As September came to a close, my friend and the RUF minister at University of Iowa, Randy Crane, and I met up for a day trip in Delaware County. He has been fly-fishing the area for four years, and I was hoping he’d take me to a few new spots on the map.
By the time I finally made it up from Iowa City to our “meeting spot” (Bailey’s Ford near Manchester), Randy was already an hour into his day of fishing. He had waded into the confluence of the Maquoketa River and Bailey’s Ford, hoping a trout would hit the streamer he stripped through the converging currents. Unfortunately, neither the confluence nor the upper stretches yielded any trout. Randy had a hook-up in a hole above the camping area, but the fish got off before he could net it.
Following his lead, we left Bailey’s Ford for the Maquoketa River, beneath the dam at Delhi. We were sure the midday heat would produce an active day in the small mouth bass catch-and-release section. To our surprise, it was the exact opposite. 
Randy landed a few crappies and I only landed a tiny smallie using a black wooly bugger. (A few minutes before I landed him, I hooked into what I was sure was a monster of a smallie. But, alas, he got off.)
We spent a few hours tiring our arms casting to wary fish and decided to try a nearby trout stream. Jumping into Randy’s Subaru, we drove to Fountain Springs—a very small spring-fed stream nestled between two hills that gave it an Appalachian feel. Granted it was a Saturday, but when we finally made it to the DNR supported section of the river, I felt like we were cast in the sequel to Deliverance. The camping sites were filled with shirtless men, unshaven women, and questionable vehicles (could they actually pass state inspection?).
After passing a group of drunken men shooting arrows at beer cans using a bear bow, we pulled off the road to fish a few holes in the trickling stream. At no point in my experience did Fountain Springs get wider than five feet. But the water ran cold, and the few pools were deep enough for the trout to stack up. In the first deep hole I fished, I was able to coax a small rainbow to rise for a light sulfur pattern, but he shook off the hook. Just then I noticed a few larger rainbows feeding near the bottom.
After a few casts with a black wooly bugger, a nice sized “keeper” (in the words of the locals) struck the fly. With little room to fight, I landed the fish quickly and released him back into the hole.
Regardless of the stream condition, the day was a blessing to me. The first month after my return to Iowa was full of stress and hurry. I couldn’t be more grateful for Randy’s willingness to take me out on the river. It’s a blessing to sit and read Scripture on the riverbank and spend time in our Lord’s creation.
By the time I finally made it up from Iowa City to our “meeting spot” (Bailey’s Ford near Manchester), Randy was already an hour into his day of fishing. He had waded into the confluence of the Maquoketa River and Bailey’s Ford, hoping a trout would hit the streamer he stripped through the converging currents. Unfortunately, neither the confluence nor the upper stretches yielded any trout. Randy had a hook-up in a hole above the camping area, but the fish got off before he could net it.
Following his lead, we left Bailey’s Ford for the Maquoketa River, beneath the dam at Delhi. We were sure the midday heat would produce an active day in the small mouth bass catch-and-release section. To our surprise, it was the exact opposite. 
Randy landed a few crappies and I only landed a tiny smallie using a black wooly bugger. (A few minutes before I landed him, I hooked into what I was sure was a monster of a smallie. But, alas, he got off.)
We spent a few hours tiring our arms casting to wary fish and decided to try a nearby trout stream. Jumping into Randy’s Subaru, we drove to Fountain Springs—a very small spring-fed stream nestled between two hills that gave it an Appalachian feel. Granted it was a Saturday, but when we finally made it to the DNR supported section of the river, I felt like we were cast in the sequel to Deliverance. The camping sites were filled with shirtless men, unshaven women, and questionable vehicles (could they actually pass state inspection?).After passing a group of drunken men shooting arrows at beer cans using a bear bow, we pulled off the road to fish a few holes in the trickling stream. At no point in my experience did Fountain Springs get wider than five feet. But the water ran cold, and the few pools were deep enough for the trout to stack up. In the first deep hole I fished, I was able to coax a small rainbow to rise for a light sulfur pattern, but he shook off the hook. Just then I noticed a few larger rainbows feeding near the bottom.
After a few casts with a black wooly bugger, a nice sized “keeper” (in the words of the locals) struck the fly. With little room to fight, I landed the fish quickly and released him back into the hole.Regardless of the stream condition, the day was a blessing to me. The first month after my return to Iowa was full of stress and hurry. I couldn’t be more grateful for Randy’s willingness to take me out on the river. It’s a blessing to sit and read Scripture on the riverbank and spend time in our Lord’s creation.
7 comments:
good to see you're back.
Thanks Anonymous! I can't say I am overjoyed to be in Iowa, but the irony is that the longer I am here, the less time I have here.
such is life, huh? a profound irony really.
Yes, Mr./Ms. Anonymous, such is life. But it's a good life--here in Iowa and elsewhere. I can't complain. I really don't think I'd want to be anywhere else right now, overjoyed or not.
no new stories?
It's been a long Fall. Hopefully, this Jan. will provide me with trout-time.... hopefully.
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