Another Saturday in Iowa, which means another day on an Iowan river. That morning I jumped into my truck and headed to the Manchester area for a day of trout fishing in Bailey’s Ford Park.
Most of the lower section of Bailey's Ford is bordered by the park, which offers campsites for the “modern” outdoorsman. Unfortunately, I didn’t have time to hook up my RV before leaving. So, I’ll have to trade grilling hotdogs and slingin’ worms with peanut butter crackers and peeing in the woods. The lack of detail on the Iowa Trout map left me a bit confused as to whether or not I actually found Spring Branch or Bailey's Ford, but I passed a kind Australian named Gary, who assured me I was in the right area while cleaning some freshly stocked bows.
Did you notice I said stocked bows? Yup, it was initially disappointing to find the few holes near the park swarmed by rainbows, with backs scarred from the holding tanks at the Manchester hatchery. Still, I could see fish. That’s a good thing. My next task was getting away from all the commotion and catching one of them. After suiting up, I headed upstream.
Now, I am a proud man (hello, I’m human!), so bitter thoughts of a creek being ruined by bait fishers filled my head as I walked through the developed area of the park. That’s when the Lord stepped in and smacked me across the face. It took the excitement of two young boys with fishing poles running up and down the stream—making sure to stay within shouting distance of their parents—to remind me of the joy of nature and the need to encourage children to experience God’s creation. All I could do is say, “hi,” and walk away with a smile.
100 yards past the boys I stepped into the creek, which I learned was a mistake in a stream this small, and started recklessly flinging a black ant around. It took several tree branches and stalks of grass before I made the adjustment, and just as I did, there he was. I spooked him a little, but only enough to move him deeper into the whole. Stepping out of the creek, I switched to a wooly bugger, and reentered a few feet back from where I spooked him. After a few casts I noticed the hole deserted, and I decided to plunk the fly somewhere (and I emphasize somewhere) in the top of the hole. The water near the front passes over a small ledge, thrusting itself into a sharp turn of the creek. I did a little trimming of the weeds with the bugger before I finally landed the fly in the water. And there he was!—hiding under the cut bank. He pounced on the fly when it hit the water, missed it, pounced again, missed it, and finally, pounced a third time inches from my feet. In a creek no more than eight feet wide at its largest point, I never expected a trout of his length and girth. 
Needless to say, I stuck with the bugger the rest of the way up the stream, and hooked several more healthy, colorful browns. I made it all the way to some electric fencing, keeping the cows from escaping and me from entering, before I turned back, deciding to dry fly my downstream to the truck.
That’s when I hit the double. I knew there were a few bows, I believe to be holdovers like the browns I caught, feeding near a bridge, so I made a few casts with a hopper-ant set up in a section I expected the fish to be holding. Boom! An over-zealous bow jumped out of the water for my ant. A few more rebellious jumps, and I netted my first Iowan bow.
Bailey's Ford: I need to keep her in the back of my mind. She is certainly a go-to stream for me. The DNR did a great job creating rock banks conducive to holding trout, and the fish appear to have a good source of food generated by the large amounts of grass on the creek bottom. I wonder how fished this creek gets during the Spring and Summer? Nevertheless, I’d like to get past the electric fencing and fish the protected section of Spring Branch.
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