It pains me to admit it but my wife is right – it’s the small stuff. The little experiences make up the bigger picture of life. Last Saturday morning we embarked on a ‘blizzards, breakfast, and brownies (trout)’ adventure. The blizzard was over, the breakfast was hot and delicious, and the fishing was great (the catching wasn’t so good).
After last week’s Missouri blizzard the crew was getting cabin fever. We were forecasted to get an additional 4” of snow on Friday night. So, what did we do? Well, we did what any red-blooded Ozark Mountain family does – we struck out for the Current River on a snowy and cold Saturday morning to cook breakfast and fish for some brown trout in the Blue Ribbon Trophy Trout area at Parker’s Ford. For folks from the hills, it isn’t a matter of having time or having nice weather, rather, it’s embracing Mother Nature with whatever she gives and whenever she gives it. It’s a family affair and it is our way of life. And, if you are taking time to read an outdoor column then you too, most likely, have experienced a similar way of life.
Turning off the pavement for the last 2.5 miles to the river, we were rewarded with fresh, virgin snow on the gravel road and a canopy of arching, snow-covered oak trees over our heads. There’s something magical and calming about cutting fresh snow on a country road early in the morning. The only tracks on the road were those of the wildlife that called this winter wonderland their home. It was calm and 24°F at 9:00 am at Parker’s Ford when we arrived.
The first task was to build a fire to warm ourselves, cook breakfast and percolate coffee. I jumped out of the truck and immediately began gathering firewood. My main intention for the trip was to fish so I was in a hurry. I asked the kids to help gather wood in order to speed the process. In retrospect this request was probably unfair considering there was fresh snow on the ground. Needless to say there were more snow angels, wrestling matches, and snowball fights than wood gathered.
I was getting frustrated with the progress as I watched the clouds breaking up and the sun slowly cresting the steep ridge tops. I knew once the sunlight hit the water any fish activity would likely shut down. My wife, LaDonna, sensed my urgency and frustration and said, “You need to enjoy the small things.” I didn’t listen – there were fish waiting to be caught.
After gathering the wood, starting a fire, placing the cooking rack over the pit, and setting the coffee tripod over the fire, breakfast was finally started. We had sausage, gravy, biscuits, cinnamon rolls, milk and coffee.
The lid for our Dutch oven was used as a baking platter for the biscuits and rolls. Inside the oven the sausage was browned and then the gravy ingredients were cooked right into the sausage. The coffee pot had been hung too high and was slow to percolate. Again, I was frustrated as I mentally watched the sands in the fishing hourglass of time trickling away. As the sun broke through the snow covered canopy and hit our faces, LaDonna said, “You need to appreciate the small things like the sun on your face and the kids playing in the snow.”
At around 10:45 am, on the banks of the Current River on a calm, 24°F, frosty morning with the wilderness covered in a 4” blanket of brilliant white snow we finally ate a hot breakfast with hot coffee.
Biscuits with sausage gravy on the campfire - on a cold, crisp winter morning it doesn't get any better than this!The only sounds were those of the river flowing by and the kids playing in the snow – no cell phones, TVs, highways, or any other sounds of civilization. It was paradise. Yet I was distressed about not getting to fish.
Alex and I finally did get to fish for a few hours starting around 11:30 that morning. We didn’t catch much – the fish were shut down. But that was OK – thanks to my wife I finally realized the fishing was not the singular subject of the morning. It was simply part of the bigger picture of life in the Ozarks.
We were pursuing activities derived and refined over a millennium of human participation within Mother Nature (fishing, trapping, and hunting). We were not pursuing the ‘sport’ of fishing, we were participating in nature. We were living by design. We were the analogical bobcat that had not yet caught a rabbit. We were the fox who couldn’t yet locate a field mouse. We, like the bobcat and fox, are a part of nature and nature is a part of us. The fishing, mixed in with the experience of the river, snow, breakfast, kid’s playing, and a Saturday morning wilderness adventure, - those are the ingredients to the bigger picture of life in the hills. To marginalize interacting in nature as ‘sport’ is not only sacrilege to the wildlife, but it also is an affront to our very way of life. Sport you say? Living I say. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.
Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.
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