Mutiny On The White

My best friend, Big John, has been a full-time trout guide on the Bull Shoals tailwater for almost 40 years. Because he is so booked with paying customers, he rarely gets to fish with family or friends.

This particular weekend he had reserved for me, his wife Bobbie and her dog, Buddy. Buddy loves to fish, and while he is devoted to Bobbie, he usually sits in the stern of the big river boat with John. Buddy always figures that most of the action will be back there, but this day would prove different.

Bobbie sat in the middle and I was in the bow as we floated stern first down the White River. We were about 200 yards into the drift when my rod went into a deep bend. I set the hook hard into what I hoped was a fish. Despite a fairly loose drag, my 4-pound line soon stretched tight as a banjo string.

John said he could see that I'd snagged a sunken limb, and to break it off. I could see the limb, about 20 yards out from the boat in the depths of the clear water, but I could also feel the powerful head-shaking throb of a large trout digging for the bottom.

I hollered for John to put the outboard in gear, to take some of the strain off my line. John was still wound a little tight from several days of guiding without a day off. He hollered back that we were here to catch fish, not limbs, and to break it off and stop fishing like a darned tourist.

When this captain speaks, the crew usually responds with quick obedience. But just then Bobbie yelled she could see the flash of a big fish where the business end of my line was. Then Buddy scrambled up front and got excited, staring at my arching rod. Buddy, bless his heart, believed I had a fish, too.

It was three votes to one. Mutiny on the White. John reluctantly put the motor in gear and the boat surged forward. I began taking in line and the limb got closer.

It soon became clear that my line was entangled with another line about 20 feet long that was wrapped around a long, rubbery sycamore branch, with the far end of the other line tied to a gold and black countdown Rapala minnow plug.

This plug, which someone had so thoughtfully left for us, was hooked solidly in the maw of what turned out to be a 28-inch brown trout.

All guides love big fish in their boats, so John was all smiles as he gently returned the big trout back into the river. As we drifted downstream another mile, getting everything untangled and settled, he said, "What do you say we run back up and try that tourist trap again?"

Outdoors on 06/19/2014

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