Post by Petey on Sept 6, 2006 15:27:54 GMT -5
Ever just have one of those days. Where no matter how hard you try things just won't go your way.
Marmot and I headed up for the Middle Prong of the Little River Monday afternoon. We had gotten kind of late start, but for the most part had avoided most of the rain. We stopped by LRO and picked a few things of importance, well what we deemed to be important, and continued on our way.
Marmot asked me if I was going to wet wade or wear waders. I told him waders, but as I was pulling them out I realized I had forgotten an important piece of gear back on the boat trailer. Boots!!!!
So I abruptly changed my mind and decided I would wet wade in my Chaco sandals. Not exactly the best thing for slimy wet rocks, but I didn't really have a choice. I rigged up my 2wt with a couple of nymphs and commenced to fishing. I started off pretty hot. I caught a handful of bows and things were looking up. I had worked my way across the river and was hitting some choice runs with ease. I reached a point where I couldn't get back across, so I decided to exit and retreat downstream to a place that would be easier to cross. With it being an overcast sky and all I figured I didn't need my sunglasses on while walking through the woods. So I tucked them away on top of my cap while I bushwhacked back. When I got back to the place that I had crossed before I grabbed my glasses to help see the bottom. I went to slide them on and realized somewhere, back there; one of my lenses had popped out.
Great.... A pair of Action Optics down the tube... this was a sign that I quickly ignored. It was a sign to quit fishing, or at least call it a day. But NOOO... not me. Who needs polarized glasses and wading boots? I went upriver and found Marmot having a ball with a new fly he has tied. I told him of my plight and he shared in my frustration. We decided to drive upriver and look to a new and better future. We found a section of water that looked promising and started to fish. I decided to use the downstream approach and promptly caught two big ole horny-heads got a good bite on one swing. After a few more casts and a change in bugs, nothing worked. So it was back to finding new water.
We drove up and found another section of water that looked really nice. Real bouldery with a handful of plunge pools. I knew for sure that this was where I was going to reclaim some of that negative karma that was clouding my day. I climbed and bushwhacked my way above where Marmot was fishing. I came upon a nice slew and decided the vantage from which I was fishing wasn't the right one. I came to decide I needed to be above the run. I had three options. First one was too bolder along the side of the stream and possibly scare any decent fish in the hole. The second one was to back track and go up the trail to the ridge above, hike around and come back down. Or there was the third. To climb straight out up moss covered boulders to the lip of the ridge walk 30 feet and descend upon the position I wished to fish. Well as you can guess…. I chose what was behind door number 3. Up the boulders I started. I came upon one boulder in particular that had a hard slope to it and was covered in wetness. I decided I had better take my time and baby step my up it to not lose my footing. One step, two step, grab the tree, and…… Phwump….Ughhh….. Ohhhh… that hurt…Come on breath…. breath… Huhhhh…. Ahhhhh… Whew… Is anything broke? No. Is my head bleeding? No. Where’s my rod? Ah there it is, luckily it’s not broke. Where’s my hat? Sitting in the creek. Camera? Check. poop man…that hurt. Gonna feel this in the morning. Especially my ribs, as I start to massage my upper left side. What the hell??? Ah man, how did my fly get stuck in the back of my shorts.
I sat there, 3-4 feet below where I was standing just minutes earlier, checking the rest of my body parts for damage. I cleared up any remaining cobwebs and fuzziness that was lingering the best I could before taking option number one out, which would have saved me from the pain I am now in. I make my way threw the woods to find Marmot coming back down river. I thought that maybe he had seen me take the fall, but he had not. He was just returning to see how the action was going. Oh there was action all right. Just not the kind of action I was after. I told Marmot what had happened and I think he tried to keep a good distance from me and my bad voodoo vibe I had going on. The cosmic forces in the Universe had definitely sided against me. I decided walking back to the car that I was not going out like that.
So once again we were driving further upstream in search of more water. You average man would have packed it up and went home. But I am no average man. I am a fly fisherman by gawd, and I came to fish. We found another nice set of runs and once again we stopped to fish. There I stood bootless, non-polarized, sore ribs, a bleeding hand and one heck of a headache knee deep in the Middle Prong. I was not to be denied. I had switched over to a tarantula, so I could see it for the most part, plus Marmot was wearing them out with his new fly. I missed the first couple of strikes, but I continued to work. We eventually found ourselves at the bottom of an impressive plunge pool. I made a cast from the left-hand side of the bank. Nada. Made a couple of more casts. Nada. I waded across one more time to get the correct vantagepoint. Made the right cast and bingo! Fish on. It wasn’t a big trout. Didn’t have to be. It was just a run of the mill standard Rainbow, 7” at best. But it signified something. That little bow signified the ability to make right, when everything seemed to be going wrong. Maybe it is just the stubborn East Tennessean in me, or my inability to realize it wasn’t going to be my day. Or maybe, just maybe this was just one big lesson in life. DO NOT LEAVE YOUR WADING BOOTS AT HOME!
Either way I still took some pics and tried to capture all the reasons for doing the things I did.
The contrast between these red flowers and the drab background of a cloudy day was amazing.
Another shot of some wildflowers from the day.
A couple of bows that fell victim to the double nymph rig.
Still nursing his ribs,
Petey
.......
It is not at all uncommon for men to bleed for that which they love 
Hope you heal up soon. You got a lot of fish to catch this fall 
,................Tentwing
