Everything Outdoors with Chalen

Groundhog Day, in retrospect, seems a fitting day to have taken this journey. Having plenty of time off work available and with everyone still recuperating from the busy season, February was a great time to try and add one more stream to the “completed” column of the Blue Ribbon Slam list. Like all the Blue Ribbon streams, Spring Creek was at least two hours away from home, so it was going to make for a solid day trip, though not as taxing as my previous trip to Crane Creek.

Spring Creek Dumps into the Big Piney River a few miles south of Interstate 44, with the Blue Ribbon Section running almost parallel to Fort Leonard Wood less than two miles to the west. The public access is best from a small county road that runs along the stream just up from its confluence with the Big Piney, and tracks along until you reach private property. There are plenty of pull offs and spots to hop in and out, but I made for one of the upper stretches where an old forest service road cuts off and actually crosses the creek.

Being February, it was cold. It had warmed considerably on my early drive, up to 38 as I slipped on a cheap pair of waders I had acquired off amazon. As I walked down to the stream, the crisp winter air filled my lungs and did more to wake me than a whole pot of coffee could. There is always something special about the first time you walk up to a stream. Whether a roaring river or babbling brook, you almost always hear it first. As you keep going it gets louder, drawing you in like the crescendo of the finest operatic performance, and then you see it. Sometimes shielded, bits and pieces through a tree line or brush, sometimes, as today, you make a turn, pop over a hill, and there it is. Possibility incarnate, a new stretch of water.

As I dipped into the creek where the forest service road crossed, I began to immediately realize the folly that came with cheap waders. As the cold water seeped in from a few noticeable leaks, I dunked my thermometer in the water and it came up 39 degrees. Fish would be slow, and so would I. The good news is, you really only feel cold in that kind of water for about 20 minutes, after that, you don’t feel much of anything. I stuck to the shallows, knowing how foolhardy an unplanned swim would be.

The world was beautiful as the sun warmed the air and things began to awaken. Birds flitting about, the barking of a suspicious squirrel, but so far, no fish. I chalked it up to a combination of cold water and the fact that I seem to have to re-learn how to be stealthy every time I fish. These wild rainbows are notoriously spooky, and try as I might, I always have to spook one before I remember that. But today, that was not going to be an option.

This is going to be a much shorter story than the last installments of my Blue Ribbon pursuits. I spent six hours fishing three sections of Spring Creek, and saw one Northern Hogsucker, and a whole passel of various darter species. Upstream, downstream, it didn’t seem to matter, I just could not seem to find fish. I’m sure they were there, either running so far I wasn’t even seeing them dart away or tucked into the handful of deep holes and rootwads. I started packing my way back to the car, trying to decide if I had time to stop somewhere else to redeem myself. A call from my wife asking if I could pick up our son from school gave me a clear answer that my day was done.

I pulled off at a fast food joint to grab something for a long overdue lunch and began peeling off my leaky waders. Standing in the parking lot, I pulled them off and watched water begin seeping out. I grabbed the toes and dumped about a gallon of now lukewarm spring water onto the asphalt. A couple of tacos and I was on the road to home. Falling into bed that evening, I reflected on the day’s trek, over four miles of beautiful Ozark countryside, the wonder of watching darters flit about in the stream, and coming home empty handed. At work the next day, my boss asked how my day off was. “ Nearly perfect,” I replied.

We should get a new tent,
Ours is old and worn and spent,

Last Year it started leaking slightly,
On a trip where it rained nightly,

And long before that we had to tape,
One of the poles to keep its shape,

The zipper won’t zip more than halfway,
Leaving nothing to keep the mosquitos at bay,

Once on a trip in the bitter cold,
We accidentally melted a hole,

And once when we were hiking out,
We lost the stakes and now go without,

A hundred trips this tent has borne,
And for its trouble is looking worn,

Time for a new one, maybe bigger,
But now that I’m ready to pull the trigger,

With all the trips that have came and went,
It really still is a Very Good Tent.