No, that is not a misspelling in the title. Huzzah Creek, which flows primarily in Crawford County east of Steelville is an Anglicized version of the word Huzzaus, which was the name of a group of Osage Indians in the area. The French first noted the spelling of the word, but by the time the English butchered it, the word became Huzzah. Others say the word Huzzah was derived from an Indian word “Wazhazhe." It meant Osage Nation.
Despite all the loss in translation of words, the Huzzah remains a wild and free flowing stream that attracts thousands of water lovers each season.
I recently chose a Monday to float the lower portion of the Huzzah, from Scotia down. Within a mile it flows into the Meramec. From there I drifted down to Onondaga Cave State Park a mere two and a half miles.
As I slid my kayak down a mud bank at the Missouri Department of Conservation access to the Huzzah, I immediately noticed the clarity of the water. It appeared as if the rocky bottom popped, as if magnified by refraction of the water. I looked forward to the other beauties of the creek I was about to enjoy.
As a side note, the Missouri Department of Conservation would do well to expand their parking lot at the Huzzah Access and add a spacious concrete ramp for floaters to use. There are two private accesses on the opposite side of the creek, but they experience a lot of traffic from folks who want to use their properties without paying. It creates problems, which could be alleviated by a better MDC access. They have enough property at the location too easily expand.
I rigged two fishing rods before leaving the access. I had big smallmouth bass on my mind. On my spinning rod, I added a 4-inch smoke colored YUM Dinger worm. Consisting of a straight piece of round plastic, the bait appears to be about as do nothing a bait as imaginable. They do, however, exhibit an uncanny worming action as they slowly drift to the bottom, or are washed downstream. Smallmouth strike them readily.
On my bait caster I rigged a 4-inch black and white Whopper-Plopper, a gurgling surface lure, which creates a lot of water movement and noise. They are often very productive in early morning, before the sun gets too high.
Shoving off into the current is always exhilarating. It’s comparable too letting a bird out of a cage, or a rush from being startled by a snake. My heartbeat quickened as I paddled the first few strokes. I dipped my right hand into the cool waters, and immediately felt like I was home, where I belonged.
A quarter-mile downstream a back bay cut to the right at the base of a gorgeous dolomite bluff. Back bays often hold some good fish, especially largemouth bass, goggle-eye and the prehistoric gar. I turned my kayak up the bay.
First casts of the day are always special. It’s the beginning of an adventure. And everyone knows that fishermen are the eternal optimists, driven by the possibilities of catching a fish, a really big fish. It’s the way the fishing culture has trained us, or better yet, brainwashed us. I like it. The fishing mindset creates expectations, which adds to the enjoyment of chasing fish.
I made my first cast, a long arching throw into the air, kinda like shooting an arrow that will land who knows where. Actually, I had a target in mind, a low hanging bush right next to a big rock.
The Whopper-Plopper splashed down with a resounding “plop.” Ripples broke the calm surface. I let the bait sit for five seconds and began my retrieve. The tail blade had not turned over five times when the water exploded. A chunky 14-inch largemouth had inhaled my bait. I had my first fish of the day on my first cast.
That occurrence certainly added to my expectations for the rest of the day. I had visions of much larger fish hitting my lures as I slowly drifted downstream.
The surface action slowed quickly, so I opted for my spinning rod rigged with a plastic bait. I made my first cast with it to a clump of rocks near the shoreline. I felt the thump immediately and set the hook. A gorgeous 8-inch smallmouth had attacked the Dinger, which was half its own length. It amazes me that these spunky fish will attack prey items close to their own size.
Lots of trees came down in the last flood, but I never encountered any blocking the stream. These lay-downs will create a lot of new fish cover and I cast to them at every opportunity. Hangups cost me a few baits, but I always take plenty.
Every time I drifted by a root-wad, I would attempt to stare into the depths of the hole created behind it to look for big smallmouth. Bingo! I finally spotted an 18-inch fish, a real trophy for the Huzzah. That fish is roughly 12 years old, give or take a little.
I drifted by the fish and beached my kayak. I walked back up stream parallel to the downed log in the middle of the river, where the fish hid. I rigged a pearl colored Fluke, a minnow imitator, and cast it a few feet above the log. The drift looked perfect. As the bait dipped into the hole below the root-wad, I jigged it slightly.
My line went tight. I set the hook. That gorgeous fish exploded out of the water. My Fluke came flying back at me. I fell to the gravel bar in disbelief.
That big fish got away, but there would be others. Besides, I know where that trophy smallmouth lives. I’ll chase it another day.
No, that is not a misspelling in the title. Huzzah Creek, which flows primarily in Crawford County east of Steelville is an Anglicized version of the word Huzzaus, which was the name of a group of Osage Indians in the area. The French first noted the spelling of the word, but by the time the English butchered it, the word became Huzzah. Others say the word Huzzah was derived from an Indian word “Wazhazhe." It meant Osage Nation.
Despite all the loss in translation of words, the Huzzah remains a wild and free flowing stream that attracts thousands of water lovers each season.
I recently chose a Monday to float the lower portion of the Huzzah, from Scotia down. Within a mile it flows into the Meramec. From there I drifted down to Onondaga Cave State Park a mere two and a half miles.
As I slid my kayak down a mud bank at the Missouri Department of Conservation access to the Huzzah, I immediately noticed the clarity of the water. It appeared as if the rocky bottom popped, as if magnified by refraction of the water. I looked forward to the other beauties of the creek I was about to enjoy.
As a side note, the Missouri Department of Conservation would do well to expand their parking lot at the Huzzah Access and add a spacious concrete ramp for floaters to use. There are two private accesses on the opposite side of the creek, but they experience a lot of traffic from folks who want to use their properties without paying. It creates problems, which could be alleviated by a better MDC access. They have enough property at the location too easily expand.
I rigged two fishing rods before leaving the access. I had big smallmouth bass on my mind. On my spinning rod, I added a 4-inch smoke colored YUM Dinger worm. Consisting of a straight piece of round plastic, the bait appears to be about as do nothing a bait as imaginable. They do, however, exhibit an uncanny worming action as they slowly drift to the bottom, or are washed downstream. Smallmouth strike them readily.
On my bait caster I rigged a 4-inch black and white Whopper-Plopper, a gurgling surface lure, which creates a lot of water movement and noise. They are often very productive in early morning, before the sun gets too high.
Shoving off into the current is always exhilarating. It’s comparable too letting a bird out of a cage, or a rush from being startled by a snake. My heartbeat quickened as I paddled the first few strokes. I dipped my right hand into the cool waters, and immediately felt like I was home, where I belonged.
A quarter-mile downstream a back bay cut to the right at the base of a gorgeous dolomite bluff. Back bays often hold some good fish, especially largemouth bass, goggle-eye and the prehistoric gar. I turned my kayak up the bay.
First casts of the day are always special. It’s the beginning of an adventure. And everyone knows that fishermen are the eternal optimists, driven by the possibilities of catching a fish, a really big fish. It’s the way the fishing culture has trained us, or better yet, brainwashed us. I like it. The fishing mindset creates expectations, which adds to the enjoyment of chasing fish.
I made my first cast, a long arching throw into the air, kinda like shooting an arrow that will land who knows where. Actually, I had a target in mind, a low hanging bush right next to a big rock.
The Whopper-Plopper splashed down with a resounding “plop.” Ripples broke the calm surface. I let the bait sit for five seconds and began my retrieve. The tail blade had not turned over five times when the water exploded. A chunky 14-inch largemouth had inhaled my bait. I had my first fish of the day on my first cast.
That occurrence certainly added to my expectations for the rest of the day. I had visions of much larger fish hitting my lures as I slowly drifted downstream.
The surface action slowed quickly, so I opted for my spinning rod rigged with a plastic bait. I made my first cast with it to a clump of rocks near the shoreline. I felt the thump immediately and set the hook. A gorgeous 8-inch smallmouth had attacked the Dinger, which was half its own length. It amazes me that these spunky fish will attack prey items close to their own size.
Lots of trees came down in the last flood, but I never encountered any blocking the stream. These lay-downs will create a lot of new fish cover and I cast to them at every opportunity. Hangups cost me a few baits, but I always take plenty.
Every time I drifted by a root-wad, I would attempt to stare into the depths of the hole created behind it to look for big smallmouth. Bingo! I finally spotted an 18-inch fish, a real trophy for the Huzzah. That fish is roughly 12 years old, give or take a little.
I drifted by the fish and beached my kayak. I walked back up stream parallel to the downed log in the middle of the river, where the fish hid. I rigged a pearl colored Fluke, a minnow imitator, and cast it a few feet above the log. The drift looked perfect. As the bait dipped into the hole below the root-wad, I jigged it slightly.
My line went tight. I set the hook. That gorgeous fish exploded out of the water. My Fluke came flying back at me. I fell to the gravel bar in disbelief.
That big fish got away, but there would be others. Besides, I know where that trophy smallmouth lives. I’ll chase it another day.
