Chumming at Cherokee

[NC Rockhopper]

Friday the 13th I paid to fish the tagged fish tournament at Cherokee and had been fishing the C&E all day without much luck other than the gorgeous, tagless wild brown I landed while high sticking a beetle that a Swain Co. guide had turned me onto the previous day. A big, flawless brown that must have washed down into the Cherokee C&E section from the upper reaches of the park during the floods and which I, as with all fish I catch, released, hopefully for where he is now residing, a little smarter. I decided to make a pit stop at the school bridge to re-adjust some gear and to see how well stocked the fly section was compared to the C&E. While there, I hung and lost a fish in the vicinity of where some tourists had thrown crackers(?) at the fish. Well, a couple fishermen, who had said this was their first trip to Cherokee and could not possibly have knowledge of what goes on at that bridge (ie: that feeding the fish there is a local tourist attraction that happens about every 3 seconds on a busy day) start screaming "chum" like freaking bloody murder. There were at least 3-4 more lines in the water in the same vicinity as mine, I just happened to be the only one that hung (and lost because I wasn't even seriously fishing) a fish, and oh yeah, as usual, I'm the only female. Now, if I had to make a list of everyone I've seen catch fish in the vicinity of that bridge while tourists are "chumming", it would be long indeed and I dare say rather illustrious. I've excelled in male dominated fields all my life and I understand that when you're the white horse running at the head of the herd, you're going to be the target of some low shots, but I wanted to get my version of this event out in the open rather than have it embellished and spread about in the dark jealous shadows by those few men who can't handle a) there's a woman successfully invading the boy's club and b) she's out fishing a lot of the members. Thank you fellows, I have to give you at least half the credit for the motivation that drives me to fish.

Upon leaving said bridge, because even I have to admit, I'm no match for a big bunch of bellowing boars that have decided to focus entirely on me alone and not any of the male holders of lines in the water. (I get that its much easier to pick on someone that's not big or strong enough to kick one's butt.) I went over to the village for a pit stop and encountered some Chinese hiker's in obvious distress. Long story, but I was able to gladly assist these weak, hungry, weary travelers, which hadn't eaten in over a day, with my thankfully well full cooler. The Lord works in mysterious ways and if events had not unfolded like they did on that bridge on Friday the 13th, I would not now have two new, well-fed, darling Chinese friends that helped me that day probably more than I helped them, not to mention a very friendly place to stay during my next visit to Beijing.