It was hot as I crouched in the dry creek bed examining a two-inch gash in the sidewall of my tire.
I had felt the steering go mushy, and my brother-in-law Max and my nephew Eli in the lead vehicle had stopped. We’d noticed the flat at the same time.
Seven of us, traveling in four separate cars, were on our way to the Mt. Hersey access point on the Buffalo River. We were planning to camp there for the night before beginning our float the next day.
I had my solo canoe strapped to my truck. Ron Vocelka and his son Cooper were coming from Joplin and bringing their Mad River canoe strapped to their Jeep. Steve Langford and his son Rusty were also coming from Joplin with their two big Buffalo canoes on a trailer. Max and Eli were coming from Oklahoma laden with camping supplies.
Even with the sketchy cellular reception, Max and Eli, Ron and Cooper and I had managed to arrive at Herman Way, the dirt lane exit to Mt. Hersey, at about the same time. The lane was rough, rocky and winding as we crossed the dry creek bed where my tire met its end.
Although a rocky wash isn’t the ideal place to change a tire, we had the spare installed within a few minutes and were again on our way.
We arrived at the Mt. Hersey river access without further problems. Steve and Rusty drove up a short time later and we all began to set up camp.
Max and Eli found a nice open area in the trees for their tent, a recent Father’s Day gift to Max. The two boys, Rusty and Cooper, picked a gravel bar near the water for their tent site.
Since the forecast wasn’t calling for rain, Steve laid his bedroll out on the trailer, and Ron and I found trees that were just right for our hammocks. Soon we all gathered around the trailer and prepared sandwiches for dinner. The kids got in some fishing before we turned in for the night.
Complete with rain fly and mosquito netting, I was very comfortable in my brand new Hennessey hammock. I was using it for the first time on this trip. I was awakened sometime later by thunder and could see bright flashes in the distance.
I heard Ron scurrying off to his car; he hadn’t installed a fly over his hammock. I snuggled down, thinking what a great test this would be of my new gear.
I soon awoke, and my left side was cold. It took a minute for me to realize that my sleeping bag was soaked and water was pouring freely through my new hammock.
On the way to my truck, I noticed that Steve had already abandoned his pallet. As I settled myself into the back seat of my pickup, I could see Ron through the heavy rain, hustling the two boys up and out of their tent where the rising river had surrounded its base.
Max and Eli slept dry and comfortable in their new tent, although they did get up once in order to move their car to the graveled parking area. It was a very wise move. Their previous low-lying spot had become a swamp by the next morning.
As we cooked breakfast in the rain, we set out some sticks to mark the river level. By the time we’d eaten our eggs and bacon, we could no longer see the first marker and the water had overtaken the second. The gravel bars had completely disappeared, and Steve’s weather radio reported that we’d had three inches of rain overnight.
The previously serene river had grown ominous. The water was dark and moving fast with more and more debris rolling by. We decided to pack up the rest of our wet gear and move to a safer starting point.
We retraced our path to the highway and headed south toward the Tyler Bend Visitor Center where the U.S. highway 65 bridge crosses the river.
After touring the facility, we unloaded the canoes, moved our shuttle vehicles downriver to the Gilbert access and launched the boats.
Even though we floated a much shorter stretch of the Buffalo than we’d planned, the trip was a success. We quickly lost count of all the smallmouth that were caught and released, and both of the boys are now confirmed river smallmouth fishermen. And everyone enjoyed the time spent relaxing on the gravel bars during our numerous breaks.
I’ll soon be back to fish the Buffalo River again, and I’m pretty sure I know of six volunteers who would be eager to join me. However, next time I believe I’ll throw in a much better tire jack and find a more accurate weather forecast.
Address correspondence to Silas Gray at ifish@silasgray.com.
