March 28, 2008 12:42 am
—
Sometime after that last heavy rain, after the flood waters had somewhat receded but were still too high for good fishing, I made a return trip to the trout section of Capps Creek, just off Missouri highway 60 between Granby and Monett.
Driving through the entrance gate, I noted the large metal sign reading “Welcome to Jolly Mill Park — gates close at sundown.” Following the gravel drive I passed the old mill and the gazebo and parked near the stream.
Jolly Mill Park sits on a section of Capps Creek where its old mill pond is fed by the creek as well as a large spring, providing the cold water required by all the trout which live downstream.
There are two bridges in the park — an old iron highway bridge and a newer concrete bridge which is still in use. The Missouri Department of Conservation’s Capps Creek Conservation Area starts a short distance past the new bridge. I had fished the area only a few times and was still trying to figure it out.
I assembled my four-weight nine-foot fly rod and tied on a black foam beetle with a small midge hanging 18 inches below it. I soon caught three small rainbow trout from the weed bed that stretches between the two bridges — not a bad start.
I bypassed the new bridge, leaving it to a group of anglers who were obviously set up for the day. One fellow, who I thought was asleep, suddenly jerked up, grabbed his rod and set the hook, landing a nice little rainbow.
I walked to the gate which marked the beginning of the conservation area. I found the trail much wider than on my previous trips. The fence that used to separate the creek from a cow pasture was lying flat, littered with debris from the recent floodwaters.
After several yards the bank dropped down, providing easy access to the gravel bar which runs for several yards along the middle of the stream. I could see small fish coming to the surface and feeding on tiny insects that were hatching out. I tied on a size 18 Griffith’s Gnat, a small dry fly, walked out onto the bar and began to cast toward the activity.
I could see the red dot shining behind the eye of the chub long before I brought it in. After catching several of the little fish on the tiny fly, I decided that I’d better move on down and continue my search for the brown trout.
When the gravel bar ended, I replaced the dry with a streamer and returned to the bank. As I walked along, the trees and brush thickened and I explored the water as best I could.
Across the stream I could see an older fellow in his tall rubber boots sitting in his lawn chair out in the water. I just had to stop. We carried on a conversation across the stream as I tried to cast amongst the trees and from atop a bank that was much too high for a roll cast.
He kindly ignored the first three times I hung the lure in the trees, but on the fourth he finally asked, “Are you hung up again?,” and on the fifth he suggested a shorter rod.
I did manage to catch a few fish — all chubs. A pair of young guys walked by and asked if we were catching any. I exclaimed that I’d caught three and my lawn chair friend said that he‚d caught three — trout. He was a great guy and most helpful. He pointed out several areas that I should try when the water returns to normal, but finally said he had to go.
I worked my way back upstream. As I reached the old bridge I saw a young kid sitting on one of the picnic tables with a big sack full of corn. He was busily shoving one kernel at a time onto his hook and once it was full, he eagerly cast it over the side. I stopped near the end of the bridge and cast my two-fly rig once again.
The fly on top was drifting nicely when I glanced toward the parking lot and became suddenly aware of a total lack of cars. There hadn’t been many all day, but now it was just my truck and the kid’s four-wheeler. The sun was almost down and just a glow on the horizon — sundown. That’s why there were no cars.
I reeled in and quickly headed toward my truck. I set the gear as best I could in the front seat and drove swiftly but carefully toward the gate. The caretakers, who were out and walking toward the gate, were still yards away as I waved and sailed through the gate.
I’ll definitely be back under better conditions and try for those big browns again. I may not bring my lawn chair, rubber boots or sack of corn, but I’ll park across the road in the MDC parking lot where there are no gates.
Address correspondence to Silas Gray at ifish@silasgray.com.
Copyright © 1999-2008 cnhi, inc.