TroutTackler
05-22-06, 12:13 PM
The great thing about a day on the stream with a group of friends is that you never really know how that day is going to pan out.
After a week of sitting in the office, waiting for Saturday to roll around so I could get my first taste of the Nantahala DH, it was finally here. And yeah, maybe I over-slept a little and maybe we were a little bit late getting to the fly shop to load up and pile in the "Dredger's" car. But, when you're up until 3:00 am watching fly fishing shows on OLN, I think you have a legitimate excuse.
The weather was great. It was maybe a little too sunny, but I think all of us were thinking to ourselves that there would be some great hatches and many fish would fall victim to our imitations of those hatches.
After a stop at the Murphy Wal-Mart, just a few feet from where Eric Robert Rudolph finally lost his game of hide-and-go-seek, and after "Dredger" bought enough roasted chickens and deli salads to last a week, we were on our way to the river; BambooBaboon in the passenger seat and Trey and I in the back.
With not a cloud in the sky, you can imagine our shock and frustration when our thoughts of big hatches and rising fish crashed down at the sight of muddy red water rushing by the moss-covered boulders in the Nantahala. Several four-letter words were thrown around and we started wondering if it would be worth the extra hour-or-so drive to the Chattooga.
We pulled the car over a few miles up the DH, unloaded some camping chairs, drinks and the Blimpie subs we had bought back in Murphy, and chowed down. Baboon was the first one to hit the water, choosing a pink san juan worm and a few split shot. He began dredging a good run and after a few casts had landed a 15" rainbow. So, the rest of us decided that it might be worth staying.
I tied on a big Stimulator with a Hare's Ear dropped a few feet off the back of it and decided to hit the more shallow water in hopes that the fish would be able to see my fly. After about 20 minutes, I had landed four brookies up to 13". Not a bad start, I thought.
Meanwhile, I could hear Trey and Baboon yell as they were pulling in a few rainbows. The day was shaping up just fine.
Unexpectedly, the clouds rolled over the gorge and for the next two hours it was off-and-on rain. The fish seemed to shut down until around 6:00 when Trey landed a 15" rainbow, Matt landed several brookies and rainbows, and I landed a couple of rainbows and a couple of browns up to 12" on the dry. A short walk downstream to some faster water produced a 16" rainbow that took a lightning bug and ran about a hundred yards downstream through some very fast water, peeling line off of my reel. Numerous "WHAaaaWHOOooo!s" from "Dredger" signaled catches from Baboon and Trey and everybody was all smiles.
Then the bottom fell out.
We spent the next half-hour in the car, hoping that the rain would slow down or stop just long enough for us to get a little more fishing in before it was too dark. As we were sitting there, the most amazing thing happened. Literally hundreds upon hundreds of Yellow Sallies started coming off of the drenched road that runs alongside the river. Over the river, there wasn't a bug to be found anywhere. The rain stopped and the Yellow Sally patterns were tied on in anticipation of that magical hour before all light escapes from the gorge.
After spending about 20 minutes working some faster water and landing another brown, another rainbow and another brookie, and watching Baboon land a few more rainbows, I headed to the kind of water I hate the most; slow and slick. I've never had great success in this type of water before and to be honest, I'm kind of afraid of it. The fish have too long to inspect your fly. If you make a sloppy cast, you spook everything around you. But, I decided to challenge myself. Baboon decided to head further upstream to some good pocket water where he eventually landed about 20 before it got dark.
As the light was fading, I casted carefully a few feet upstream of several different rises in the slick water. A 14" brown. A 15" brookie. Another brown that was about 10". A small rainbow. Another brookie. And finally, after numerous rises and many fish landed, it was too dark to see anything. That is, anything but the bat that was dive-bombing my Yellow Sally.
When Baboon was headed back to the car, he passed a guy that was corn-dunking (illegally, of course) off of a steep ledge into the water below. Matt politely asked if he was having any luck. The toothless old man replied, "You campin'?" "No," Baboon said. "I asked if you were catching any." "AND I ASKED IF YOU WAS CAMPIN'!!!" yelled the old man. As the banjo began to play, Baboon picked up his pace and made it safely back to the vehicle.
After meeting back at the car and telling one another what had been caught, what had been missed and what was working, the bottom fell out once again.
After years of strictly following Rabunite tradition, "Dredger" was dead-set on eating our chicken and deli salads in the camping chairs outside. The problem was, we couldn't find a dry place to set said chairs. And, none of us were really that excited at the thought of eating soggy chicken. But, like I said, "Dredger" was determined.
We spent the next half-hour driving around looking for a picnic pavillion or a closed gas station or a big front porch on an unoccupied building. We finally found two picnic tables that were covered by 10'x10' awnings, but everything underneath them was soaked. "Dredger" turned into Ichabod Crane, grabbed a lantern, pulled his rain hood over his head and began walking towards the drenched tables. He honestly looked crazy. If I didn't know him and was walking by when he was making his way to the picnic tables, I would've screamed like a woman and high-tailed it out of there. Of course, we had all decided that we weren't getting back into the rain. So, the cries from inside the car were, "Jeff, PLEASE...NO!" and "Hefe'! Por favor!!" One member of our group began asking, "Has he lost his mind completely?!?!" He finally came back to the car, cursed us all for "wusses," and buckled under our pressureto head to Huddle House.
The day ended with a few "Big House" breakfasts, some sweet tea and a few akward looks from locals who knew we weren't from around there. What started out as a discouraging sight of a muddy river ended up being a great day with some fun people. As most fishing trips go, the fish were really just a bonus. The real treat was everything else that was witnessed, and the company of a few other crazy trout bums. But don't get me wrong. The fishing was great.
After a week of sitting in the office, waiting for Saturday to roll around so I could get my first taste of the Nantahala DH, it was finally here. And yeah, maybe I over-slept a little and maybe we were a little bit late getting to the fly shop to load up and pile in the "Dredger's" car. But, when you're up until 3:00 am watching fly fishing shows on OLN, I think you have a legitimate excuse.
The weather was great. It was maybe a little too sunny, but I think all of us were thinking to ourselves that there would be some great hatches and many fish would fall victim to our imitations of those hatches.
After a stop at the Murphy Wal-Mart, just a few feet from where Eric Robert Rudolph finally lost his game of hide-and-go-seek, and after "Dredger" bought enough roasted chickens and deli salads to last a week, we were on our way to the river; BambooBaboon in the passenger seat and Trey and I in the back.
With not a cloud in the sky, you can imagine our shock and frustration when our thoughts of big hatches and rising fish crashed down at the sight of muddy red water rushing by the moss-covered boulders in the Nantahala. Several four-letter words were thrown around and we started wondering if it would be worth the extra hour-or-so drive to the Chattooga.
We pulled the car over a few miles up the DH, unloaded some camping chairs, drinks and the Blimpie subs we had bought back in Murphy, and chowed down. Baboon was the first one to hit the water, choosing a pink san juan worm and a few split shot. He began dredging a good run and after a few casts had landed a 15" rainbow. So, the rest of us decided that it might be worth staying.
I tied on a big Stimulator with a Hare's Ear dropped a few feet off the back of it and decided to hit the more shallow water in hopes that the fish would be able to see my fly. After about 20 minutes, I had landed four brookies up to 13". Not a bad start, I thought.
Meanwhile, I could hear Trey and Baboon yell as they were pulling in a few rainbows. The day was shaping up just fine.
Unexpectedly, the clouds rolled over the gorge and for the next two hours it was off-and-on rain. The fish seemed to shut down until around 6:00 when Trey landed a 15" rainbow, Matt landed several brookies and rainbows, and I landed a couple of rainbows and a couple of browns up to 12" on the dry. A short walk downstream to some faster water produced a 16" rainbow that took a lightning bug and ran about a hundred yards downstream through some very fast water, peeling line off of my reel. Numerous "WHAaaaWHOOooo!s" from "Dredger" signaled catches from Baboon and Trey and everybody was all smiles.
Then the bottom fell out.
We spent the next half-hour in the car, hoping that the rain would slow down or stop just long enough for us to get a little more fishing in before it was too dark. As we were sitting there, the most amazing thing happened. Literally hundreds upon hundreds of Yellow Sallies started coming off of the drenched road that runs alongside the river. Over the river, there wasn't a bug to be found anywhere. The rain stopped and the Yellow Sally patterns were tied on in anticipation of that magical hour before all light escapes from the gorge.
After spending about 20 minutes working some faster water and landing another brown, another rainbow and another brookie, and watching Baboon land a few more rainbows, I headed to the kind of water I hate the most; slow and slick. I've never had great success in this type of water before and to be honest, I'm kind of afraid of it. The fish have too long to inspect your fly. If you make a sloppy cast, you spook everything around you. But, I decided to challenge myself. Baboon decided to head further upstream to some good pocket water where he eventually landed about 20 before it got dark.
As the light was fading, I casted carefully a few feet upstream of several different rises in the slick water. A 14" brown. A 15" brookie. Another brown that was about 10". A small rainbow. Another brookie. And finally, after numerous rises and many fish landed, it was too dark to see anything. That is, anything but the bat that was dive-bombing my Yellow Sally.
When Baboon was headed back to the car, he passed a guy that was corn-dunking (illegally, of course) off of a steep ledge into the water below. Matt politely asked if he was having any luck. The toothless old man replied, "You campin'?" "No," Baboon said. "I asked if you were catching any." "AND I ASKED IF YOU WAS CAMPIN'!!!" yelled the old man. As the banjo began to play, Baboon picked up his pace and made it safely back to the vehicle.
After meeting back at the car and telling one another what had been caught, what had been missed and what was working, the bottom fell out once again.
After years of strictly following Rabunite tradition, "Dredger" was dead-set on eating our chicken and deli salads in the camping chairs outside. The problem was, we couldn't find a dry place to set said chairs. And, none of us were really that excited at the thought of eating soggy chicken. But, like I said, "Dredger" was determined.
We spent the next half-hour driving around looking for a picnic pavillion or a closed gas station or a big front porch on an unoccupied building. We finally found two picnic tables that were covered by 10'x10' awnings, but everything underneath them was soaked. "Dredger" turned into Ichabod Crane, grabbed a lantern, pulled his rain hood over his head and began walking towards the drenched tables. He honestly looked crazy. If I didn't know him and was walking by when he was making his way to the picnic tables, I would've screamed like a woman and high-tailed it out of there. Of course, we had all decided that we weren't getting back into the rain. So, the cries from inside the car were, "Jeff, PLEASE...NO!" and "Hefe'! Por favor!!" One member of our group began asking, "Has he lost his mind completely?!?!" He finally came back to the car, cursed us all for "wusses," and buckled under our pressureto head to Huddle House.
The day ended with a few "Big House" breakfasts, some sweet tea and a few akward looks from locals who knew we weren't from around there. What started out as a discouraging sight of a muddy river ended up being a great day with some fun people. As most fishing trips go, the fish were really just a bonus. The real treat was everything else that was witnessed, and the company of a few other crazy trout bums. But don't get me wrong. The fishing was great.