MONTROSE -- On a day when the air was still and heavy, Levi Gray and Willie Johnston of Hamburg a cajoled a solid mess of Grampus Lake crappie into their coolers.
Gouged deep in the outback of Ashley County, Grampus Lake is a large oxbow of Bayou Bartholomew and is part of a system that includes lakes Enterprise, Wallace and Wilson. They are obscure, remote and alluring for their fishing and for their primeval aura.
Studded with tupelo trees, Grampus Lake is about 10-12 feet deep, but it's also about 2 feet low from being used to irrigate neighboring crop fields. Its tea-colored water is surprisingly clear. A thick, wide mat of water hyacinth covers much of the surface and shrinks the lake's appearance.
It's a place that looks like it might have alligators, and it's not an illusion, said Johnston, who is known in these parts as "Willie the Barbecue Man."
"That's 'alligator log' right there, one of my landmarks," Johnston said as he idled his Alumaweld boat through a channel in the hyacinth. "He keeps the grass worn off it from dragging his big butt up there all the time."
Johnston said he was surprised that alligators were not sunning during this break in the rain, but I wasn't there to see alligators. Johnston has been bragging about the great bass and crappie fishing at Grampus Lake for a year. He said he caught 8- and 6-pound largemouths almost back to back last week with a topwater lure called a "Whopper Plopper." I don't visit south Arkansas as often as I should, and that convinced me to join Johnston and Gray for an afternoon of crappie fishing Friday.
But first, I couldn't resist needling Johnston.
He and Gray were already fishing when I pulled into the parking lot. I called Johnston and asked, "What side of Monroe is this lake on, anyway?"
"Monroe? Monroe, Louisiana?!" Johnston thundered. "What are you doing in Monroe?"
"I just followed your directions, but I don't see anything about a Grampus Lake anywhere."
A confused and profane conversation ensued until Johnston realized he'd been had.
"Quit jacking with me and wait right there. I'll be there to get you shortly."
I climbed into Johnston's boat with my friend Hunter Field, who recently moved to Little Rock from Memphis. A short time later we met up with Gray, who was far down the lake in a different boat. Field stayed with Johnston, and I fished with Gray, a colorful jack of all trades.
The fishing was very slow, Gray said, but the few crappie he caught were worthy.
We used long rods with light bullet head jigs tipped with Bobby Garland minnows in chartreuse with red glitter. We trolled slowly with the jigs about 3 feet underwater.
Small mats of coontail moss hung at the surface.
"I'm really surprised the fish are that shallow, but they seem to be hanging right under these little rafts of moss," Gray said.
Almost on cue, Gray's rod dipped and danced as we trolled past a mat.
"Ahhh, there he is," Gray said as he boated a fat, 11-inch crappie.
I got a big one shortly after, followed by a black goggle-eye that bit next to a log.
Grampus Lake crappie are colored different than the ones in the clear lakes, with a deep bronze hue.
"They are," Gray said. "A friend of mine caught one the other day that was almost yellow. I told him he ought to keep it because I'd never seen one quite like it. He said he had enough fish in the freezer, and he threw it back."
As we crisscrossed the lake, I said, "It feels like we're the only people on earth out here."
That's one of the reasons Gray likes Grampus so much.
"A lot of people don't like to fish this lake because it's hard to fish, and they're not willing to do different things," Gray said.
Newcomers try to fish the traditional way, with live minnows under bobbers or on tight lines, but you have to be observant and be willing to experiment to catch crappie on Grampus. The Bobby Garland trailer was an example.
"I went through half a dozen of these jigs today until I found one they would bite," Gray said.
In such hot weather, with the surface temperature in the high 80s, crappie should be close to the bottom. Only through trial and error did Gray figure out they were hovering 3 feet under random coontail patches.
After boating half a dozen crappie, we rendezvoused with Johnston and Field to get a few bottles of cold water.
"Did you catch any in our honeyholes?" Gray asked.
"Not a one," Johnston said. "I caught one little ol' bass with this spinnerbait."
Johnston, who has recently become a solunar table devotee, noted that a major activity period was listed in Thursday's Outdoors section of the Arkansas Democrat-Gazette for about noon. The best fishing had been from about 10:30 a.m. to about 2:30 p.m.
By 3:30 p.m., it was clear that the fish had taken the rest of the day off. We all felt it, and there was no dissent when I suggested we all clock out.
"The atmosphere just felt all wrong for fishing today," I said, "but Levi still wrangled a pretty good mess."
"That doesn't surprise me," Johnston said. "You're fishing with the best crappie fisherman in this part of the country. He can catch them from a muddy tire track."
As we trailered the boats, I glanced back to brown and green curtain of hyacinth and tupelo that shielded Grampus Lake's treasures.
"I like this place," I said. "I like it a lot. I can't wait to come back in the fall when the fish really get after it."
"You need to be here when they're biting good," Johnston said. "We'll be here whenever you're ready."
Sports on 08/21/2016