By Silas Gray

sports@joplinglobe.com

Eddie Bauer and I had started out the morning with a fine breakfast at the Front Porch Restaurant in Yellville, Ark.

After eating, we’d driven a few miles south to Wild Bill’s Outfitter where we made shuttle arrangements and started our day of kayaking and fishing on the Buffalo River.

We’d been paddling for four hours when we came upon a tricky spot where the stream narrowed and became substantially faster. We decided to stop and study how we were going to fish it. I had beached my boat when Eddie asked for help in landing his.

With the water only eight inches deep and the boat only one foot from shore, we somehow sank his kayak. I helped him up, and he stepped right out onto shore. While draining the water from Eddie and his kayak, we decided that this spot would be just fine for lunch.

We ate well on the apples, dried fruit and nuts that Ed and his wife Margaret had picked up the night before while they were in town for dinner. Ed, who will be 82 in November, had invited me to go along, but I had been tired and wanted to turn in early.

Those apples were particularly welcome as they provided moisture and we’d left most of our water back in the truck. As we ate we studied the narrow and swift section of water that was coming up. We sat on the sand in the shade of the willow trees and discussed how we were going to fish it.

Our target was the shallow calm water on the far side of the stream. Swinging flies from that side, through the fast section and into the slack water, should produce fish. However, paddling straight across that fast current might be tricky.

We launched and I paddled hard, reaching the shallow water of the far side. However, Eddie just missed and landed inside the narrows where the water was swift. His boat paused for a second before blasting on through, ending up in a shallow run near the eddy below.

The area he accidentally reached turned out to be much better than our planned one. I didn’t catch a single fish while he was happily landing bluegill from the slack water.

We fished several shallow runs after that, catching some sunfish and a few smallmouth bass but none of any size.

As I rounded the bend coming out of one shoal, I came upon one of my favorite spots — a pond-sized backwater area. I carefully worked the downed trees and brush that had washed in and caught several smallmouth bass. The largest was 13 inches, not a giant but not bad.

With a mile left to go, the river changed. The flat wide water with the occasional riffles and a few shoals deepened. The low hills became bluffs which rose high on either side of the river.

Large boulders appeared many feet below my kayak, and I quickly realized that the flies I’d brought along wouldn’t work well at this water depth. I swapped out my fly gear for a spinning rod, heavy jigs and plastic worms.

I began to hook larger fish and more of them, and, although I lost a lot more than I landed, it was nice that the smallmouth were being cooperative for the last part of our trip.

At the end of one peaceful stretch, our calm water suddenly changed, becoming a fast, wide and shallow shoal. Sometime in the past a large tree had slipped on the bank, and one of its limbs was hanging across the entire width of the stream, leaving only a few feet of clearance. I quickly stowed my rod in time to duck down and pass safely.

However, I turned to see Ed fighting for his fly rod which had became entangled in the tree. He eventually came through a little shaken but with his fly rod still in his hand.

Ed was right about the distance. He’d insisted we take a 4 1/2-mile trip rather than the nine-mile float suggested by the outfitter. Just as the sun was beginning to drop below the hills, our take-out point at the highway 14 Bridge came into view. Our timing was perfect. Well, almost perfect as it suddenly began to rain.

The rain didn’t last long, and we were soon driving back toward the motel.

Eddie was busily making plans for tomorrow’s trip. He said that even though the White River was way up, we could borrow his friend’s power boat and fish it anyway.

I turned to him and said, “Ed, you’re 81, at least act like you’re tired for my sake!”

He smiled and handed me a bottle of water.