fishing for tarpon. Deflated Fito caught his breath, while Pedro poled around the bend and up the river. As my sight line cleared the overhanging mangroves, rolling tarpon dimpled the waters surface just ahead. A few cast later, Fito hooked up again and water splashed to the skies as the tarpon struggled gin freedom. In two mornings with San Felipe Fly Fishing, I caught and saw hundreds of tarpon, far more than I’ve seen on all of my previous expeditions elsewhere combined. To book a trip with San Felipe Fly Fishing, Google TanKab Outfitters.

Another Working Deer Camp in the Books Bill Cooper for 11-22-19

I traveled to Shannon County, Missouri for deer season 2019, where I participated in the third annual Driftwood Acres deer hunting camp. Seven of us gathered at Brandon Butler’s cabin on remote cabin. A menagerie of outdoor media folks and friends arrived from as far away as California, Indiana and Tennessee. Sam Ayres, a relatively new California based hunter and social media expert, made his first trip to the Ozarks and fell in love with it. Kevin Orthman, the executive director of the Professional Outdoor Media Association hailed from Nashville, Tennessee, while “Paddle” Don Cranfill of SmallWaterJournal.fish and fireman Eric Hoskins came in from Indiana. Myself and Brandon Butler, public relations director for Roeslein Alternative Energy, and “Shags” McLeon, of the KCMQ Morning Shags Show, out of Columbia, represented Missouri. Butler had peeked everyone’s interest in joining in on the fun by sending all of us trail camera photos of three monster bucks coming in to his place, plus a very large black bear. He did, however, take the third largest buck, a beautiful 145-inch buck with his bow the week before we arrived for camp. We all met on Friday afternoon at Butler’s rustic cabin, which most of us had worked on at one time or another. The cabin is decorated with many outdoor heirlooms which have been passed down through Butler’s family. His granddaughter’s mule deer and antelope mounts hang over the fire place, as well as a wide variety of nostalgic items donated from friends. My old Big Bertha frying pan, with a 3-foot handle, hangs on the front porch. The place is a dream come true for Butler, and certainly a cabin that every outdoorsman aspires to duplicate. Every imaginable type of outdoor adventure stories flowed around the cabin on Friday evening g as we dined on homemade chicken noodle soup, my wife, Dian had prepared for us. We gravitated to a huge fire ring of rocks out in the front yard of the cabin to while away the evening telling stories about elk hunts in the Rockies, southern style duck hunts, bear hunts in Canada, tarpon in the Yucatan, and the grandeur of floating and camping on Ozark streams. The evening fire grew dim as group members made last minute preparations for the opening day of the Missouri firearms deer season the next morning. A band of coyotes howled far away. A barred owl sounded off up the creek, and as the last of us gave up the fire, someone noted the yodels of running hounds far out in the hills. Little did we know how the dogs would affect our deer hunting efforts over the next few days. Phone alarms started going off early the next morning. A jolly atmosphere formed as the excitement of our hunting party hit a crescendo. Electricity crackled in voices as everyone bade one another good luck and headed out into the chilly darkness to their respective deer stands. I hauled a crew to their stands in a CanAm Defender HD10 6x6 UTV, provided to us by Cowtown USA in Cuba, Missouri. The 6-wheeled vehicle proved remarkable in some of the roughest terrain in the Ozarks. It traversed steep hills, even deeper ravines, logs over trails, streams and muddy bottoms with ease. Group members selected hard to get to locations deep in the hardwood covered ridges and ravines of public lands near the cabin. They chose remote locations knowing I could get them there in the CanAm. “Shags” and Ayres climbed out at Shags’s favorite spot deep in the wilderness. He had taken two good bucks in as many years, and hoped to share his good luck with Sam. They hunted a half mile apart on separate ridge lines that pitched off into steep sided valleys. Paddle Don and I continued another two miles into the 75,000 acre continuous block of hardwood ridges. We began our hike into our selected spots. Don would hunt an east-west ridge, while I would hunt a north-south ridge. We had scouted our respective ridges the previous day and founds lots of rubs and scrapes and other deer sign. We had high hopes of killing a buck as we bade each other farewell and faded into the darkness. Daylight was still an hour away when I settled into next to a massive white oak tree 75 yards above a bench that traversed the face of the ridge. It appeared to be a deer highway. Two hours later nothing had materialized, so I made a move across a saddle and into another hollow. By that time, numerous shots had rang out though the hills, I silently hoped some of my buddies had scored. I caught movement and came to a stop. Two does appeared. I settled the crosshairs of my scope just behind the shoulder of the largest doe and fired. The way she ran off, I knew she had not been hit. It had been an easy 90-yard shit, but upon investigation, I discovered I had hit a sapling, which deflected the bullet. At the end of the first day, no one in camp had killed a deer. However, almost everyone reported dogs with tracking collars that were running deer. Apparently there was a well orchestrated deer dog hunting campaign going on, which is illegal. The end result was foiled deer hunts for most of us. Shags did manage to nail a very good buck on the second morning, making it three for three for his honey-hole deer hunting spot. However, no one went home empty handed. Some recorded podcasts, others wrote articles, and I landed a new job writing for one of the larger fishing tackle companies, thanks to Kevin Orthman. We deemed our camp a success and vowed to return in 2020.

High Water and Big Smallmouth Bill Cooper for 4-18-19 Recent rains have swelled area streams, but that hasn’t deterred dedicated smallmouth fishermen from hitting the rivers and streams when water levels subside to safe levels. Facebook followers have enjoyed the products of area fishermen who chase smallmouth bass on a regular basis. They have caught some big fish in the last few weeks. Tommy Bench, of Gasconade Guide Service, knows heh upper Gasconade River like the back of his hand. “Bass on the Gasconade began breaking out of their winter patterns a few weeks ago,” he said. “Bass tend to group up in deep holes during the winter months. Usually in late February they tend to disperse, often for many miles up and down the river.” Bench grew up on the Gasconade and has decades of fishing experience on the river under his belt. “Experience certainly helps me find the bass each year,” he said. “Fish tend to hang in the same areas every season, unless their has been a major change in the river, due to flooding.” Rivers do change with every major flood. Gravel bars shift, major holes fill in, and structure, such as downed trees and rock rubble get moved around by the powerful forces of flood currents. A river is a living thing, constantly in a state of change. Those fishermen who consistently catch fish, in tune with the river and the changes that occur throughout a given year. “Change in the river is a constant thing”’ Bench said. “It is amazing what the powers of nature can do to a river. And that has been especially true in the last decade or so. We have seen major floods in recent years, the likes of which I’ve never seen before.” Record floods have redesigned area rivers to the point that they often don’t seem to be the same rivers when anglers get back on them after long periods of absence. “You don’t have to go far to see the changes in the Gasconade,” Bench said. “Look at the Jerome Access . Not only is the huge concrete access gone, but the parking lot is completely destroyed. Homes which had been alongside the river for decades are gone. Whole islands disappeared and new ones formed, as did gravel bars. It’s like a whole new world out there, particularly if you haven’t been on the river in a while.” Despite the changes in the river, Bench steadily caught smallmouth bass throughout the winter months and continues to do so. “High, stained water can make fishing a little more difficult, but I’ve been at it long enough, I can find fish on a regular basis.” Being on the Gasconade River is as normal to Bench as eating is to most of us. A full time guide, he is on the river several times a week, and is great source of information about the Gasconade. He is the host of “Wild at Heart Outdoor Radio,” on ESPN 107.3 FM each Wednesday evening. You can follow the show website at www.espn1073.com, or follow Bench on his Facebook page. Not only do you get the latest fishing information about the upper Gasconade, you also have the visual pleasure of seeing the huge smallmouth bass which Bench posts on a regular basis. Anyone who loves smallmouth bass fishing owes it to themselves to follow Tommy Bench. He is a topnotch smallmouth fishing guide and tournament fishermen. His information will improve your fishing game. Further south in the Ozarks, Billy Smith has Scenic Rivers Guide Service and Tours. He guides on the Jacks Fork and Current Rivers. Smith grew up in the area and worked maintenance for the Ozark National Scenic Riverways for decades. Now retired, he devotes his time to guiding fishermen and conducting river tours. Damon Spurgeon, of Cardiac Mountain Outfitters, and I fished with Smith two weeks ago on Current River below Eminence. The river was two feet high and slightly stained. We put in at the Two Rivers access, just below where the Jacks Fork enters Current River. The river flow clipped along at a stiff pace. “The river is high enough that the park service has closed this section down to canoe traffic,” Smith said. Despite the high, murky waters Smith felt confident that the could find fish. “I’ve been chasing walleye for the last few weeks,” Smith said. “However, I caught good smallmouth all winter long. Now they have transitioned out of their winter locations and have dispersed up and down the river. They are in the pre-spawn and are staging near their intended spawning areas. Smith stopped at a shoal where he had caught lots of smallmouth over the years. He instructed Spurgeon to cast towards a visible line where the shallow water of the shoal dropped to deeper water. “There he is,” Spurgeon said. “I’ve got one, too,” Smith responded. “We’ve got a double.” And so the day went on tthe Current River with guide Bill Smith. The fishing pair caught numerous smallmouth in the 17-to-19-inch range, with the largest weighing about 3 1/2-lbs. To schedule a trip with Billy Smith look him up on facebook.com/scenicriversguideserviceandtours, or call him at 573-225-3390.

Family Bonds Through Bird Hunting

Bird Hunting Bonds a Family Bill Cooper For 3/28/18 I always enjoy watching families have fun together in the outdoors. The time spent together is often some of the greatest moments of their lives, simply enjoying outdoor recreation activities together. Few other things in life bring families closer together than relaxing and having pure

uninterrupted fun in the outdoors together. Recently I had the pleasure of following along and filming a father and his two sons as thy enjoyed their first pheasant hunt together at Wil-Nor Outdoors near Dittmer, Missouri. The trio concentrated on the guide’s instructions as they began their hunt, but as their hunt unfolded they laughed , and enjoyed one anothers company immensely. The stylish Brittany, Filson, that hunted and pointed birds for them proved to be the focal point of their fun together. Matt Frederickson had recently retired after 25 years of service with the Missouri National Guard. His youngest son, Joel, attends high school at Eureka. His elder son, Nathan, is a sophomore at West point Military Academy. Matt’s patience and concern shown to his sons, while going over gun safety measures with them, proved especially refreshing. Father knew what he was talking about and his sons payed close attention, as if hanging on to every word he had to say. An obvious bond of love and mutual respect emanated from this small tribe of hunters. Ken Bruggerman, a tall, lanky, very fit 82-year-old Wil-nor guide added a final touch of elegance to the hunting party. Ken spent his work life as an educator and school administrator. He loves working with dogs and people. His eyes twinkled as he released Filson from the dog box. The frisky little bird dog bounced around to meet everyone and scurried away to the first bit of cover in search of the first pheasant of the day. A dog, especially a well trained bird dog, works magic on a hunting party. Like a circus clown, a bird dog full of boundless energy grabs everyones attention immediately. Too, as if on cue, everyone makes their individual comments about the dog. “Beautiful dog.” “Look at him go.” “He loves to hunt, doesn’t he?” Excited comments echoed through the brisk morning air as the guys followed Filson to the first food plot of milo and big bluestem. Anticipation and excitement filled the air as the hunt began. Within minutes Filson stylishly locked down on point. Bruggerman eased closer to Filson to get a feel for where the pheasant might be hiding. He quietly waved the trio of hunters to move closer to the dog on point. Once he had the guys positioned for the best shots on a rising bird, Bruggerman moved in for the flush. Filson leaped skyward in an attempt to snatch the brilliantly colored rooster pheasant out of the air as it went airborne. Bird hunters are often spellbound by the magic of the moment. A bird dog on point, the anticipation of the flush and the forthcoming shots fired, all collectively, create a hang moment frozen in time as if picture perfect. Pheasants, however don’t pause for human kind hang time. The Frederickson trio broke from their shroud of amazement a milli-second to late. The cackling, fleeing pheasant had gained considerable distance before the first shot was fired. Other shots rang out, seemingly speeding the rooster’s ascertained getaway. “That bird’s headed for the next county,” Bruggerman laughed. Among the raucous laughter of the Fredericksons, I heard comments about speedy birds and slow reaction times. It’s the common spell that gets every bird hunter, especially at the beginning of a hunt. Everyone brushed the misses off and vowed to do better on the next bird. The opportunity came quickly as Filson pointed again, before everyone had time to regain their composure. Nathan manned one side of the food plot strip by himself, while his dad and brother manned the other side. They had all escape routes covered. Bruuggerman once again moved in behind the pointing dog to flush the pheasant. The bird leapt skyward, almost perfectly vertical as it cleared the big bluestem grass, which stood seven feet high. It caught the wind and and picked up speed as it flew over Nathan’s head. In the hurried excitement, Nathan fumbled the safety on his shotgun, giving the fleeing pheasant an increased chance of escaping. Nathan recovered beautifully and fired at the fleeing bird. A tuft of feathers floated on the morning breeze. “I hit it, I hit it,” Nathan chortled proudly. The bird sailed to the nearby woods 150 yards away. “You hit it,” Bruggerman said to encourage the young hunter. “We’ll find that bird when we circle back. Filson will find it for sure.” Filson wriggled through the thick cover of the food plot, coursing back and forth in his attempts to pick up the scent of another pheasant. He bounded out of the cover, ran 30 yards down the side of the food plot and immediately swapped ends as he caught the scent of a bird as he ran by it. His body trembled with a solid point. Another brightly colored rooster vaulted out of the tall grass as everyone approached. Joel swung his shotgun smoothly and fired as the bird reached 30 yards. It tumbled out of the air in a cloud of feathers. The entire hunting party yelled their praises. Joel enjoyed his proud moment. Both Frederickson boys downed pheasants before dad finally connected with a solid shot. Joel and Nathan gathered around to poke fun at Matt and sincerely congratulate him on his first pheasant of the day. They had jelled as a family unit, tight, proud and committed. I held back a bit as the Fredericksons walked towards the next food plot in a tight group. Undistinguishable chatter echoed across the field. Family happiness filled the moment.

February for Stockton Lake Crappie and Walleye

Stockton Lake - A Sleeper Crappie and Walleye Destination Bill Cooper Crappie and walleye fishermen are a dedicated lot and often fish for these favored species in the cold weather months. However, if duty and reponsibility kept you off the lakes and streams over the winter, don’t despair. You can still get in on the crappie an walleye action at Stockton Lake. Kris Nelson, owner and guide of Tandem Fly Outfitters on Stockton Lake, in western Missouri, says that Stockton is an underutilized fishing resource. Stiff winds and pelting rain greeted us as Kris swung his big SeaArk boat into open water. We had launched at Stockton Lake State Park in the shelter of a well protected cove. Our only consolation at the moment was the fact that temperatures had soared into the fifties, after a long spell of bitterly cold temperatures. Kris had guided a trip in 8-degree weather just the week prior to our fishing trip. We were braving the elements to pursue walleye, best known for it’s culinary qualities. The delectable fish is known by most as a northern species and pursued heavily in Michigan, Wisconsin and surrounding states. “The Missouri Department of Conservation does an excellent job of stocking Stockton with walleye,” Nelson said. “I’d say it’s the best walleye fishery in the state of Missouri.” Nelson and his wife, Amanda, own Stone Creek Lodge on Stockton Lake. They have a dozen or so clean, comfortable rooms along with a pizza and tackle shop just a stone’s throw up the hill from the lodge. It’s a perfect combination for anglers visiting Stockton Lake. John Bishop, Kris’s business partner, joined us for the day. He bounced into action as soon as Kris motored into a cove sheltered from the wind. “We’ve been catching crappie like crazy in here for several weeks, Kris said. “We’ve been catching limits in an hour or so. I want to check on them before we start walleye fishing.” Kris maintains the latest electronics on his boat and as soon as he walked to the bow of the boat, he pointed to the Lowrance unit and said, “look at this Bill.” I didn’t know what I was seeing, but Kris indicated the blob on the screen was a huge ball of shad accompanied by an equally large ball of crappie. John stepped to the front of the boat and dropped a Shad Daddy bait rigged on a jig head into the chilly water. He halted the jig at about 25 feet. Seconds later his rod arched and he swung a fat crappie into the boat. “I’ll grab the video camera,” I said as Kris snatched a Lew’s crappie rod out of the rack and joined John on the front of the boat. By the time I dug the camera out of my bag, the guys had a double on. “I think you’ve found them, I teased. “Ooh, they’ve been here for some time,” Kris retorted. “My clients caught limits here yesterday.” What happened over the next thirty minutes was some of the best crappie fishing I had ever witnessed, but that is another story. We really had walleye on our minds. “We gotta stop this and catch some walleye,” Kris said. Thunder rolled in the east. John checked the weather radar. “It looks like we are on the edge of some heavy stuff, John said. Lightning flashed to the north. “I think we’d better head for the shelter of the dock,” he said. We quickly racked our rods and Kris fired up the big boat motor and sped towards home base back at Stockton State park. When he swung the Sea-Ark into the main channel, we were greeted by big waves and a dark curtain of heavy rain bearing down on us. I was especially grateful that Kris ran a big boat. Rain blew at us sideways as the boat easily cut through the rolling waves, providing us a safe and comfortable ride back to the dock. “It would have been impossible to find the dock in that squall without the electronics,” John pointed out. We all relished the cover of the boat slip and checked our phone messages and e-mails while the squall blew over. Twenty minutes later, we were water borne again. I fully expected walleye to be in a different location, but Kris swung the boat into the very same cove we had left earlier. He and John began rigging rods. “Here they are, Bill,” Kris said, as he pointed at the LED dispaly. Groups of walleye were strung out on the bottom in 30 feet of water. Kris worked on cutting up a fresh shad, while John rigged a big, fat worm on a jighead. John yelled, “walleye on,” before Kris had finished cutting up the bait. “I think I will go with a worm rig,” Kris laughed. I joined them. Kris controlled the trolling motor to maintain the boat on a drift course that paralleled a long line of walleye strung out on the bottom. It was easy to feel the jig bumping the rocky bottom. The fishing method invovled slowly, but steadily, sweeping the rod forward and reeling up the line and repeating the process. “I’m stuck,” I muttered under my breath. “Oooh, that rock moved,” I muttered again. “Here we go guys,” I chuckled. “Good fish!” Kris slid the net under what had become the first walleye I had ever caught intentionally. I had caught them incidental to bass fishing. “What do you think about that, Mr. Bill? Kris asked. “I want to do it again!” I said. We were about to complete a drift when John hooked up again. “This one is bigger,” he said. On his next cast his rod arched. “Oh, this one is bigger, he said. Shortly after his third cast, he moaned, “I think this one is bigger.” The bite had really turned on. In short order we all had a limit of walleye in the boat. We had scarcely noticed the steady rain and heavy wind. “That’s the way it is when you are catchng wallleye,” Kris said. We paused for photos. “This is amazing,” I said. “We haven’t seen another boat all day.” “I’m telling you,” Kris responded.”Stockton Lake is the most under utilized fishing resource in the state of Missouri. It’s a real sleeper.” I believe him. The crappie walleye bite at Stockton Lake changes as spring and summer approaches, but Nelson can still find fish. To get in on the action, call Kris Nelson at 417-839-2762, or look him up on Facebook at Tandem fly Outfitters.