When I moved to the Newton County corner of the Missouri Ozarks, I brought some things that not everyone brings with them, and one of those things was a love for the local streams and fish, oh, and a very large dip net. I was joining a family with two young brothers, and I was excited at the opportunity to show them the amazing things that they could find in the local streams. I was thinking about darters, mostly with their beautiful spring colors of red, blue, orange, and green, and those boys definitely got to see darters growing up, but there was one day when all of that changed. I was out checking a spot to see if it was worth bringing the boys to look; the water is often cold, and I wanted to make sure that it wouldn’t be a disappointment. On that day, though, back in 2003, I pulled up something amazing in my dip net - a fish of brilliant red and contrasting black, a cardinal shiner! I am sure I stood breathless for a moment just staring before my wits caught up with me and I drove to get the boys and their sister, my wife. We spent the next half hour in thigh-deep water scooping up cardinal shiners to stare at them before we returned them to their breeding grounds. I remember vividly the boys singing, “I’m in the mood for love,” once they understood the reason for the bright colors and the lack of fear from these beautiful fish.
That was the first of many great encounters with this gem of the western Ozarks. A couple of years later, I found myself buying a cheap camera that could take underwater pictures, and soon after, I was swimming with these fish rather than pulling them out of the water to see them. This worried my friends, and they would insist on going with me to make sure I didn’t get hypothermia swimming in the fifty-degree water. I realize now how smart they were to be worried, because one could definitely lose track of time while surrounded by the flick and flash of these amazing animals. I shared those pictures with anyone who would hold still, and I invited some to join me underwater to look at the nuptial dance, but few ever had the chance. The dance happens in random places on cold streams every spring, and at a different time every year. It can be a real gamble to try to find them.
That leads up to a few weekends back, a new kayak, and a hope and a prayer on Indian Creek just downstream of Lanagan, MO. My tolerant and beautiful wife gave the nod to buy a new kayak, even though I had one resting comfortably in the driveway. She puts up with a lot. She also gave me the ever-so-patient nod when I asked her to be my driver to get me on the river to “test” the new kayak. I gave her the very real reason that I wanted to get on the water, “just in case.” She knew exactly what that meant, and off to Lanagan City Park we went, kayak strapped down on top of the Ford. The water was chilly on my arms, legs, and butt as I plopped down in the kayak with my underwater camera strapped to my neck and my snorkel tied into the rigging of the kayak. It was a very pleasant float on the new kayak; the river was flowing nicely, and even on the rapids just south of town, I didn’t have to get out and pull the kayak. Unfortunately, I was a mile or so down the river when I realized I had forgotten one of my most important pieces of gear. I didn’t have my polarized sunglasses, and that meant that the water was just a mirror to me, reflecting the beautiful, if slightly angry-looking sky. I will never complain about this view, but it wasn’t what I really wanted to see.
Cardinal Shiners in Indian Creek, Newton County
A morning on the river is always worth the time, and in the spring you get to see all sorts of things including sunbathing snapping turtles, osprey, and warblers, but it wasn’t until I approached the end Indian Creek that I glimpsed what dreams are made of on the river, and I don’t mean a cooler full of Milwaukee’s Best that someone forgot sitting in cold spring water with a set of winning lottery tickets. I mean a big mass of red shimmering on top of a submerged sandbar I noticed out of the corner of my eye while maneuvering through a corner decorated for spring with a log jam. I almost dismissed it as seeing just a little rare sunshine on some creek gravel, but I chided myself with advice from Becky Wylie, “Take the picture, you may never get to see that sight again, take all the pictures” The yak navigated for the shore, and I started to untie my snorkel and mask. My excitement escalated quickly when I started to cross the creek to get to where I had seen the color, and it wasn’t just because of the depth and temperature of the water. I could definitely see the churning ball of red fish, and it was covering an impressive amount of the creek bed. This was probably the biggest breeding ball of cardinal shiners I have ever seen, and I had my fully charged camera and my snorkel. It was seven minutes of heaven.
I worked my way upstream of them, dropped to my knees, gasped, spit in my mask, and then mustered the nerve to plunge my head into the fifty-degree water. There is always a moment when I stick my head underwater for the first time of the day, it is definitely entering a new world. To do this with these fish in front of me is more like a brief access to see Heaven on Earth. The world swirls in red, gold, and black in front of you. They dive at you through the current, using your legs and body as a break from the strong current. You are just another log jam in their world, a place to rest against the strong current of a fast-flowing river. I took out my camera and started snapping pictures, knowing even then that I would never capture this moment perfectly, never be able to share it with anyone like I was experiencing it that moment. After snapping fifty or more pictures, I remembered that my camera takes video and I fumbled with the buttons to flip it to that mode, only to have the battery light yell at me in objection. My fully charged camera wasn’t charged after all, and my backup battery was in the Ford, two miles downstream. The controls went back to fish mode, and I went back to being a nature voyeur. I knew that these fish had gathered from all over this stream to compete for the opportunity to mate on this shallow, submerged gravel bar, and I knew how lucky I was to find them. I sure wasn’t going to waste this moment. I stayed underwater watching the colors and motion, my own private cinema on the creek showing the most amazing nature documentary. It is my dream every spring to watch this film, and I was not disappointed this year at all!