Dom and Dumber

DATELINE: MAY 21, 2023 – HARRISON, ARKANSAS

Dom and I had been planning an Arkansas micro trip for a couple of months, and as the date got close, it was clear that the weather wasn’t going to cooperate. Eleven inches of rain fell in the weeks leading up to the adventure. I’m not a hydrologist, but this did not bode well for clear water, which in turn did not bode well for sight fishing of darters and similar beasts. Dom altered the itinerary to focus on highland parts of the state, which featured smaller, rockier streams that should – SHOULD – clear more quickly.

My flight landed first, which meant that I got to rent the car and make the Walmart run. This is where I made things unnecessarily exciting. (There is plenty of blame to go around for this one – you don’t get from a normal drive to scattering groceries all over I-30 without a bunch of things going wrong.) Basically, the hatchback on the SUV wouldn’t close on its own, but the alerts were so obtuse I just thought one of the rear seatbelts had gone haywire. So I drove over to Walmart, bought a couple of small coolers and about 100 bucks worth of groceries, and headed to the Holiday Inn. The alerts continued, and I kept ignoring them. About five minutes from home, the hatch suddenly flew wide open and scattered trunk contents all over the interstate. I got off on the first available exit, and discovered that I now had one cooler and about 50 bucks worth of groceries. At least my computer, my underwear, and the Red Bull were safe. But I felt like an idiot, and this was not an auspicious beginning to a trip that was already going to need plenty of luck.

After half an hour of violent experiments, I figured out a ritual that would close the hatch, but it would still unlock now and then. The rental company, who shall go nameless because they actually credited me half the cost when I showed them the issue, was nonetheless not available by phone and I was not going back to the airport and taking away from fishing time.

Dom and I connected early in the morning. I explained the situation. He tried his best not to giggle, but it got real for him when he realized his granola bars were among the casualties. The plus side – I had Red Bull and Pop Tarts. The minus – Dom has half my body fat. We headed to our first spot, fingers crossed for fishable water.                 

It wasn’t. It wasn’t close.

Dom looks sadly at a creek that was supposed to be half this size and gin clear.

Dom consulted his extensive list of spots and decided to head for smaller water right away. We drove a couple of hours toward Hot Springs and started finding clearer venues. The fishing was certainly a lot of fun – we got all kinds of micros and sunfish, but nothing new for me.

A northern studfish – not new but certainly the best-looking one I’ve ever gotten.

We optimistically photographed everything, discovering later that we were standing in a big patch of poison ivy.

That evening, we went to one of those spots that somebody clearly risked their life to find. It was way, WAY back in the woods – an hour or so on slippery dirt roads, passing structures that looked increasingly like they held terrible secrets from the 1950s. We finally parked at a junction of two creeks, with both a gorgeous riffle and two side pools. 

The riffle held darters and shiners, and we happily put on our headlamps and went to work. Dom was particularly interested in a slender madtom, apparently the only madtom there and one I already had. We hunted the creek methodically, getting the occasional rainbow darter or shiner. We were standing together, looking at a fish peeking out from under a rock, when there was sudden, loud splash right next to us – like an anvil hitting the water. From space. I’m not sure who screamed the longest or who jumped into whose arms, but it definitely caught us by surprise. 

It was just a beaver marking his territory, and once we stopped trembling, we resumed our hunt. I came upon a madtom, so I called Dom over and let him fish for it. I moved on and found a darter that looked a bit different and set up over it. About five minutes later, we both got our fish.

Mine turned out to be a creole darter, the first new species of the trip.

Dom’s madtom turned out to be a Ouachita, certainly new for him but also one I didn’t have. Oops. He apologized profusely but these things happen. It’s a team sport when we play.

I wasn’t able to come up with Dom’s photo, but this is an example of the species.

When we returned to the car, the crappy tailgate had come open and let hundreds of bugs join us.

The next day, we headed north toward Russelville. Randomly, we passed a pool in the Iron Springs recreation area that Martini and I had fished a few years back. I remembered it as the place where one of the worst cold streaks of my fishing career had begun, but this time, it wasn’t pouring rain, and we caught assorted shiners and … sunfish.

Dom works the very spot where I failed so badly in 2018.

With the recent longear splits, the sunfish we caught had a good chance of being Ozarks, and as soon as we got to cell service, we confirmed these were indeed a new species for both of us.

My second species of the trip, and #2180 lifetime.

We were finally in reliably fishable water, and we hopped from spot to spot, looking for darters and whatever else would bite.

It’s a gorgeous state, once the water is fishable.

We had just left a beautiful set of pools and were driving along a gravel road when the hatch randomly flew open. I jumped out to do battle with it, and noticed we were at an attractive spillway, so we pulled out the rods. 

In less than five minutes, we both had redfin darters, adding another one to our respective lists.

The redfin. I was still not happy with the car.

We spent much of the afternoon in a bigger waterway, where Dom managed to land a channel darter – quite a tough one.  He spent an hour trying to help me find one, but it was not to be. I did stumble into a wedgespot minnow, species number four of the trip.

I really could wipe the tank off better. Species 2182.

We closed out the day exploring small creeks, and while there were no additional species to report, we did get to visit Booger Hollow, Arkansas.

It’s a real place.

We also passed Bug Scuffle Road. There has to be a story behind that one.

The next day, we awoke to driving thunderstorms, which washed out our first couple of spots. We tried to keep ahead of the front, and found a beautiful creek in Springdale. We fished there for about half an hour and were just starting to find darters when … the police showed up.

Part of microfishing, even on public waterways, is that people will call the police. Perhaps they don’t know what we’re doing, perhaps they have encountered Spellman, or perhaps they are just idiots – we can never be sure. We walked up the embankment to talk to the officer, not sure what awaited us. I generally respect the heck out of police – it’s a difficult job – but I hoped we hadn’t missed some “Critical Salamander Preserve” sign.

Officer Irvin was the picture of courtesy. He explained that this section of creek had problems with teenagers and so nearby landowners tended to call the cops whenever they saw someone down there. When he noticed our non-standard gear, he asked what we were fishing for. We told him. He thought for a moment, and said “Follow me.” We ended up with a police escort to a nearby river that turned out to be positively loaded with darters. We caught dozens over the next few hours, and although none of them were new species, it was a great way to spend the afternoon.

Officer Irvin of the Springdale PD.

One of my nicer orangethroat darters, from Officer Irvin’s spot.

An orangebelly from the same spot. It was a good day for photo upgrades.

We had a look at one more location toward evening, but the rain picked back up to biblical proportions, and we found a Cracker Barrel and called it a night.

Random wall decoration in Cracker Barrel. One has to wonder if that’s Lizzie Borden.

The 20th broke much clearer, and we set off toward Harrison, in the far north of the state. We bounced between creeks, catching an assortment of stonerollers (anyone have reliable info on the plains stoneroller split?) and shiners, with a few darters thrown in.

We were filled with optimism. Or at least Dom was. He always is. I don’t know how he does it.

Things didn’t get interesting until later in the day, we moved to a place I will just call Slippery Creek.

Slippery Creek, Arkansas.

It was clear and beautiful, but it had risen and dropped recently and there was a lot of silt. I didn’t actually fall, but I had a number of strenuous close calls and was reduced to moving very slowly using a big stick as a cane. Meanwhile, Dom had gone upstream and was exploring a rocky ledge in a pool. As I approached, he held a hand up to keep me from disturbing the water – he was clearly working something. A moment later, he set his tenkara rod and pulled out a big darter. Catching it in the bottom of his shirt (he isn’t as worried about showing his stomach in public as I am,) he had a quick look and gave that great big smile. He announced “Autumn darter!”

That’s a rarity, and I was psyched for him. 

He took photos, and then we headed up the creek, and no, we did not have a paddle. We both got plenty of generic shiners and stonerollers, and as we started to head back out to the car, we passed by the pool where Dom caught and released the autumn. We both smiled. It was a good-sized pool, at least 10×20, with plenty of structure, but I started working up the same ledge he had. This went on for about five minutes, and then, for no particular reason, a head poked out from under the rocks and took a swing at my bait. I didn’t get a good look at it, but I wasn’t leaving. It swung again about 10 minutes later, and finally, it came all the way out and attacked my split shot. It was an autumn darter, likely the same one Dom caught.

Maybe 10 more minutes passed, but he finally took the bait hard and I flipped him up on the shore. This was my fifth species of the trip, and I owed it to Dom’s patience.

My autumn darter and the ledge where it was caught.

So forget anything I said earlier about the madtom.

We had planned our last stop of the day to be mostly night fishing, in a medium-sized creek that was rumored to have the rare and elusive Arkansas saddled darter. It’s rare, because, well, it’s rare, and it’s elusive, because it lives in deep, fast water than makes presenting to them very challenging. If you are lucky enough to see one, you will then have to be rigged with a heavy enough weight to get the bait consistently in front of them – they get so wedged into their little hiding spots that they won’t move far to strike. Even a one-inch leader can still leave the bait flailing all over the place, but going shorter means that you can spook the fish with the split shot. It’s a challenge. 

But first we had to actually see them. Working our way out to the middle of the river, we were distracted by dozens of madtoms (Dom got his slender,) and assorted darters like orangethroats and huge greensides. It finally got really dark, and we headed for the center of the creek, spleen-high and fast, Dom with a serious amount of weight on this tenago, me with one big split shot. Slowly, we headlamped our way across, looking for a unicorn. 

I spotted mine first, right smack in the fastest part of the river. If they’re there, they aren’t hard to see – a buff base color with dark saddles, which stood out strongly against the dark rocks.

They are at least relatively easy to see.

My split shot was woefully inadequate, as Dom had cautioned me in might be. I tried a couple of times, but I couldn’t get it to the bottom. Just as I was going to let Dom step in and take a crack at him, Dom just handed me his rod and said “You spotted him – go get him.” 

Dom took my rod and headed for shore to get more weight, and I was able to get his setup down by the fish easily. With the bait spinning in the current, it took a few tries, but I finally settled it down right in front of him, and he bit immediately. I swung up, and worked through that heartstopping moment where a darter is swinging through the air and likely to come off, but I caught him on the first try and clenched him to my chest to walk in and take pictures.

My Arkansas saddled darter. What rain? What flooding? The trip was now epic.

Just then, Dom yelled “Hell yes, dude! Got him!” I shot back “Thanks man – it was your rod.” He said “No, I got one!” And there he was, with my rod, about halfway back to shore, holding another Arkansas saddled darter. He had spotted it while walking in, and had cleverly put most of the rod into the water to reach the fish. We had both gotten the species within seconds of each other. Mine was solely due to his generosity, and his was despite the handicap of using unfamiliar gear. 

It was something like 2am, but it had been an awesome day. We ate sandwiches in the car, found the nearest motel that didn’t look completely sinister, and caught a few hours of rest.

Dom’s first motel choice. I used my veto.

The trunk popped open somewhere on the drive, but we had learned to keep everything of value in the back seats.

The next day would be our last of the trip, but with six species in the bag, including four darters, it was already an excellent outing – and an epic save considering the weather.

That last day was a lot of driving, as we had evening flights out of Little Rock. We passed by some interesting bits of local culture.

I hadn’t seen a sign for S&H green stamps for years. If you’re younger than 55, look it up.

We checked a few creeks, and then headed for a full-on swamp. The place had lots of tall grass and murky water, and my snake radar was on high alert. I was quite comfortable fishing from the boat ramp where I could see a few feet in all directions. Dom, wandering freely across that blurry line between adventurous and emergency room, strolled into some tall grass. What happened next is not completely clear because it happened so quickly and there was so much screaming, but Dom either stepped on or kicked a large cottonmouth. It was big enough that I thought it was an otter when it flopped into the water. Dom was visibly shaken but got over it quickly. The snake got over it even more quickly and started swimming around the boat ramp, which made me less than comfortable.

Another reason not to wade without a suit of armor.

But we are guys, and guys are fascinated with dangerous wildlife, so we decided to try to feed the thing. We threw three or four sunfish onto the edge of the water. The snake knew something was up, but their eyesight is not the best, and he poked around for a good 10 minutes before he found on of the bigger offerings, a panfish the size of Cousin Chuck’s hand. He swallowed it in less than 15 seconds. It was horrifying and yet fascinating.

And yes, we took video – click here.

That night, Dom headed back to Florida, and I, with fewer responsibilities, flew to Washington DC to visit my sister. Those of you who know her are aware of what a grand gesture this was for me, but I figured it was the polite thing to do.

Steve

SPECIAL BONUS SECTION – THE HUNT FOR A DIGNIFIED BLUE CATFISH

So I got to have a couple of days with my family, including seeing my niece Elizabeth, an honors grad from William and Mary, before she headed off to a research position at Brown University.

Me, Elizabeth, and my sister.

We also got to go to dinner with Martini, who lives in the area now.

Family meets family. 

As an added bonus, my on-again, off-again nephew, Charlie, got a day off work and drove up from Richmond so I could take him fishing. We set up a day with old 1000Fish hero Phil Richmond, who was stationed near DC at the time. We would target blue catfish in the Potomac.

By the way, congratulations to Phil and Rosalind, who got married on April 15, 2023.

Although I’ve caught a blue catfish, this would be more than a photo upgrade for me – it would be a dignity upgrade. My largest blue catfish was smaller than some of the baits Phil was going to use. Charlie, ever the good sport, just wanted to catch something.

Phil warned us that this was not a big fish time of year, but we were both glad to get out on the water. We met early at a boat ramp, and headed up the Potomac past quite a few historical landmarks.

The Watergate Hotel. They say G. Gordon Liddy still haunts room 214.

The Washington Monument and the Lincoln Memorial.

Fairly quickly, Phil anchored us up and cast out big chunks of cut bait. We were ready for action.

Lines out, clickers on, and ready to go.

The bites started almost immediately. The fish weren’t big by Phil’s standards – most were between eight and twelve pounds, but this was more than enough for me and Charlie. 

Our first two fish.

We kept at it until midafternoon, and by the time it was over, we had all gotten at least 15 solid blues each. My biggest was well over 20 pounds, Charlie’s was in that range, and Phil stuck one well over 30.

One of my better fish.

Phil with the big fish of the day.

Charlie made the mistake of asking me to buy his lunch, so he ended up with Disney Princess fruit rollups.

I had upgraded by blue catfish substantially, and this is a species that foreigners ask about, so it will be nice to pull out a decent photo. Thanks again, Phil. And Laura, thank you so much for the home-cooked meals and sorry about the pillowcase.