Dream Stream Float

NORTHERN TREATS PART OF TRIP

Trees cloaked in fall color greet a trio of paddlers on a two-day Kings River float trip. Matt Hughes, left, of Lone Jack, Mo., left, and his brother, Mark Hughes, alias “Hog Ears” Hughes, of Alaska, drifted down the Kings on Sunday and Monday to fish for smallmouth bass and enjoy a night of gravel-bar camping.

Trees cloaked in fall color greet a trio of paddlers on a two-day Kings River float trip. Matt Hughes, left, of Lone Jack, Mo., left, and his brother, Mark Hughes, alias “Hog Ears” Hughes, of Alaska, drifted down the Kings on Sunday and Monday to fish for smallmouth bass and enjoy a night of gravel-bar camping.

Thursday, October 18, 2012

— We’re catching fish after hard-fighting fish.

We’re fine-dining on moose steaks grilled over the campfire.

There’s delicious baked potatoes fresh from Alaska and hot, sliced mushrooms in a heavenly sauce.

Somebody pinch me.

This dream of a float trip wasn’t in the 49th state. It was right here in Arkansas on the Kings River.

The occasion for an overnight Sunday-Monday float was a visit from my buddy, Hog Ears, who hails from Alaska and packed an ice chest full of Alaska goodies on his flight to the Lower 48.

Hog Ears’ name may ring a bell with readers. Our adventures years ago while sharing a backwoods bachelor cabin have been written up frequently here in Outdoors.

OK, so his real name is Mark Hughes, but he’s always been HogEars to me.

As you’ll see in this story, his ears are pretty darned normal. Hog Ears got the nickname when he was a kid. It came from his dad, who was roasting a hog and wrapped the pig’s ears in foil, or something like that.

Anyway, Hog Ears has been Hog Ears since I met him in high school.

His brother, Matt, from Lone Jack, Mo., near Kansas City, has the more conventional name. Both drove down on Saturday to rendezvous for a glorious two days of floating, fishing and camping on the Kings River.

LET IT RAIN

When I called Ernie Kilman at Kings River Outfitters last week, he said our plans sounded peachy. Only one problem. There wasn’t any water.

I wanted to do the 11-mile fl oat from Kings River Outfitters down to the U.S. 62 access. Ernie said it’s so dry the river practically goes underground on part of that float.

He recommended the seven-mile trip from Rockhouse access to the private take-out at his canoe and kayak business.

“The river is more of a channel on that fl oat,” Ernie said. “You won’t have to drag as much.”

A stormy Saturday night brought needed rain and raised the level of the Kings River 4 to 5 inches.

When Hog Ears, Matt and I arrived at Ernie’s place on Sunday, we rejoiced in the higher water level. Ernie said the Rockhouse fl oat was still the way to go.

He dropped us off at Rockhouse at high noon. Water flowed through grass on the gravel bars, evidence of a good rise in the river.

We loaded camping gear, fishing tackle, and oh, those moose steaks, into two canoes. Off we went down the river.

The 17-foot square-stern aluminum canoe I paddled was our cargo boat and carried most of the gear. I paddled solo to heed my favorite motto: “Love many. Trust a few. Always paddle your own canoe.”

Hog Ears and Matt were a team in my 16-foot Buffalo brand canoe.

The river had risen, all right, but it flowed without a trace of mud. The water was gorgeous and clear and reflected the warm sunshine on an Indian summer Sunday.

SMALLMOUTHS RULE

Hog Ears and Matt grew up fishing on Ozark streams. Nowadays, Hog Ears takes advantage of the fabulous salmon and halibut fishing in his home state, along with moose and caribou hunting.

Hog Ears had plenty of Alaska salmon filets in his ice chest next to the moose steaks when his flight landed in Kansas City.

The brothers are ardent anglers, but neither was familiar with the lure I suggested for catching Kings River smallmouth bass. I handed them a handful of tube baits. The squid-looking things got a quizzical look.

When hopped along the bottom, tube baits imitate crawdads. The smallmouths eat ‘em up. Small tubes in the green-pumpkin color are about all a fisherman needs.

We weren’t a mile into the trip and we’d already lost track of how many smallmouths we’d caught and released. Our first double came in front of a shoreline maple tree that was on fire with red leaves. Now we were after a triple.

So much for a fall that wasn’t supposed to be colorful.We floated through hill country that was alive with yellow hickories and oaks cloaked in crimson and orange.

The opening miles gave up plenty of smallmouths. With the higher water we hadn’t had to walk the canoes once.

Three hours into the trip, we passed a gravel bar that met all the criteria for a fine campsite. There was rippling water to lull us to sleep, plenty of firewood scattered around and a pool for wade-fishing.

With three of us gathering wood and putting up tents, we were done in no time. Matt marched off to fish the pool.

Hog Ears and I got the fire going and we heard Matt whoop and holler downstream. He’d found a honey hole full of smallmouths.

The fish tempted me, but I didn’t want to miss the a moment when Hog Ears laid those thick moose T-bones on the grill. I couldn’t wait.

One year he brought moose steaks for Thanksgiving and it was the best steak I’d ever tasted.

When we sat down, each moose steak took up half our plates. Thankfully there was room for softball-sized baked potatoes perfectly cooked in the campfire coals.

I swooned over my succulent steak, but the potatoes were just as good. Hog Ears called them Alaska Yukon Golds.

He picked them up at a farmer’s market in Anchorage, where he lives. The spuds are yellow in color with a sweetness all their own.

“Idaho’s got nothing on Alaska for potatoes,” Hog Ears said between bites. The climate is just right for growing root veggies like potatoes and cabbage.

The feast was fit for a king on the Kings River. Stars began to twinkle. By bedtime the sky was a dazzling display here on the river far from any town.

The Milky Way cut a stardust path across the sky when we called it a night and crawled into cozy tents and sleeping bags.

FAVORITE DISH

Hog Ears and Matt are early risers and got the fire going again at the crack of daylight. I slid deeper into my warm bag. Only the thought of coffee coaxed me out of my tent.

Before his visit, Hog Ears said it didn’t matter if we didn’t catch any fish. It didn’t matter if the river was dry or if it rained. As long as we had railroad hash for breakfast on the gravel bar.

A camper at Table RockState Park introduced Hog Ears and me to railroad hash many moons ago. We both worked at the park near Branson during our college years, when we lived at our backwoods bachelor cabin.

Railroad hash is a bonafide campfire feast. You bake potatoes in the campfire coals the night before.

In the morning, crumble the potatoes into a pot, fry up some sausage, bacon, onions, peppers, whatever you want to put into the hash. Add some cheese.

Stir it all together over the campfire. When things get hot, crack four or five eggs into the hash. It’s chow time when the eggs are done.

The river, weather and the fishing remained perfect on Monday when we pushed our canoes off the gravel bar and drifted downstream. By now Hog Ears and Matt were tube-bait converts. It’s all they used.

A warm south wind blew leaves from shoreline hardwoods bright with fall color. The Kings River meandered through pools and shoals and carried us gently along.

THREE FOR THREE

We got the triple we were after just before lunch. Hog Ears, Matt and I each had a smallmouth bass on our lines at once. Matt’s was the biggest.

When it was all said and done at the take-out, with moose steaks and railroad hash a memory, we guessed our fish count at 69 smallmouth bass and one largemouth, all released.

Around 20 of our fish were in the 12- to 16-inch range.

As you’re reading this now, on Thursday, Hog Ears is on an airplane back to Alaska. Mid-Missouri goodies are in his cooler for the flight home. Matt is back to his routine and looking forward to deer season.

A person is lucky to make a few friends for life. Hog Ears is one for sure. He can come fishing and floating anytime, but I’ll sneak a peek into his ice chest long before we hit the water.

Outdoor, Pages 6 on 10/18/2012