Every time I do I'm reminded it's an easy six or eight hour trip, that I should visit more often. But Iowa's in the way. Neat fact: they legalized fireworks for the first time since the Depression. Residential detours through Muscatine and Davenport were a war zone fueled by pent-up demand coupled with inexperience.
Slept six hours in a rest stop parking lot just across the river before finding a Wally World and squaring away my license. Then, a stream. Missed a brookie early, then decided high-sticking a rubberlegs through the fast, deep channel was more zen than futzing with dries in an overgrown pasture.
By 12:30 it was hot, so I found a campsite and siesta'd until evening.
Slept in, drank coffee, winced at the weather report. Scrawled “CAMPING FEE” on a sheet of notebook paper and wrapped eighteen dollars inside, slipping it in the book drop of the town library, figuring it'd make it to the right folks. The library was in one long, low building, sandwiched between a sports bar and a microbrewery. I liked that. Headed north-er.
Made it to the new place about 3 in the afternoon and headed downstream throwing big craft fur and flash concoctions I'd tied just for the occasion. Nothin'. Tied on a clouser with yellow eyeballs and a coyote fur belly and a fox squirrel top and picked up a few.
The next couple days combined pretty scenery and slow fishing, instead of the blow-by-blow I'll just dump some photos here.