Creative Writing: The Bighorn River

It was another beautiful day on the Missouri River. The air was crisp. A slight breeze drifted over the ice covered river. The sun was illuminating onto the ice making a bright white light. You could not have asked for a better day of ice fishing. Luckily for us, we got settled just in time for the chaotic weather. We had our shack 15 yards from the 13th pillar under the Singing Bridge. Shacks were scattered all over the river like stars in the sky. It was about 25 degrees out, perfect for ice fishing. Everybody

* Leopold outwits the great trout at the Alder Fork by walking upstream, dropping his dry fly into the stream at his feet and pay out line to let it drift towards the trout who is waiting around the bend in a hole under the Alder canopy. What was big about the trout caught that day was the chance. (June, pgs. 42-43)

The well known Grand Canyon wasn’t always grand. About 6 millions years ago there live a princess called Artemis, she loved a lot of things like hunting, wilderness, and animals. Her kingdom was located in the territory now called, Arizona. She always had her trusty bow and arrow everywhere she went. She hunted so much that she would bring extra animals to feed the poor. But her father didn’t like that, he was selfish and forbade her to feed the poor anymore. He wanted her daughter to be normal, like wear dresses, have proper manners, and be quiet like every princess should be. She didn’t like that, her passion was to hunt, and possibly become a warrior with her true love. The fault with that dream she had no true love.

"Wake up, partners," the trail boss, James called. I sleepily looked up , shivered, and saw I was the only one not up. "Here," James said, giving me the horses' bridles and saddles. "Take these and get the horses ready. We have a long day today." I groaned in reply and set up the horses for the day's long drag. I was the horse wrangler and this was my everyday job but I still couldn't get use to the idea of waking up before the sun and working. We drove the cattle into open plains against the winter's cold wrath.

The driver, Cecilia Blair, of vehicle 1 was traveling north through the intersection of N. State St. and Flint St. when she had a collision with vehicle 2. The driver, Jacqueline Muir, of vehicle 2 was heading west on Flint St. when she was struck by vehicle 1.

On the far Northern border of Dundee Wisconsin, a small Scout Camp was founded in 1946 and a legend was born. This camp was named Long Lake, after the lake upon which it resides, and it would experience its fair share of storms and turmoil over the ensuing years. Some of its visitors only ever viewed it as a mosquito infested swamp while others would go on to call it their second home. To me however, I have always had a love hate relationship with its wooded trails and murky waters, yet I shall always cherish my memories of it in my heart. Regardless, Camp Long Lake is still one of my favorite places to visit with its quaint ecology conservation lodge, the various activities its main waterfront has to offer, and the thrills of sleeping

Suddenly, leaves rustled in the distance and a small doe appeared with piercing brown eyes and a jet-black nose eating luscious wild blackberries from a bush. After walking a short distance, faint sounds of rushing water filled the atmosphere and the scenery unexpectedly changed. Giant old hemlock trees towered over the trickling picturesque creek that parallels the trail, whispering in the breeze. A natural freshness emerged in the mountain air approaching Abrams Falls as misty sprays of chilly sprinkles bounced off my body. The cascading water roared and rumbled over the broad ledge, appearing frosty white and foamy before plummeting into the deep, crystal-clear pool below. Like most visitors, I dipped my hands into the water pool and enjoyed a cool refreshing drink. The sun beamed overhead in the blue sky and a nippy breeze caressed my body as I sat on an enormous, gray boulder admiring the magnificent natural wonder of the Abram Falls. Trekking on Abrams Falls Trail and observing the powerful, breathtaking waterfall was a memorable excursion that I hope to share with

It swirled against the log spiles of the bridge. Nick looked down into the clear, brown water, colored from the pebbly bottom and watched the trout keeping themselves steady in the current with wavering fins. As he watched them they changed their position by quick angles, only to hold steady in the fast water again. (Hemingway 177)

Florida was a type of hell I'll never come back to. I'm glad I left. Even though it was bought in 1819, some fifty years ago, I was in need of new gullible breed to hustle. Florida had been sucked dry by Jeff “Hands” McCoy. Admittedly, I miss my partner in crime and my adventures would have been a lot more…. well, adventurous. Fred, I’ve missed your expert ability to handle the people with ease, which I'll never be able to do. I honestly expected for this trip to only last a year or two. I had never thought that it would be, what, ten years. Looking back, I don't think I would've changed one bit of the journey. Maybe in the next couple years or so I'll be able to come and visit you over a Transcontinental Railroad. I hear that Congress may

It was August of 1829 in Mississippi. Men were harvesting corn and beans. The smell of the Choctaw own acorn bread filled the air. All the children were prancing about, playing with friends, shooting squirrels with their little toy bows, and wrestling for the last bite of jerky. All but one child. That lonely little boy’s name was Koi. Koi never got to play with the other Choctaw boys, as he had to prepare to become chief.

“Honey I’m going to be in Lake Tahoe’s Emergency Room in three days for Suzzane.”

The Smithton Sportsman's Club is one of the most beautiful places in Smithton, Illinois. Upon entering, it does not look like much, but as I pull up on the gravel road next to the first pavilion, the first lake becomes visible. Trucks rolling along the gravel road and singing frogs are the only sounds that I can hear. Large trees reflect perfectly off the still water. Occasionally a frog jumps in or a fish makes a splash: making the only movement in the water. Separating the first two lakes is a dam that allows me to walk across to the third lake. When standing on the bank, I look through the clear water and see small bluegill swimming around in search of food. As I walk towards the third lake I see trees perfectly lined up to make relaxing

Many anglers are reluctant to troll for fear of hanging up on the bottom and losing expensive gear. With a little effort this can be avoided. With the water level down to the existing river, it can be seen that there are very few trees in the actual river channel. The river was flowing long before the old lake was developed. This constant water flow washed away standing trees and prevented new growth. This should indicate that the river channel, all the way to the dam, is free and clear of snags. The old dam was built in 1926 to create the original lake. Throughout time, the flooded timber will break down and decompose. This should allow anglers to safely troll over the original lake and river channel without losing gear. Anglers with GPS units may map the river channel and depth finders are an important bit of equipment. Meanwhile, shore anglers who make the long walk down to the water are finding catfish with the standard baits, such as shad, mackerel, and chicken liver. Near the Hwy 49 bridge has been a popular spot and young Preston Berhorst, of Escalon, caught a 6-pound catfish with frozen shad bait. Those with four-wheel drive are still getting out of Glory Hole Point and night anglers are picking up a variety of species by using submersible lights and live

With the afternoon sun beating down on the water and the camp in view, I can’t help but catch my breath in awe as I prepare to hike down the rest of the way, absorbing the beauty of this wonderful place. As the steep trail descends along the shoreline, it runs over the Sierra Mountain streams and makes its way towards camp. Running through camp and past the aged Herrington Lodge that serves as our kitchen, the trail then ascends up and through the campsites which reside on a rocky ridge. Overlooking the Lake from above, the view from the campsites becomes quite relaxing, especially as you climb up higher and higher. The highest campsite on the rocky hill is Eagle Rock, and although the hike can be treacherous, the incredible sight of the distant Sierra Mountains makes it worthwhile. While Camp is in session, I often see some people rowing, or sailing gracefully through the water. Because the south end of the lake is surrounded by a tall rocky ridge, Cody Lake often gets wind from the north, where the valley descends just past the edge of the water, overlooking the distant highway. Looking outwards, I can see a distant waterfall as

As I sat next to the loud river that was bursting out of the Sylvan Dam, I noticed the water was in an invariable battle with the rocks, crashing and thrashing against each other like medieval warriors scraping for land. I looked around the edges of the river to see the copiousness of colors from the trees contrasting the sinister blue water. The rapids put off a pleasant and dulcet sound that ultimately ended in me having to relieve some building pressure down the trail. After returning to my riverside view, I noticed that farther down the gleaming river, fish were jumping and flipping like delicious pancakes on a griddle. Making the split-second decision to fish, I sprinted to my 1999 black Chevy Silverado, unlatched the tailgate and snatched all of my waterproof fishing gear. Slipping on my Mossberg max 4 Camo Gander Mountain guided series waders is no easy chore. While looking like the most incapable human being ever I finally managed to slip on the foul scum smelling waders that I so dearly should have washed. Feeling like a professional mountain climber, I started scaling the steep inclement of the river bank. Stomping my insulated waders into the frigid dour murky water, I ventured my path out onto a construction of rocks forming a beautiful approach for spotting fish. I released my light green jointed shad Rapala from my St. Croix Legend Elite spinning rod and casted the shad into pooling backwater just off of my rocky approachment. Feeling the vibration of the shad through my rod, smacking against slime covered rocks and ripping through dense weedy areas. I felt aspirant to not get hung up on a rock resulting in a line break, I successfully retrieved my lure. After casting and reeling my line several times and just started zoning out, I was abruptly startled to hear a ruckus coming from the west side embankment. Glancing quickly back to the water to see where my lure was only to hear a loud splash coming from the same place where I first noticed the ruckus. Three deer, with golden brown fur coated enrolled into the water. Realizing that the leaders of the small herd were both doe’s and a younger buck eagerly followed. The buck had a nice six-point rack, with long tines and a wide spread. He kept his