What It means to me......

Fishing is a... discipline in the equality of men - for all men are equal before fish.  
-Herbert Hoover

What's it to you?

       When I was approached about writing this I wasn't sure where to begin.  I simply asked, "What do I need to do"?   The answer was, "Just talk about your success on the stream and what the river means to you".

My name is Jerremy Schemel and this is what the river means to me.  When I'm on the river I feel like time stands still.  The river flows past my feet and creates the sweetest song my ears have ever heard.  It's more than just a creek to go fishing in. The river is where I find peace that feeds my soul.  It's the place where I find complete freedom.

What I like to use

Most people who know me know that I love fly fishing and everything that goes along with it.  Whether I'm building a flyrod, tying flies, or spending time on the water fishing, there isn't one thing about flyfishing that I don't like.  You won't find me at a stream without a flyrod.  When I started flyfishing in 2012 I had every intention on becoming a trout angler.  That all changed when I took my flyrod  to a local warmwater stream and caught my first chunk of Missouri bronze on a size 8 Chernobyl Ant I had tied the night before.

Don't get me wrong now.  I think trout are beautiful creatures and I do like to fish for them.  However, there's something about smallmouth bass that just keeps me coming back for more.  It's a thrill from the time they hit my fly and start pulling and tail dancing on top of the water all the way until it's time for me to remove the fly and release it back to its flowing home.

I mentioned fly tying earlier in this article.  Hopefully I haven't bored you to sleep by now. If so, wake up for this part.  Here lately most of my fly tying has been focused on patterns for smallmouth bass and some of them have been pretty productive.  I started tying Whitewater Craws back in February (2016) and they're a pattern that I won't leave home without now.  If I need to downsize my presentation, the Whitewater Craw is my first choice.

I love articulated streamers.  It doesn't matter if I'm sitting at the vice tying them or standing in a stream casting and stripping them.  Articulated streamers are just a fun style of tying and fishing.  Don't be afraid to throw big streamers in small creeks.  You'd be surprised about some of the fish you'll catch on them in a small stream.  

My new go to streamer pattern would have to be Charlie Cravens Articulated Gonga.  After tying a test batch of Gongas on Christmas Eve I was able to take them to my favorite local smallie stream the day after Christmas and try them out.  I waded up stream to a big area of slack water and started casting.  At 3 inches long these flies cast really well on my 5 weight rod.  It didn't take long for this fly to get noticed.  After a couple casts I had hooked my first smallie of the day.  Once I had #Freedthefighter , I took a few more steps up stream and began the hunt again.  I casted the Gonga towards the bank near a root wad and after making a couple strips with my fly line I felt the tug and it was game time again.  With 2 smallies and 2 Largemouths within 20 minutes I knew right away that the Gonga was a producer.

When the warm summer weather rolls in then it's all about throwing big nasty poppers.  Every time the line is stripped to make the popper dive it's like waiting for a jack-in-the-box to pop out.  The thrill of watching a smallie explode on the surface and engulf a topwater fly doesn't compare much to anything else.  For real, Who doesn't like topwater bronze on the fly?  My go to for this is a block head popper.  I tie most of mine on a size 1 or size 1/0 gamakatsu b10s.  A little marabou, a hackle feather, some rubber legs, and a foam block head will have you ready for some fun top water action. 

During the Spring and Fall I'll still start off throwing a popper but most of the time it's streamer fishing for me.  When Fall starts setting in we can't forget about terrestrials!  No, I'm not talking about small ants and beetles. I'm talking about the good stuff. The big foam hoppers and Chernobyl Ants.  It may not be considered dry fly fishing to the elitist but we don't have to worry about elitist being on a bass page anyways.  So don't stress, go out and try some hopper fishing in the fall.  It's never disappointing seeing a smallmouth inhale a hopper.

Normally I'll fish a 5 weight rod with a floating weight forward fly line.  It's good for hoppers and some small articulated streamers.  When throwing big streamers and poppers I'll break out my 8 weight rod.  Not for the size of the fish but for the ability to throw the larger flies a little easier.

Thanks for reading and don't forget to FREE THE FIGHTER!  Check out Missouri Flyfishing Adventures on Facebook and Instagram.

Jerremy Schemel- Missouri Flyfishing Adventures

Dimly lit threads of silver

" You cannot step into the same river twice"

                                                                -Heraclitus

Guiding... Getting paid to fish? Really? Well, sort of..Getting paid to watch other people fish, row a boat, untangle knots, make lunch, laugh at bad jokes ( and some good ones), untangle knots, and, hopefully, impart some fly fishing knowledge along the way..usually while untangling knots..this being the "down time" in between bad jokes and boat rowing....

I started my guiding career quite by accident-I lost my real job and had zero desire to return to another "real job". After a very short but thorough self assessment ( I think it went something like " Hmmmm, what to do now.....??), I determined that I wanted to fish for a living. 
Turns out, It's not all cocaine and hookers, it's hard work. Up at 0300, frantic pre-trip tying sessions, tons of gear up keep and countless other chores keep the glamorous side of guiding in check. Then there's the real trick; getting clients. This was the infancy of the internet, when I began my career, and clients came more by referral than Google. Luckily, I had stumbled into a gig as fly fishing instructor at Roaring River State park, and started to build a name as someone who could catch his share ( and several others fair share) of fish.

In truth, I guided about 2 years longer than I should have. It became a job. I didn't want a job, so this was a dilemma. But, in retrospect, I kept at it because I was good at it, and I was more afraid of not being good at fly fishing and guiding than I was of anything. There is more to the story, but that's another post.

All of that leads me to this; why did I start guiding? My answer came in a series of essays I was writing at the time of my brothers death. I am including an excerpt here that sums it up. I still cannot read this without some emotion, even though I wrote it more than 16 years ago..

Chapter One: Dimly Lit Threads of Silver

The life I lead, that of a full time fly fishing guide, fly tyer and general nut for all things related to fly fishing and the pursuit of oneness with my surroundings, was not chosen in haste. To dedicate yourself to a life of near poverty, poor accommodations, and lack of many possessions not related to your field of work is a decision not to be made lightly. But it is one that has rewarded me in ways that are beyond rational explanation.
There are times on the water, like in all of life, when you are completely alone, yet feel surrounded by the things that make life what it is. A constantly changing, fluid operation that is different no matter how many times you attempt to repeat it.

The first step I take into a river is like coming home for Christmas. I feel the familiar rush of liquid energy; smells that have filled my life once again bring the feeling of familiarity. The first motion on stream is to touch the water, as if to, only for a moment, attempt to be one with the stream of life. There is a feeling you get, if you open your self to it, that somehow you belong here. That, even though you've done this a million times, you can transcend normal being, and JUST be a part of the river.
To be included in the daily goings on of the rivers life cycle, is to be blessed with a glimpse at wholeness. Watch closely, and you will see in the river all the characteristics we as humans find appealing in others. Beauty, grace, honesty, and giving occur, as they should, without thought or selfishness. The river knows not that it gives life to the fish of our longing; it just does what it does. It doesn't care that it nourishes all things that it touches; it just flows in a more or less forward course, forever changing, always winning.

When you look at it, it just appears to be flowing. Not so. It is breathing. Every riffle, every pool, alive in a kind of way that I will never know, but will always strive for.

I can’t tell you where this enlightenment (if that what you want to call it) comes from. I do however know where it occurred.

Several years ago, I was fishing Roaring River with my younger brother, Jon.
Jon was in the middle of battling cancer, a fight he would ultimately lose, and had not felt up to fishing in a while. Chemotherapy, radiation treatments and the rapid loss in weight that accompanies these treatments had left Jon very weak. But on this day, if I remember correctly it was a warm spring day, Jon had told me he felt he needed a trip. Jon and I grew up fishing this river. We had spent many a childhood summer roaming the hills and creeks in this wonderful watershed. Roaring River was my birthplace as it pertains to trout fishing, my lust for fishing nurtured on it’s stringers of hatchery trout and days spent with my family camped next to it’s cool, lush green banks. As I was saying, Jon said he felt up to a trip and asked if we could fish ‘together’, meaning side by side or at least in close proximity to one another. I knew that even though Jon said he felt well enough to fish, he was very tired and would need help and frequent rests.

Arriving at the river mid morning, we were pleasantly surprised to find few people on its banks. Roaring is a state run trout park and can be crowded at times, so the lack of people was a bonus to an already beautiful day.

I helped Jon out of the car and proceeded to put his rod up, rig my own and select flies for the both of us. I noticed Jon had already made his way to the river and was studying it intently. The look in his eyes told me that he was again wondering if this would be the final time he was going to gaze on the river that had brought us so much enjoyment. That look, that moment in time when I saw another person trying to saturate his being with his surroundings, changed my life and outlook on fly-fishing and trout streams. I saw Jon, desperately ill, looking at the River for what it was, a living, breathing entity that, like his own life, ebbed and flowed and could not be contained. Jon was trying to surround himself with the river, to take a piece of it and suspend it in time, so as to claim it for his own. For as long as I live, I will never forget that moment. Jon was SEEING the river, not just looking at it.

We fished for a while, until Jon needed to rest, and sat, looking at the stream as it flowed by us. I don’t remember what our conversation was about, I just remember that every time I looked at my brother, he was still staring at the river, I think trying to gather some energy from it. He wanted so bad to fish, but his strength was gone. I helped him back to the car and returned to the bank to retrieve our gear. When I knelt beside the water, I reached in, bathed my face in its coolness and said thanks. Thanks because through the eyes of a dying man, I for the first time in my life, saw how much of a friend the River had been, thanks for allowing Jon and I to spend one more moment, however brief, sharing in it’s generosity and grace...

Jon Walker-My bro, and best friend..

There you have it. More to come. Stay tuned...

See you out there...

The Bend in the Stream

“There will be days when the fishing is better than one’s most optimistic forecast, others when it is far worse. Either is a gain over just staying home.” 
-Roderick Haig-Brown

Thank you Dalton. This is why I fish...
-Free. The. Fighter!

The Bend in the Stream

Every boy needs a place to grow up...my place was cane creek.

We’d moved from the only home I’d known for eight years to a new town for my dad to start his new job and for us to start ‘our new life’. After renting a little house in town for a few months, we finally found a farmhouse, hidden in a little valley, tucked into the Ozark foothills. Surrounding the little white house was an uneven patchwork of pastures, fence rows, and stock ponds. The eastern border of the property was a red dirt road that snaked through the valley, the western border was the creek.

It seems every region in the Ozarks has its own labyrinth of streams and rivers where young explorers find their “secret spots’. For a few fleeting summers, Cane Creek was mine. It was mine to cope with the loneliness of leaving my small home town and all of my friends, and living 10 miles from my new town and 5 miles from any neighbors my age. Mine to adjust to the change of becoming a big brother after eight years of being an only child. But mostly it was mine to be free.

In summer, when the weather was nice, I went fishing or exploring nearly every day. I would climb the creaking metal gate and trek the path beaten down by the farm trucks and the cattle as they they came up to the barn at night. At the end of the half mile walk was a clearing, the gateway up a grassy hill that fell off into a mud bluff overlooking a deep hole at a bend in  the creek. This was the place that caused me to fall deeply in love with the streams and rivers of the Missouri Ozarks, and the fish and wildlife that call them home.

I remember vividly, as my dad and I waded the shallows fishing, the rapid pools how we stumbled onto a strange swimming pancake that turned out to be a softshell turtle. Only to turn around and catch our breath as we found ourselves face-to-face with a great gray owl, magnified by my boyish perception, which seemed 6 feet tall. Only casually disturbed by our presence, it cocked its enormous head to the side and took flight, in an eerie, almost sacred silence. As it effortlessly floated away, it's enormous wingspan filled the entire width between the trees on either side of the creek (or so it seemed).

I often waded, explored, and fished the creek for miles and miles, but it was in the honey hole at the bend, against the bluff, where I caught my first smallmouth. No more than 10 inches long, the smooth olive green body ice cold from the spring fed waters contrasting with the blazing, liquid red eyes left me captivated me. I can still see that fish in my hands; glistening in the sun, thick and powerful, and I remember the ripples as she turned tail and retreated back to her home in the bend of the stream.

It's hard to explain, but something significant happened that day. It seems a part of me came alive, that still lives and breathes inside me, that calls me back again and again to the clear, cold waters of the Ozarks, back to the freedom of boyhood, back to the safety of my secret places.

It's been almost 30 years since those days and many things have changed. I've caught thousands of small mouth since then and one would think they would lose their significance, but nearly every single one takes me back to that bend in the stream.  At times, there’s still a dull ache in my soul, as I remember the sound of the frogs chorusing when the sun started to hide behind the trees signaling the time to start for home.

Places like this and others have made me who I am.  I have to think it would do us all good to go back, even if only in our daydreams, to the safe, secret places of our childhood; to remember why we love the outdoors, our families, our friends, and to marvel at the reality that God himself would choose to drag his fingers across the earth, marking it with such profound beauty and complexity, then say to us, “here it is, enjoy”.

Over the years, I've come to learn there’s a boy inside every fisherman, longing to go back to somewhere and remember something. So, where is your somewhere, and what is your something?

-- 

Dalton Avery

Pastor at Life360 Church Republic

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Impending USGS gage discontinuation-PLEASE READ!

"Nothing is softer or more flexible than water, yet nothing can resist it."
-Lao Tzu

To all the OSA faithful:

Here is an important message from Matt Wier, president of Missouri Smallmouth Alliance. I rely on a great number of resources to stay safe and find the best water to fish, and losing any of the USGS gauges hampers our ability to do so. If you have the time, please read this and respond appropriately..
-Ryan Walker, 12.15.16

Fellow MSA Member's.  I'm sharing an update I received from Sam Potter, Fly Fishing Guide and fellow MSA Member, who attended the meeting in Waynesville.  After you read the email you should, if you have not done so already, please contact the USGS and your legislators and let them know that you do NOT wish to have these gages discontinued.  I'm going to contact Ms. Beussink at the USGS and find out what funds they still need and maybe we, as individuals or the the MSA can contribute some funding. 

Thanks,

Matt

Here is the skinny on the meeting today:
Meeting attended by several outfitters, members of USGS, DNR, MDC, Pulaski County Engineer, City of Waynesville, NWS , RFFA and myself.    Not present Corp of Engineers and US Army 
Everyone was in agreement that all four of the proposed gages are necessary, but there is insufficient funding for them to continue after the 1st of the year.
At present the four gages are funded by the US Army at FLW. They will no longer be funded by the Army after the 1st.
Cost to operate one gage for one year that includes CFS monitoring is  $14,600
Cost to operate one gage for one year, flow only is $5,200. (height in feet)
Most of the attendees agreed that while it is great to have the CFS monitored it isn’t necessary to determine water level safety, especially considering the cost involved.
 USGS funding for gages is often paid for by private enterprises and sometimes in partnership with DNR, MDC and others that have an interest in the particular gage involved.
The city of Waynesville will partially fund (partner with) gage or gages on the Roubidoux Creek. Undisclosed amount, but I think it was 50%
MDC has an interest in the Ross Bridge gage (upper gage above FLW) on the Big Piney and will partner funding for it.  Possibly the lower gage on the Roubidouix.
The lower Big Piney gage (below FLW) is a Federal Priority Streamgage (FPG) and is eligible to be funded with USGS appropriations if additional FPS funds become available.
 At our Roubidouix Fly Fishers (RFFA) meeting next week I will propose that we partner with a gage.  We are a small fishing club so we can’t fork out too much, but some is better than none.
I am pushing the upper gage on the Big Piney, but may have to settle on the lower gage if USGS can only come up with enough money for one gage.

 You can contact:
Amy M Beussink for more information. Email  ambeussi@usgs.gov   573-308-3665    cell  713-560-9899
USGS Missouri Water Science Center
 Sam Potter
Ozark Fly Fishing Guide
www.TightLine.biz
Outdoor & Sports Photography
www.TightLine.IFP3.com
573-465-3556
“A Bad Day Fishing Is Still A Great Day