I’m setting off on my third annual trip to the White River around Cotter, Arkansas. This tradition began a few years ago when my father and a good friend discovered the incredible fishery, along with an exceptional lodge (Cranor’s).

The river offers anglers the chance to catch brown trout measured in pounds, not inches. Our trip falls in early February, as the lodge owner believes this time of year offers a higher probability of landing a big one.

For a fly angler, the experience feels a bit unconventional. Each morning at dawn, we set out in 15-foot flat-bottom boats equipped with modest motors, effortlessly gliding along long stretches of the White River. Seats are effectively bass-boat style, typically with two fishermen in the front and middle and a guide in the back.

We fish exclusively with spinning gear, using either live bait on what resembles a Carolina Rig or egg patterns designed to mimic the browns that are finishing their spawn. Both setups involve drifting the bait along the bottom, waiting for a strike while our guide maneuvers the boat backward, eyes fixed on the rod tips.

It’s a lot of waiting, but the excitement builds when the fish start hitting—especially when the guide shouts, “Set, set!” after many times of “Not yet.” Here are a couple pics from the boat. There is typically two to three 28 or 29 inch fish caught by someone in our group.

The White River is a large tailwater that is more similar to something like the Connecticut River in northern Massachusetts. The fish here are heavily pressured and selective. You can’t easily skip a stone across the river, nor can you cast a fly to the opposite bank. While there are still opportunities for fly anglers, they are mostly limited to wade-friendly sections, taking a hike to a unique part of the river, or hiring a fly-fishing specific guide.

Our guided fishing days start at 7:30 am and typically wrap up around 3 pm. As soon as we’re back, I put on my waders and head to the bank, searching for a good spot to cast. Over the years, I’ve tried streamers, indicator nymphs, and Euronymphing, with some success near our lodge’s dock and boat landing. Last year, while fishing a Meyer’s Leech under an indicator, I caught what we estimated to be a 23-inch brown. The take was incredible—I watched the fish rise about a foot to inspect the fly. The indicator never moved, but I set the hook based on what I saw. It made me wonder how many giants I had missed.

The leech pattern made sense given how fish behavior on the White is tied to water flow. When multiple turbines are generating power, guides often mimic the sculpin hatch, as sculpins get sucked through the turbines and tumble along the river bottom for miles. Some guides even cut pieces of sculpin skin to resemble a fish that’s been through a turbine. I’ve seen this firsthand—watching a bait drift along the bottom, rolling beside us like an Arkansas tumbleweed. A leech pattern tumbling along under an indicator is not a bad choice in low water.

Last year, I got adventurous and explored a fantastic spot downriver, walking along the riverbed during low flows. I found a creek-sized runoff from the main river, complete with pools, downed trees, and excellent cover for smaller fish. In about two hours, I landed 14 rainbows, averaging 12 inches each. It was a blast, and I plan to return with my tightline setup. The experience reinforced just how productive this fishery is—if you can get to the fish, there are plenty to catch.

It’s also worth reporting that I recently invested in a Redington Trout Spey kit. Yes, I’ve gone fully down the rabbit hole in my quest to present flies to bigger fish. I’ll happily report back if I manage to master the Snap T or Circle C. My Jack Russell has enjoyed “helping” me practice at our local football field this winter.