The Honeymoon Honey Hole

By Dawson Miller

Not long after I moved into an apartment in Camden, the unit next door was leased to a couple of British nurses.

I wasted little time introducing myself. They had never been to America and were experiencing severe culture shock. I took it upon myself to show them all the beauty of The Natural State.

We began with weekend camping trips to the Ouachita Mountains and outings on the lakes of Southwest Arkansas. I was raised with a fishing pole in my hand and wanted the girls to see how much fun it was to catch a mess of bream for a delicious fish fry. They soon began to love fishing as much as I did.

By mid-February, my friends were in a winter malaise and talking about going back to England. I needed to rekindle their budding love for Arkansas. I figured to take them fishing again, but not just fishing, but an action-packed, nonstop catching experience.

I had been introduced to trout fishing below the dams on the Ouachita River. I fished below Remmel, Carpenter and Blakely Mountain dams and was amazed that all you needed to catch a mess of trout was a spinning reel, lightly weighted hook and a can of corn.

On a warm March morning, I convinced them to come with me to Blakely Mountain Dam. We stopped by Lockwood’s Sporting Goods in Hot Springs and encountered the store manager, Big Daddy Goesh, who was a fishing legend in the Diamond Lakes area. He immediately took a shine to the Brits, filling them with the local lore he was famous for. He got them excited about catching some nice rainbows.

As we exited the store, Big Daddy took me aside and put a small bag in my hand. He said, “If they won’t eat the corn, try this.” In the bag were six flies and a bubble cork. I had never fished with flies, but I wasn’t overly concerned because if it didn’t work, I knew we could get our limits bottom fishing with corn.

Taking U.S. Highway 270 west out of Hot Springs, we turned right on 227 at Piney and followed it to Mountain Pine. Turning left on Blakely Mountain Dam Road, we wound our way down to the cold, clear waters of the Ouachita River flowing from the lake.

Our sweet spot was on the east bank in an eddy next to the dam. I showed them where to cast and sat back to wait for the fishing mele to begin. I waited and I waited.

We’d been there an hour without so much as a nibble. I looked around at the other fishermen who were having no more luck than us. Knowing this could be my last chance with the girls, I tied the bubble cork on and set it 5 feet above the first fly.

I made several casts with the most likely looking fly in the package. Still nothing. I changed flies every 5 minutes going through all but one big gauche-looking bumble bee. It looked more like a gag lure than a fly, but the girls had all the fun they could stand and were ready to go. I said, “Let’s try this last fly.”

I cast it to the edge of the eddy. After 3 seconds the water exploded and a beautiful 3-pounder hurdled through the air. Expecting to lose this huge fish with each jump, I somehow managed to land it in the net. 

Thinking it a fluke, I cast it back to the same spot. Another 3-pound rainbow struck. I quickly forgot why I came in the first place and kept fishing while the girls watched in amazement. Upon catching my sixth big fish, I gave the rod to Julie. She caught her limit, then Joyce took a turn to catch her six lunkers.

Nearby fishermen noted our success and were cheering the girls on. As I gathered up our gear, we started getting offers to purchase the fly. One dad even bid 20 bucks to let his young son, who was bored with the whole affair, try his luck. The fly was so tattered, it was barely recognizable as a bumble bee. I gave him the remnant. Looking back from the car, we saw the youngster fighting another giant rainbow. It was an Arkansas miracle that made four people, we three and the young boy, forever hooked on fishing. Julie and I married that fall and recently celebrated our 44th anniversary. We often reminisce about that day that changed our lives forever, recalling our “honeymoon” honey hole.