I peeked out my bedroom window one October night. The fog had been settling over the White River and I could barely see past a few feet. With hesitation, I grabbed my fishing gear and waders to go fish the No Moon night. Driving to my honey spot was slow and hazardous. Visibility was zero.
Long ago the areas around today’s Beaver Lake were the hunting grounds of the Osage. The cool waters of the White River flowed thru the fertile valley and offered fresh water to the villagers and the prey they would hunt. Over the years, white settlers gradually displaced the Osage presence and eventually a man named