Last Saturday I headed back down to the edge of the Ozarks to walk around, enjoy the weather, the flowers and the fish. Got up early and drove to the creek that will not be named to try out very skittish wild trout knowing that March and April are good months for dry fly action. I was on my own which makes for longer hours on the highway but quiet time for introspection. A couple of weeks ago, I made a quick run to the stream but the stream was high and the weather was storm so I left unsated. I figured that this weekend would be great---if I found the solitude I was seeking.

After a 4 hour drive I arrived at my first access point to find a party of 4 flyfishers--decked out in Orvis and Sims--with all sorts of jingle jangles hanging off their bodies. It appeared that each was geared up, ready to tackle a Lake Erie tributary steelhead, a White River Brown, a Frying Pan Rainbow but hardly ready for a small wild rainbow from a Missouri stream. At least they were prepared for anything. Not trying to be judgmental but why would you carry all the equipment, flies and tackle for such a small stream? Doesn't it slow them down, making it hard to move through the tight brush? After this week I'll be wet wading to improve my mobility--though there isn't a lot of wading necessary on this stream---mostly just stream crossing.

These petty thoughts raced through my mind as I tried to come to grasp with the possibility that I might have to share the stream banks today, after a 4 hour drive. One reason I travel to this stream is to fish in solitude. I'm selfish in that regard. Once a run is fished on a stream with trout this spooky it will often take hours before the rainbows resume their normal routines.
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Time Alone - by Ben Smith

A Saturday morning usually finds me knee deep in one of the few Arizona streams, whose names are guarded like valuable jewels and only spoken of in hushed tones. The Arizona sun hangs high in the sky for most of the day, but the tall ponderosa pines shade the streams and keep their waters running cold all through the summer. Aside from a small box of flies, a tube of Gink, and a pair of hemostats, a bottle of water and peanut butter and jelly sandwich are usually all that fill my pockets on these glorious days. On these small streams, I work systematically across the pool generally only allowing a couple of drifts before moving on to the next pool. Most of these small water fish are opportunistic feeders willing to take the bushy dry and if there are no hits, I assume no fish are present or are already spooked.
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