Accidental Angler
by Michael Gibbs
So Much Water.... So Little! Time!
11
I was 15 years old when I first listened to Bob Dylan's album Highway 61 Revisited. Each song portrayed the people he met in his travels throughout America negatively, sparking an interest in me to travel. Was Bob Dylan right or did he meet all the wrong people? I had to find out for myself.
Where does fly fishing tie into this story? In a year where I traveled extensively for my job, fly fishing was the back-road that led me to new people, towns and a culture that I otherwise would have passed by. I took up fly fishing in July 2015 for the love of catching fish, but on one November morning, it accidentally took me to the town of Cotter, AR and opened a new passion in people for me.
On November 3rd, 2015 I packed all my belongings into my Jeep for the third time this year and drove from Havre, MT to Winston-Salem, NC. With destinations of The Badlands National Park, Kansas City, Ole Miss University and The Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I drove for 5 days, over 2,500 miles, and across 10 states to start a new job on November 9th.
Heading east on Montana's "Hi-Line" at 4:55AM, I ventured towards The Badlands National Park, SD. Weaving through vast ranch lands and wildlife preserves, the only signs of humanity were the towns of Roundup, Broaddus and abandoned schoolhouses along State Route 12. That first day saw more cows than cars on the road as I was out to look for America, alone. The black night slowly faded to a dull gray dawn then quickly to white as Montana's first snow storm of the season swept through. As I ventured through the Big Sky state through back roads lined with cottonwood trees and cattle guards, the skies opened and the air cleared. The snow eventually moved west and Montana eventually gave way to The Rushmore State, welcoming me with temperatures in the high 60's and bright blue skies. Despite fighting daylight savings and changing time zones, I arrived in Interior, SD with over 2 hours of daylight left. I was excited to set camp, hike, meet fellow travelers and explore; but when I arrived at the campgrounds, I saw no one. Not even a trace that a camper visited the Badlands that week. Those 10-plus hours of driving left me more isolated than any abandoned schoolhouse in Montana. Once camp was made, I hiked six miles of backcountry trails watching as the sun set to the west. The sky turned orange to purple to black as I returned to camp. That night, I fell asleep to the howls of coyotes in the distance.
I set off the next morning before sunrise through the cold, damp fog and headed south on Route 44 towards Nebraska en route to Kansas City. A pretty drive, it was another long day through America's Breadbasket with the final 250 miles battling trucks and construction on I-29. Finally, in Kansas City, I stuffed myself full of ribs and burnt ends, and decided to find some social reprieve. Fatigued from two long days of driving, I knew I needed a break. The Ozark Mountains were only four hours away, so instead of driving another 10-plus hours to Oxford, MS, I planned to camp in Arkansas. Unfortunately, I did not account for Hurricane Kate through Arkansas that same day. What was supposed to be a calm, scenic four hour drive was now a slow, cautious nightmare through low-level clouds carrying torrential rain and lightning.