We carried chairs, rods and a cooler down to the shore to relax and catch a few sunfish before starting dinner.

After eating, we sat around the campfire talking until we finally had to call it a night.

The next morning, after a fine breakfast, we secured the camp, loaded Harry and Carl’s canoe, my kayak and Earl’s solo canoe aboard Earl’s truck and caravaned toward our launch point at the highway 17 bridge.

The first riffle was wide and slow and we went through easily. I moved ahead past a set of rapids, leaving the first holes for the others to fish.

I caught a nice sized goggle-eye from that first stop before I noticed that the water was running faster and the river had narrowed. I strapped my rod into its holder alongside the kayak and turned the boat in order to face the upcoming shoot of water. Near the center was a small submerged island, narrowing the passage even further. On the side I would have to pass, I could see a willow bush. A snarl of brush had gotten caught up in the bush and was reaching out over the water.

I passed a little closer than I’d planned, and my reel got snagged by one of the branches and was pulled free from its holder. I landed and slid the kayak up onto shore just a few yards further downstream and walked back for a look.

Amazingly, from across the stream I could see the rod, still hanging from one of the branches. I crossed the river at a more shallow point, made my way over and retrieved the rod. It was unbroken.

A disaster had been averted! Why float for days down a beautiful and famous smallmouth river like the Jack’s Fork with no fishing rod?

The adventure continues next week.