March 07, 2008 01:07 am
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I’m not much for crowds, and although I’ve tried many times, I’ve never actually made it to Roaring River on March 1, the opening day of trout season.
This year, as I had several times in the past, I had the truck loaded and ready to go the night before. The next morning as I backed from our driveway I had every intention of turning right at the corner and then south at the next, eventually passing through Cassville on my way to Roaring River State Park to partake in the festival of the opening of trout season 2008.
However, several minutes later, I found myself driving north along Missouri highway 43 in the exact opposite direction of the trout park. Unfortunately, I’d already traveled 11 miles before I realized what I’d done.
Last year on opening day, I’d made it all the way to Capps Creek before becoming sidetracked and stopping to fish that little stream for the day. This time I hadn’t even managed to get out of town.
I slowed briefly while considering whether to turn the truck around but decided to go on and not to fight whatever force had brought me this far.
Two days earlier, while talking with trusted fishing pals, I’d heard stories of huge bluegill being caught right off the jetties at Pin Oak Lake. My friends swore these monster fish were within feet of the shore amongst the chunk rocks.
I’ve caught some decent-sized catfish and a few nice bass that might go a pound from that lake but never a sizable bluegill.
I left the highway twice to check on ponds along the way. Each looked full and inviting, however I continued on. Shawnee Trail Conservation Area was calling me.
The wind was light and the temperature was in the mid-50s when I left town. By the time I arrived at Pin Oak Lake, the temperature had risen almost ten degrees and the wind had picked up noticeably.
The area around the lake is wide open with very little to block the wind. This fact was driven home as I stood in the open door of the truck arranging equipment, and the door slammed against the calf of my leg. I was relieved that it hadn’t broken my rod as I limped around in circles, feeling quite foolish.
The wind worsened as I walked the edge of the water while casting as best I could. I lost two fish that I never saw and who knows how many more I never felt. The whitecaps grew higher and higher until finally I had to admit defeat and return to the truck.
I tried several of the old mine pits in the area, some with sections that were out of the wind, but the high water eliminated most of the bank that was accessible. I soon realized that it would have been wise to have brought along the kayak.
I returned the fly rod to its case and returned to the truck. The thermometer indicated 78 degrees even with the wind — not a bad way to spend a winter’s day.
Another opening day at the trout park missed.
I have friends who go every year. They look forward to it, eagerly planning and talking about it for days before the event. Perhaps I could pitch in with them, sleep in the back seat of one of their cars and just wake up and I’m there.
Maybe it is a simple fear of crowds and I could order one of those programs off late night television.
I’ll definitely see you at Roaring River next year — maybe.
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