The road to the Norfork Tailwater from Mountain Home was a sad one in June. Early in the morning on May 26th, 2024, at around 4:30am, a large tornado carved a six mile path, almost paralleling the main road. It was rated EF-3 and killed one woman, injured others, and destroyed multiple homes. Emily and I passed through the wreckage of people lives before dropping down into the valley where the tailwater was. Though it hadn't caused as much damage down there, word is the tornado and associated severe thunderstorms had blow the last of the Great Southern Brood periodical cicadas in this area away. Given that was the main reason for the visit, it was hard to feel confident about the daytime fishing. The sight of people's lives scattered around in the woods and fields like so much tissue paper by winds over 120 miles per hour was, much, much harder to stomach. So perhaps I ought not see much at all? Brown trout, especially big brown trout, are very nocturnal critters anyway.
Northern Arkansas may not seem the most likely place for one of the best big brown trout fisheries in the world, but combination of factors, most of them unnatural, have resulted in just that. In 1944, construction was completed on Norfork Dam, which was originally designed to be a flood control dam but modified to include generators, and in 1949 stocking of brown began. Bull Shoals Dam was opened on the White River in 195, and Greers Ferry Dam created the Little Red River tailwater in 1962, and soon all three tailwaters would become robust trout fisheries as the massive and deep reservoirs created by these dams would keep each at a steady, cool temperature even in the stifling Ozarks summers. As time passed, aquatic insects would populate, stocking regimes would change, and instances of gigantic trout would grow more and more frequent. On May 9th, 1992, Howard Collins caught a 40 pound 4 ounce wild brown trout out of the Little Red, solidifying Arkansas in the annals of brown trout angling history. Each of these tailwaters could at any moment kick out a brown trout as large as anyone has ever seen to some lucky angler.
I'd first learned about the White River in the context of streamer fishing. When the big-streamer-trout craze hit its peak, there were essentially two epicenters- Michigan and Arkansas. The White River, with its size, heavy generation cycles, baitfish population, and monstrous trout became a big fly mecca. For a long time I thought that if I ever got to fish the White it would be in the winter to chuck big streamers and sinking lines. About a decade later and I first wet my waders in the White when they turned most of the generators off, when the water was low and manageable in the black of night. Instead of a high-octane, fast stripping, covering a lot of ground, I was in for a different experience, but one that is very much my style now- the subtle approach, covering water with careful deliberation, alone, with somewhat subtler tactics. I'm still very much after the same sort of fish though- big, predatory Salmo trutta.
The specific allure of night fishing for me is its tactility. I read water by feel, a keen awareness of the tension on my line and what it means guiding me through seems, eddies, pockets... time taught me that I don't need to see to read water, even somewhere I've never been. The take, the feeling of the take, is the prize. A fly line is a glorified handline. We manipulate our flies primarily with our hands to achieve a specific action, then the take often registers through that line rather than feeling the rod bend holding the grip. The feeling of a grab in the dark, with all visual aspects removed, is an electric feeling. It isn't always jarring, aggressive, or violent. Oftentimes the larger the fish is the more subtle it is, which makes good sense to me. Even with a fairly large, buoyant fly, the take of a large brown trout may just be an increase in tension. There's often no loud blowup or surface hysterics. Think of how a 20 inch trout eats a mayfly dun. There's no need for it to race up and attack it violently. It can just gulp it down. That seems to be exactly how giant trout eat frogs, injured baitfish, mice, and other such things in the dark. Sometimes though it is explosive, and that is of course quite jarring and exciting. But if I'm honest, I like the subtler takes better. I feel they result in fish to hand more often. The subtle bite and subsequent hookup is an affirming bit of confirmation that technique and approach are on point.
I crept my way out into the low flows of the river blind in one sense but with the added confidence of useful intel from a friend. On such a big river, its more than a little intimidating. But I have a lot of good friends that have fished all over, and Mark Sedotti had given me all I really needed to know to be safe- what wading would be like and a list of places I could park. I'd have tackled the river without the intel anyway but my approach would have had to be more cautious and slow. Careful daytime examination was performed, though the flows were much higher than they'd end up being.
My process was very simple- slowly work the available water with a large, neutrally buoyant confidence fly, altering my presentation periodically and moving only when I was sure I'd thoroughly covered the water I could reach and didn't believe it was worth waiting for more fish to move in. This was unlike anywhere else I'd night fished though. The maximum possibilities were outrageous, the number of fish were as well. The forage variety isn't what I'm used to either. But trout are trout no matter where you are in the world, so I was sure I'd be able to catch. Sure enough the river delivered in fairly short order.
The night two highlight ended up being a short window in a big eddy when a fairly quick two hand retrieve seemed to be favored. This is counter to most of the deathly slow presentations I make at night, but it works now and then so I use it. A gnarly 22" rainbow and a 19" brown fell first, neither take being particularly noteworthy despite the aggressive retrieve. The next fish to move, though, absolutely blasted out of the water for the fly and completely missed. That one was clearly a much larger fish, which I could see partially in the glair of a house's lights. I'd guess it was in the high 20's, though I really don't know for sure. It never made contact with the fly that I could feel and I couldn't get it to come back. Though 25 fish came to hand on that second night and plenty were 18-22", the real monster still alluded me.
Once again there was a little light in the sky as I peeled my leaky, smelly waders off after that finale stand. I reflected on how exceptional the fishing I'd just had was. On a lot of the rivers back home I typically go a whole season without catching as many quality wild trout in the dark. It's pretty cool to step into a place where the standard is a little different, and the possibilities are almost hard to fathom.
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