By Silas Gray

sports@joplinglobe.com

My wife and I were standing near one end of the iron bridge. Our kayaks were sitting nearby with our gear neatly stacked aboard.

Waist-high weeds made the path that led to the water nearly impassable, prompting Karen and I to apply another coat of bug repellent before going on.

The trussed bridge which had been completed around 1915 appeared sound to me. However, it must not have appeared so to the wide-eyed couple who were sitting in their brand new SUV at the very edge of the bridge’s wooden deck. They lowered their window and asked hesitantly if it was safe to cross.

My response — that Karen and I had walked across it earlier — seemed to reassure them very little. The driver smiled weakly, thanked us, gripped the steering wheel tightly and eased out onto the bridge. I was glad to see them exiting safely from the other side.

Once Karen was coated with extra sunscreen and bug spray, we started down the overgrown path. I peered about wide-eyed, picturing all the snakes that were surely hiding among the rocks and high weeds and brush. I was relieved as we broke through the weeds to the gravel bar at the water’s edge.

Once our fly rods were strung and all the loose items were tucked away, we started down the creek.

Karen and I were fishing a three-mile stretch of Big Sugar Creek. We were on our way to Creekside Campground to meet our friends and fellow MAKO members for a campsite potluck dinner. MAKO is a local fly fishing group, and many of the members were spending the weekend camping.

The stream was in fine shape. The water was just a little higher than normal, which is great for floating. It was also slightly stained which can often help the fishing. We launched the boats and were immediately picked up by the gently flowing water.

In just a few yards the creek swung sharply, running beneath the iron bridge, where the gravel banks of the outside edge were transformed into a rocky bluff — perfect conditions for smallmouth bass. I slid my kayak onto the shallow water of the inside bend and began casting.

The water was deep, and I was working my heavily weighted crawfish imitation over and around the rocks. I began catching smallmouth right away. Although they weren’t large, they were plentiful.

Karen had her fly rod rigged and ready, but she was mainly exploring. She was poking into every nook and cranny along the creek and enjoying the beautiful day. From the bluff I looked back to see that she’d stopped to watch the large water snake that we’d passed. It was also out enjoying the day. Its brown and tan patches and triangular head glowed in the bright sunshine. The snake didn’t seem bothered by us in the least.

At another point she called for me, and I turned my boat expecting to see her fly rod bent. Instead she was pointing at a big bird’s nest that was at eye level in the bluff. She said that she counted seven chicks.

The bluff became shallow and weedy, and goggle-eye took over for the smallmouth bass. About a mile downstream, the creek widened, and we entered an extremely shallow riffle where we had to exit the boats. Just beyond the riffle, the water deepened, and there was another bluff.