HEBER SPRINGS -- Something about the light of this place in autumn attracts me like no other water.
I've taken scores of photos here over the years, always amid the golden glow of the same few sycamore trees on the sapphire palette of the Little Red River. It seems like it's always sunny and clear here, even though I do remember at least one trip when it was gray and rainy.
The chief subject of these photos is always Rusty Pruitt, always wearing the same shirt, same hat, same waders and casting the same fly rod. The photos span five or six years, but they are timeless in their continuity.
Still, it's the light that captivates me. It is sharp and crystalline, more so than any place I go. Some places are bathed in sunshine. This one is bathed in "soulshine."
Another thing that's constant is the fishing. It's always great, but it was at its best last Thursday when Pruitt and I slipped away for a "lightning strike" trip near Cow Shoals.
There is no public access at this spot, but a landowner allows us to enter the river from her property.
There's a certain continuity to the routine, as well. I always bring a fly rod in addition to my spinning rod, but I seldom use it. Pruitt is a much better fly fisherman than I, and a certain decorum rules in compact water. I won't catch anything fly fishing behind Pruitt, and it's rude for a lesser angler to fish alongside or ahead of a greater.
It is acceptable, on the other hand, to fish with or ahead of another if you use an entirely different method and entirely different lures. Fish that bite my lures probably won't bite his and vice-versa, so there's no conflict.
From the homeowner's deck it is a short, steep descent to the river. The path leads to the tail of a deep pool thickly carpeted with coontail moss. Big trout hide in the moss, and they usually will not emerge to bite a fly or a lure in the daytime.
Still, we try.
Something was different this time, though. While we fished the head of the shoal, a big trout rocketed out of the water like a mullet. It was a promising sign.
As always, I veered to the right to fish the bottom of a rock wall where the moss ends. I usually catch a couple of brown trout there, but this time the prospects were stellar. A big trout slammed prey at the far end of the wall and slowly finned upstream. The top half of a big tail tacked side to side like a skiff.
I needed to be about six feet closer to put my lure in front of the fish, but I was at the edge of a drop. Two more steps would send me swimming. The trout disappeared without so much as glancing at my Rapala.
Trout were feeding. I just hoped we'd caught them at the start of their feeding cycle and not at the end.
From there the pool enters a long, straight run. In Thursday's dead low flow it was about 6-8 inches shallower than usual, and we certainly noticed the difference. Honestly, I didn't think it was deep enough to hold any fish.
Ceding the top of the shoal to Pruitt, I fished the end where it enters a long, deep pool that extends a couple of miles. Casting to the mouth of the pool, I retrieved the minnow back into the riffle with a series of hard jerks. A 14-inch rainbow was the first to answer the challenge, followed by a small brown trout.
The next fish to hit was a considerably bigger brown. Uncharacteristically, it was a jumper, and I enjoyed a spirited fight. I worked it almost to my knees when it finally shook free.
Pruitt, who videoed the episode on his phone said, "Quick release!"
It got better and better. Trout were seemingly stacked atop one another. We caught them in alternating casts, and we even doubled a few times.
Finally I heard Pruitt whoop.
"I've got the biggest fish I've ever seen!" he yelled.
I staggered upstream to shoot video and stills, but Pruitt lost the fish before I closed the distance. He cast to the same spot, and darned if the same fish didn't hit again.
The fish shed the lure again just as I arrived. Pruitt doubled over, hands on his knees, groaning. He straightened up and said, "Throw at the edge of that root wad."
I did and got a jarring strike. My rod doubled in a steep arc as a big brown trout stripped line from my reel.
"Is it the same fish?" Pruitt asked over the metallic buzz of my drag.
"I don't know, but it's a hoss!" I said.
After a prolonged fight, I brought the fish to hand. It was not Pruitt's trout, but it was a solid 19-incher.
Shortly after, Pruitt told me to cast to a spot upstream of him.
"There's a big rainbow in that seam," he said. "I can't get him to hit this fly, but he might hit that jerkbait.
I cast at the spot.
"He's turning on it!" Pruitt said expectantly. "Here he comes! Here he comes! Get ready ... Ohhhh, he turned away!"
Then Pruitt cast his fly to the same spot. The fish couldn't stand it anymore. Pruitt's strike indicator plunged, and he soon subdued an uncommonly prismatic rainbow. It was bloated with milt that gushed when Pruitt cradled it by the belly.
"I didn't rainbows spawned in the fall," I said.
"I guess this one does," Pruitt replied.
Shortly after, two fisheries sciences students from the University of Arkansas at Pine Bluff arrived in a canoe. They were documenting spawning sites. They said they'd seen preliminary evidence of spawning activity, but that the spawn was still in its early stages.
At about 4 p.m. the bite ebbed. Wanting to end on a high note, I left the river, climbed the homeowner's deck and savored the scene. The afternoon light was soft and full, with a slight breeze that carried the river's chill up the hillside.
Pruitt soon joined me.
"Can you believe we're fishing in short sleeves in late November?" I asked.
"This was awesome," Pruitt replied. "I've never seen this many fish in here."
We stood quietly, shoulder to shoulder, reluctant to leave.
"I really needed this," Pruitt said. "Four hours. The perfect Lightning Strike."
Sports on 12/10/2017