“If you trust me enough to take you fishing… I trust you enough to show up.” With that honest statement my friend, Bobby Bower, put another guided fishing trip on the books. (His future guest asked Bobby if he owed him a deposit for the booked trip.)
It was a cool Sunday morning in early June and we were sitting out on his side porch sippin’ on coffee and watching his 2 year old son try to hot wire Bobby’s riding mower.
“He likes that mower, doesn’t he?” I asked.
“Yeah.” Bobby scratched his short salt and pepper beard. “I’ve had to replace the key 3 times this year… so far.” He replied with his usual sincere, squinting, smile.
Today’s guest, Randy, a regional travel reporter was running a little late and we were killing time watching Bobby and Carla’s twins…. two blond headed, blue-eyed bouncing balls of perpetual energy… play in the side yard.
Carla popped out the side door herding gear for a day trip to Summersville Lake with the twins. Her daughter, the other half of the laughing two year old tornado of two, tagged close beside “helping” rinse coolers and splash water wherever it needed to be. It pretty much needed to be everywhere, of course.
I asked her the classic Fayetteville, WV question… “So what brought you here?”
“Well, my uncle was a pirate.”
Much like Bobby, Carla balances the chaos of young twins, life and work in stride with an air of sincere contentment.
I asked her the classic Fayetteville, WV question… “So what brought you here?”
“Well, my uncle was a pirate.”
“A pirate?” I asked
“Yeah, he ran whitewater rafting trips back before it was regulated. Before you needed permits.”
“Oh, right. So people paid him to take them down the river?” I realized. When I was guiding, over 10 years ago, pirates were guides who picked up work for other companies on their off days… but before that pirates were rogue raft owners that paid for their vacation day habit by charging for a spot in their raft. This would cover the cost of gas, food… maybe a few beers, generally a break even situation.
“Yeah. It’s in my blood.” She said.
Meanwhile, Randy called and let us know he was close. Carla herded the kids into the mini van with a wave and a smile while Bobby laid a kiss from each of the twins. He and I jumped into his white Chevy crewcab badged with the Pro River Outfitters logo.
Bobby owns and operates a fishing service here in the Gorge, you know, when he isn’t raising 2 kids, turning over vintage airstream trailers for a profit or functioning as Director of the WV Professional Rafters Organization.
We headed up the road to meet Randy at the New River Gorge National River visitor’s center… just a minute or two from Bobby’s house. Turns out Randy and Bobby had been trying to get together to fish for quite some time, so, by the time we were all in the same truck… AND headed to the river… 3 of us (all of us) were more than ready to fish.
Bobby owns and operates a fishing service here in the Gorge, you know, when he isn’t raising 2 kids, turning over vintage airstream trailers for a profit or functioning as Director of the WV Professional Rafters Organization.
We were off to a section of the New River upstream from the Gorge that is known for it’s high quality catch and release fishing… particularly of the smallmouth bass variety. (Around here, we call’em Smallies). We were going to put in at the Glade Creek public river access and take out at Prince. But first… a quick stop at the Exxon station for a few subs and cold beverages.
Sandwiches – check. Beverages – check. A smile from the sandwich lady that knows Bobby like family – check.
Back into the truck.
Bobby put the hammer down to make up for a little lost time… but… we were quickly slowed by traffic as the two-lane started winding down the ridges towards the river. (So in WV the two-lane is a state highway… not to be confused with the four-lane… what you may call the Interstate where you live. We’ll explain the “flat-top” or “black-top” on another day in another post.)
Safe to say, we were less than psyched when our winding descent into the river valley was slowed by a creeping caterpillar of weekend traffic. To be fair, this was New River Gorge “traffic”, so yeah, we were behind about 4 maybe 5 cars.
“Thought you had chrome wheels on that Ford.” Bobby said.
“Yeah, I put’em on a pickup.” Uncle Gene explained.
“Still running the stock rear end on that thing?
Leading up the of the 5 car train snaking it’s way down the Gorge was an immaculate, metallic silver, ’46 Ford coupe.
“Looks like Uncle Gene’s got the Pontiac out today” Bobby observed.
Turns out, Uncle Gene was our shuttle driver…but… at the moment he was casually rumbling down into the Gorge in a metallic grey ’46 Ford coupe, he’d restored from the frame up. He pulled off onto a gravel spot beside the highway after reaching the floor of the river valley and sauntered towards Bobby’s truck.
Bobby jumped in the backseat, and Uncle Gene jumped in the driver’s seat with a stern, kind, look and adjusted his Realtree camo cap.
“Hi. I’m Gene.”
I stuck out a hand and said hello.
“Thought you had chrome wheels on that Ford.” Bobby said.
“Yeah, I put’em on a pickup.” Uncle Gene explained.
“Still running the stock rear end on that thing?
“Yeah.”
And we were back on our way to the river covering some key topics including
- Swapping rear ends
- Smallies
- Airstream trailers
- Smallies
- Boats
The put in was hopping with a mix of whitewater boaters in various rotomolded shapes of kayaks and canoes and SUP’s blended with other fisherman and folks swimming or laying on the banks. The New River is pretty much a city park on Saturday kind of scene for those of us lucky enough to live here.
As Bobby rowed us into the current we each started tying the lure of our preference on to our lines. We’d gotten a crash course from Bobby – what fish had been biting on lately and what spots were likely to turn up hits. Having always had luck with the old, classic silver spoon … and having no idea how to judge conditions … I tied one of my old shiny standbys onto my line.
“Remember y’all… behind every rock is an eddy. AND. In every eddy is a fish.”
Rowing smoothly into the current Bobby shared the best line of sage and optimistic New River fishing advice I’ve ever been gifted.
“Remember y’all… behind every rock is an eddy. AND. In every eddy is a fish.”
To clarify, an “eddy” is a boating term for the calm water in a river or creek that moves slowly, or sometimes quickly, back upstream to fill the void behind an obstacle like a rock or river bank. Basically, it’s calm water along the banks, or even midstream, in a river. It’s a great spot for fish to catch a break and wait for food to drop out of the current and into their mouths.
I knew there were eddies all of the river…. I. Was. Psyched.
I’ve spent my fair share of days picking smallies out of eddies from the banks of the New, but, for some inexplicable reason this ex-video boater and raft guide (who spend an average of 5 months a year on the river) had never fished the river from the water. As we drifted into our first shoals rapid I cast my line right into one of those behind a rock, guaranteed to be fish holding, eddies.
And immediately my lure got caught under a rock, wrapped around a branch, or in some way got completely buggered up and likely lost….
We were moving quickly through the rapid and my line was paying out of my reel at a shocking speed..
raaaaaawwwwwwwwwwzzzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeee
Embarrassed at my rookie move I was trying to figure out how to stop the line loss when Bobby looked over and noticed my dilemma. In a calm, reassuring voice he said “Close the bail”
zzzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaa
“Don’t grab the line” (a already had, and it sawed through a few layers of skin.) “Your tension set to low…
He reached over and grabbed my rod, opened the bail back up, tightened the tension on my reel, then, handed it back with a smile
….”You’ve got a fish on the line.”
And he was right. As I started to reel in my line a smallmouth came rocketing out of it’s eddy on my line, skipping like a stone through the remainder of the rapid. It was small by all New River standards.
Okay, any standards.
But hey, if you’re fishin’ for fish alone you might be fishing for the wrong reason. We snapped a quick picture laughing at my mighty catch then Bobby grabbed the sticks and slid the raft back into the current with his usual sincere, squinting, smile….