Stage 1 and Serious Fishing

Greetings from Missouri. We hope you will enjoy following us along on our 09’summer adventure. My job is to keep you informed of the where and when of our trip. My Roving Reporter has already set the tone for his contributions. I just warn you to only believe a small proportion of his tales. This trip can really be divided into three stages. Stage 1, the first two weeks of travel, is almost finished. We left the Shenandoah Valley on the 22nd of June. We spent a day at home in Urbana on business and enjoyed a lovely dinner with Mom and Dad Walters’ friends at Clarke Lindsey Village. Leaving Urbana behind, we drove south past small towns from childhood memories all the way to Cave In Rock State Park in southern Illinois on the Ohio River. If you remember, that was the week of the unbelievably temperatures. We explored in the mornings and hunkered in the AC the rest of the day. Finally the weather broke and we began the next leg on a ferry across the river to Kentucky. We dawdled across northwest Kentucky, crossed the Mississippi River, and continued our journey through southeastern Missouri. For the next week we camped in three different Missouri State parks. Daisy and I walked, Chucked fished, and we enjoyed a canoe trip together. We met our camping friends, Bob and Pat Collins, as planned, in the third park. We spent the 4th of July weekend sharing fishing and good food with them. Tomorrow we will all be traveling north to meet the group of campers that will form the Airstream caravan that we are taking to Churchill, Manitoba. The rendezvous is set for Sioux Falls, SD on July 8th. That will certainly be the most adventurous stage of the trip. Hopefully we will have internet capability as we travel so that we can keep you up to date. I see we have added the Hansons and Germans to our followers. This blogging is another fun part of the adventure. I urge everyone to keep in touch.

And from your Roving Reporter. Actually it is your “Wading Reporter.” I spare no effort or expense to bring you the strange stuff found as we travel America. And this is no exception. I located the home of the serious fisherman. The very serious fisherman. Sally found a state park in the Ozarks that offered fly fishing opportunities, but little did I know. For those of you uninitiated to the Ozarks, it is located in the middle of nowhere Missouri, miles from anywhere and founded by folks from the hills of West Virginia. In two days travel, the largest community stretched to reach 2,000 and the only critters I saw were mules and burrows. But reach the park we did and I gasped when I rounded the final turn… a beautiful waterfall dotted with fisherman waving sticks. My kind of place I thought. Then I started counting the sportsmen. Five…Ten…Fifteen…Twenty. We pulled in to the campground – it was time for self registration – and started to look for a site. Hummm. Every camp site had a clothes line with waders and hip boots. Picnic tables were covered with drying boots. Poles – cane, spinning and fly were tilted bristling from vehicles.. Men were seated rigging in prep…rather like mending nets. This is a serious fishing crowd. We found our spot and departed for registration. I inquired about trout fishing and was sent to the camp store for all the proper licenses. An ABC store in Virginia requires less documentation to open for business but I purchased an annual out of state license and a local park pass. I was ready. After all, this was not my first time fishing. Sally took me to the stream. Oh my goodness. A human was posted every five to ten yards. Old folks. I met a elderly gentleman who brought his metal chair and plopped it mid-stream and commenced fly fishing. I saw a gal with a walker. There were kids not yet in school. There was a dad with a baby in his arms. Everyone looked at me as if I were fishing without pants. Of course serious fishermen and women have to have a uniform. I didn’t. I thought of George Orwell. Each march to the stream with official Orvis chest waders, a dead grass green Exofficio fishing shirt, boots, a landing net fastened to the back, sun glasses on a lanyard. No staff. Head gear type was optional but covering required. That park daily fishing pass? It must be affixed to the back of the hat. Next I examined the quest. Each was a precisely 12.5 inches. I learned later 2.25 fish were released each day for every daily permit tag sold. Only on site hatchery grown rainbow trout. You could catch and keep 4. Now I thought, how will I know when to start. I heard the answer at precisely 0630. I shot straight up in bed. My GOD we are under attack!. Where is the air raid shelter? Two blasts on the siren (start fishing. start fishing). I am late. They are starting without me. I met folks walking home with their stringer, and I greeted them with a friendly “Good Morning” and commented on their good fortune. Scowl. Serious fishermen do not communicate. As I approached the water I discovered serious fisherman do not allow water recreation on their trout streams. The sign shouted: No swimming. No boating. No pets. No nothing. We are serious about our fishing. We also classify our serious folks: fly, artificial and anything goes. Pressure. Stress. Will I pass the test? Would I measure up to the standard, serious fisherman? I don’t know. While I was driving up the road, I thought maybe it doesn’t make any difference. After all, I caught my personal best rainbow, over 16 inches. But I could not shake the question of being serious, a serious fisherman. Had I found the meca of serious fishing? It just keep nagging at me. The next park hocked the answer when I rounded the curve and there was the stream, the water fall, the combat fishermen standing shoulder to shoulder, the fly only zone, and the signs. Is this ground hog day? Did I miss a turn in my travel? Nope. I learned there are four serious trout fishing parks. Folks take their fishing seriously in Missouri.