September is many things. It’s the official end of summer, as the autumn equinox approaches. It is the month of the Harvest Moon, because harvests begin across the country to bring in the bounty of our great land. Too, September is the month of dove, teal, gigging and bow seasons. It’s an exciting month. For me September is a month to be on the river. So much is changing, and fish begin to feed up for winter as the weather cools and days grow shorter.
I thoroughly enjoy floating down the river. I’ve yet to find an Ozark river I didn’t like, but am partial to the Meramec, because it is practically in my back yard.
My wife, Dian recently dropped me off on the upper Meramec with my sit-on-top kayak. I planned to float to Scott’s Ford. The water flowed crystal clear and cool. I counted on fishing being a little tough, because of the low water flows and the clarity. I expected such and planned accordingly: I rigged a light rod with 4-pound test line and selected a handful of lures for the trip, including Rooster Tails, a gold and black Rapala, a selection of my hand tied jigs, and a Duane Doty signature stick-bait.
I always take a deep breath when first pushing off into the current. Lungs inflated by fresh river air serve me well. Too, the aroma of river water, coupled with the sweet scent of decaying vegetative matter, is refreshing and inspiring. I know what it means. My favorite time of year, fall, is not far away. I relish its arrival.
Abundant yellow river suckers darted to and fro as I stroked the water with my kayak paddle. Gigging season would start in a couple of days, and hill folks would be gathering at the river for that much looked forward to first sucker fry of the new season.
Friendships are deepened around campfires and cooking kettles. Piles of golden fried sucker filets, potatoes and onions, and hot biscuits slathered with apple butter are meals around which much laughter and stories are shared. Such gatherings are lighthearted, and whole families gather with friends to enjoy the river festivities.
Just below the confluence of Meramec Spring, a big rainbow trout followed my Rapala almost all the way to my kayak. No doubt, the big, colorful fish saw me and veered away at the last second. I quickly cast to the spot again, but big fish seldom commit a second time.
I quickly noticed that the river channel had changed dramatically from the November 2024 catastrophic flood on the Meramec. The channel appeared deeper in many places. Gravel bars gained height from the displaced gravel, and massive log piles lay like exposed, skeletal ribs of giant leviathans of ages past. The gaunt remains echoed the power of massive volumes of water moving down a narrow river valley.
A breeze rose and a shower of golden and brown leaves fluttered down to the water’s surface from stream-side sycamores and river birches. The falling leaves were a pleasant reminder that fall rapidly approached. I smiled to myself, content in the moment.
The warm waters of Dry Fork Creek drew a distinct line where they met the colder, clearer waters of the Meramec. I’ve historically caught good fish from the seam where the two meet. However, this day, I noticed an abundance of long-nosed gar hanging at the mouth of Dry Fork. I paddled hard to cut across the whirlpool current of the Meramec to enter the mouth of the Dry Fork. I opened my small lure box and selected a Rooster Tail with a big set of treble hooks. I had a plan.
I cast the colorful Rooster Tail to a pod of gar. One struck immediately. I hooked the two-foot fish in its toothy mouth, and the fight started. My light rod bent heavily under the strain. The toothy gar went airborne, and my lure came flying back at me. I dodged the bait and laughed. What fun.
I repeated the process and soon hooked another gar. I could have landed that one easily but chose to play it until it came unhooked. I hooked and released a dozen more before the action began to slow. Had I been hungry, I could have eaten well. Gar balls are a favorite of gar fans.
Below the Dry Fork, I began to catch smallmouth bass and a variety of sunfish. It amazed me that tiny sunfish, in the four-inch range, would attack a 5-inch stick-bait. And they often engulfed a single prong on the treble hook. I admired the stunning blues and oranges of a pumpkinseed and released it.
Intrigued by the aggressive bite of smallmouth bass, I tied on my Duane Doty bait, which resembled a 5-inch sucker. The gold and brown bars of the lure looked very convincing in the water. I got a hit on the first cast and caught an 11-inch smallmouth on the second cast.
Ten yards further downstream, my rod jumped, and I heard a sharp ping. Next, a big smallmouth rolled to the surface, attempting to shake free of the lure that stung its jaw. I sighed in dismay at a lost trophy Meramec River smallmouth.
Belly growls prompted me to pull over on a gravel bar. I built a small fire and dug a small skillet out of the holds of my kayak. I normally cook elaborate meals when I’m camping. In the name of simplicity, I made a fried bologna sandwich complete with sliced garden fresh tomatoes and mayonnaise.
I sat for an hour or more and watched the Meramec flow downstream. The peace and quiet made me wish I was camping overnight. I realized, however, that I had enjoyed my day immensely, and fall was just around the corner.
