Post by rbaileydav on Jun 17, 2005 11:06:01 GMT -5
In the internet world you always hear shadowy rumblings of that secret place buried somewhere in the southern woods miles and miles from the nearest road where the wild brookies are the size of your leg and the scenery is so pristine and unspoiled that it takes your breath away, a spot so remote that it is five mile uphill in both directions. And just like that magical brookie that so many of us lust after, we instinctively rise to the possibility that it just maybe, could possibly, just might be true. Even if our conscious minds urge caution we just can’t resist the temptation to strike.
As a result I found myself on the edges of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park with 50 pounds of stuff strapped to my back and a fly rod tube in my hand as I headed up a trail that I had never traveled, toward a stream that I had never fished. It had rained all day and the foliage was wet, but the sun had broken through and was now shinning full force leaving steam rising from the ground and air humid and heavy. I felt that tingle of excitement that comes from beginning a fishing expedition into an unknown territory … … or was that the tingle in my arms and legs from the lack of oxygen as the grade of the hill climbed at about 12 %. Oh well they said it would only be a couple miles uphill then a mile or so down. Can’t be that hard can it. My legs are already tired and spent but I keep pushing on … … by now I must be almost to the top of the mountain ready for my decent … I wonder how much ground I have already covered?
what ….. that can’t be right …. I have only gone a couple hundred yards……….. oh hell this is gonna be one long hike………
Well it took a while but I got there. The hike was a lot longer in duration than I expected and for once they didn’t lie to me “it was one of those hikes that will be uphill in both directions” (and downhill). Most of my fishing trips I hike down into the stream valley and then hike out at the end of the trip which means I can go in heavy and eat it up and be light by the time I go out………. Well for this trip that backfired cause the first uphill part is the most brutal but I made it anyhow and camp was made. Steaks were grilling over charcoal, corn was frying in butter, bourbon and stream water was in hand and a nice Cuban was curling blue/gray smoke around my head as I stood on the bridge listening to the sound of the water and watching the sun set over the mountain top I had just hauled my fat ass up and down.
After dinner I was too tired to light a campfire, so I just sat back on my rock watching the red embers of the charcoal die away. The sky was a jeweled maze of stars, more than us city slickers ever imagine can be hanging in the heavens. It makes a man realize his relative size and scope in the universe as a whole, and certainly lends an awesome perspective to the importance of my daily troubles and concerns in relation to this picturesque sweep of infinity. The only thing rivaling the tinkling lights in the heavens was the blinking lights that were playfully gliding in and out if the tree lines. There were so many fireflies flitting around that for a moment I thought I had gotten dizzy and was still staring at the stars in the sky. Between the stars and the bugs they put on a show that would rival and exceed the most exotic laser show Stone Mt GA has to offer. I watched the spectacle as long as I could stay awake which wasn’t near long enough and never really did discern when reality faded and dreams took hold which makes for along restful sleep.
I awoke to an early low slung sun that was just barely sneaking its first rays like spotlights thought the backdrop of the trees onto the currents of the stream. It was an invitation no fisherman could resist. I paused only long enough to snap a couple pictures and string my 3wt bamboo and the day was on.
The first hole in terms of beauty and fish-ability was so perfect I was almost to in awe to make a cast … ah what the hell am I talking about I admired it for 10 or 15 seconds and let fly with the first cast of the day. This natural beauty and inner reflection crap is great stuff after you have had a day full of fishing under your belt but first thing in the morning, dang that crap and lets get to the fishin. The olive stimulator was lite up by the morning sun as if there were stage lights under the water but no shadows rose from the dappled bottom to attack. Same for the next hole… … I began to panic briefly … what if there weren’t any fish in here? But my fears were for naught as a fish shaped shadow attacked my next cast with such ferocity that it missed the initial strike yet its crazed momentum was so strong that it launched itself skyward coming out of the water completely only to twist and contort its brightly colored body to grab the fly on its re-entry. I was so dumbfounded by the site that I completely tangled the hook-set up like a rookie cowboy trying to do a lariat trick and wound up with line wrapped all around myself and not even a fish scale on my hook to show for my efforts. Not to worry though as the next couple casts brought a fish and then another shortly after. These were beautifully colored brookies. Small but feisty and full of enough energy and spunk that they fought to twice their size and I believe they fully thought that they could take my fat ass self in this game of tug of war.
The day became a blur of climbing up house sized boulders
only to reach a series of perfect pools
attracting a strike or catching a fish out of virtually every one and then moving forward to the next.
It was an absolutely gorgeous day in gorgeous country catching gorgeous fish. I fished until I got tired, found a large flat rock in the sun and stretched out and fell asleep. The warmth of the sun warmed rock a perfect match for the glow of the sun on my closed eyelids and the soothing sound of the stream rushing all around my single solitary rock, an island in the middle of the stream. I have no idea how long I slept but have never woken from a nap more relaxed or refreshed. I made it back to the campsite just as darkness fell. Cooked a wonderful dinner, contemplated the mysterious enchantment of the campfire and fell asleep into a dreamland of rocks, plunge pools and brookies knowing that I still had two more days to enjoy this my adopted world …….. And all I can say is “ain’t life grand”.
Rbaileydav
Dick Davis
As a result I found myself on the edges of the Great Smokey Mountains National Park with 50 pounds of stuff strapped to my back and a fly rod tube in my hand as I headed up a trail that I had never traveled, toward a stream that I had never fished. It had rained all day and the foliage was wet, but the sun had broken through and was now shinning full force leaving steam rising from the ground and air humid and heavy. I felt that tingle of excitement that comes from beginning a fishing expedition into an unknown territory … … or was that the tingle in my arms and legs from the lack of oxygen as the grade of the hill climbed at about 12 %. Oh well they said it would only be a couple miles uphill then a mile or so down. Can’t be that hard can it. My legs are already tired and spent but I keep pushing on … … by now I must be almost to the top of the mountain ready for my decent … I wonder how much ground I have already covered?
what ….. that can’t be right …. I have only gone a couple hundred yards……….. oh hell this is gonna be one long hike………Well it took a while but I got there. The hike was a lot longer in duration than I expected and for once they didn’t lie to me “it was one of those hikes that will be uphill in both directions” (and downhill). Most of my fishing trips I hike down into the stream valley and then hike out at the end of the trip which means I can go in heavy and eat it up and be light by the time I go out………. Well for this trip that backfired cause the first uphill part is the most brutal but I made it anyhow and camp was made. Steaks were grilling over charcoal, corn was frying in butter, bourbon and stream water was in hand and a nice Cuban was curling blue/gray smoke around my head as I stood on the bridge listening to the sound of the water and watching the sun set over the mountain top I had just hauled my fat ass up and down.
After dinner I was too tired to light a campfire, so I just sat back on my rock watching the red embers of the charcoal die away. The sky was a jeweled maze of stars, more than us city slickers ever imagine can be hanging in the heavens. It makes a man realize his relative size and scope in the universe as a whole, and certainly lends an awesome perspective to the importance of my daily troubles and concerns in relation to this picturesque sweep of infinity. The only thing rivaling the tinkling lights in the heavens was the blinking lights that were playfully gliding in and out if the tree lines. There were so many fireflies flitting around that for a moment I thought I had gotten dizzy and was still staring at the stars in the sky. Between the stars and the bugs they put on a show that would rival and exceed the most exotic laser show Stone Mt GA has to offer. I watched the spectacle as long as I could stay awake which wasn’t near long enough and never really did discern when reality faded and dreams took hold which makes for along restful sleep.
I awoke to an early low slung sun that was just barely sneaking its first rays like spotlights thought the backdrop of the trees onto the currents of the stream. It was an invitation no fisherman could resist. I paused only long enough to snap a couple pictures and string my 3wt bamboo and the day was on.
The first hole in terms of beauty and fish-ability was so perfect I was almost to in awe to make a cast … ah what the hell am I talking about I admired it for 10 or 15 seconds and let fly with the first cast of the day. This natural beauty and inner reflection crap is great stuff after you have had a day full of fishing under your belt but first thing in the morning, dang that crap and lets get to the fishin. The olive stimulator was lite up by the morning sun as if there were stage lights under the water but no shadows rose from the dappled bottom to attack. Same for the next hole… … I began to panic briefly … what if there weren’t any fish in here? But my fears were for naught as a fish shaped shadow attacked my next cast with such ferocity that it missed the initial strike yet its crazed momentum was so strong that it launched itself skyward coming out of the water completely only to twist and contort its brightly colored body to grab the fly on its re-entry. I was so dumbfounded by the site that I completely tangled the hook-set up like a rookie cowboy trying to do a lariat trick and wound up with line wrapped all around myself and not even a fish scale on my hook to show for my efforts. Not to worry though as the next couple casts brought a fish and then another shortly after. These were beautifully colored brookies. Small but feisty and full of enough energy and spunk that they fought to twice their size and I believe they fully thought that they could take my fat ass self in this game of tug of war.
The day became a blur of climbing up house sized boulders
only to reach a series of perfect pools
attracting a strike or catching a fish out of virtually every one and then moving forward to the next.
It was an absolutely gorgeous day in gorgeous country catching gorgeous fish. I fished until I got tired, found a large flat rock in the sun and stretched out and fell asleep. The warmth of the sun warmed rock a perfect match for the glow of the sun on my closed eyelids and the soothing sound of the stream rushing all around my single solitary rock, an island in the middle of the stream. I have no idea how long I slept but have never woken from a nap more relaxed or refreshed. I made it back to the campsite just as darkness fell. Cooked a wonderful dinner, contemplated the mysterious enchantment of the campfire and fell asleep into a dreamland of rocks, plunge pools and brookies knowing that I still had two more days to enjoy this my adopted world …….. And all I can say is “ain’t life grand”.
Rbaileydav
Dick Davis
................Tentwing
