Thanksgiving. For me the very mention of the holiday brings to mind so many things. My Mothers cornbread stuffing. The smell of Turkey lingering heavy in the air. Pumpkin pie. Food induced naps in front of the television. Seeing family and friends we have possibly not visited with since last year. Tradition.
The days are not cold yet, but are moving in that direction with momentum. I think to date, we have only had one light frost. Rain has been a regular here and the temps are topping out in the upper fifties to lower sixties. Rain and cool temperatures mean one thing for me this Thanksgiving…fishing.
Myself, Brad, John, and Jeremy are planning on a trip this Saturday. I don’t know how it is where you are, but around here there is a sure fire potential to nab a huge trout during the latter part of November, and the recipe for it is quite simple. Find a moderately sized feeder creek into a larger body of water and sling something that looks like a military experiment gone horribly wrong.
It almost sounds sick to use the words Thanksgiving and Sex Dungeon in the same phrase, but big uglies are the key to the kingdom during these events. I think it is also worthy to note that I hate to streamer fish.
Having said that, Saturday, I will pack a few leftovers into a bag, grab my sex dungeon, and head to a certain North Carolina stream that- if it all plays out according to reports- should be chocked full of bruisers.
Or: we could load up and hit the South Holston again and gingerly drop size 20 Blue Winged Olives with the potential of greatness.
Thanksgiving? I am thankful to have that choice. Either way, it will be wet and cool and I will love it.
From us here in the land of The Perfect Drift, I hope that you have angling adventures to be thankful for, angling adventures yet to come, and a table full of goodies surrounded by those you love….or at least tolerate.
Later this week, we take a look at a new fly shop. 3 Rivers Angler!!!
11/21/2011
11/16/2011
And now...some text.
I find it very odd to be trying to recap a month of fishing. It is near impossible to catalog within your mind each moment as it passes in such a way that you can retrieve it in chronological order, and with any modicum of clarity. As I try to recall the month of October and its adventures, I get snapshots. Much as if you were speeding down a busy street, only catching a few things with enough clarity to identify. It is quite sad actually that in some cases total recall is an impossibility. So I have pondered for several days about this post, and how I would present it. I think the best way to share my month with you is to just go stream of consciousness with it and let you sort out the order as you will, you would have as much a chance of getting it right as me, and I lived it. So....here goes.
*I am standing beside a bridge on Helton Creek in North Carolina. It is a small bridge and the truck that passed was just slightly above me so that I could see underneath. A mylar balloon was caught in the underneath of the truck. Dora the Explorer looked my way as it passed. Her mylar background catching the sun.
*Helton Creek. I am casting to a pod of trout in a deep pool. The water is so clear that I can see each take. At the bottom of the pool is a dead trout, belly up. The others pay it no mind. It was the biggest fish in the pool. I thought to myself that if I were to retrieve it, odds are it died as a result of a careless angler.
*The family cabin. A very small brook traverses the property. Rumor has it that at one time a large beaver pond at the top of the mountain was full of brook trout. The dam was destroyed during the fringes of a hurricane as it dumped much water on the blue ridge. I camo up and investigate. Stepping over a log. I see a brook trout. Perhaps five inches long. He is not fooled by my attire, and with one flick of the tail, vanishes right before my eyes.
*Andrew and I go on a nature walk along the afore mentioned brook. A large tree has fallen over it. He wants to walk across it. I stand in the stream and hold his hand as he tries to balance. Right in the middle of this trunk/bridge is bear scat. I show it to Andrew. The adventure ends and we go back to the cabin to play in the front yard.
*South Holston. My friend John makes coffee at the parking area using a jet thing. He has instant starbucks. Creamer and sugar he keeps in a cosmetic bag and I give him a hard time over it. He caught the biggest trout of the trip and offers details. I wonder to myself how many people who see him every day on television have any idea just how great a guy he is. Afterwards he puts me in his spot from the previous day. And I catch a bunch of fish.
*We are in the cabin our group rented, watching the Tennessee/Alabama football game. I look around the room and everyones eyes are fixed on the screen. Their faces look as though they are watching someone die.
*Upstream from me (50 yards or so) an elderly gentleman falls. The water is shin deep at best. He cannot get up and I call out to see if he needs help. Out of pride perhaps he says no, but I keep an eye on him. Three years ago I almost died on this river not very far from where this is taking place. I watch as he uses his rod to get upright and make his way to shore. He disrobes, dumps the water from his waders and redresses. The thought occurred to me then, I wonder when you are to old to be doing this? Then I think of his wife, who probably worries that he is out alone. He will perhaps go home with a story and she will worry more next time.
*I sit on the bank with my friend Jeremy. We watch our comrade Brad working a run. It is getting late on the last day. We are the only ones left on the river. As always on our group outings, we are the last to leave.
*I had worked a run with no luck and moved on to give it a rest. Later came back to same run...still no luck. Came back the third time and was still luckless when a Blue Heron strides over, thrusts his beak into the water, and comes out with a trout that appeared to be to big for it to swallow. I was wrong. The better of the two anglers succeeded.
Hope this paints a partial picture. More to follow.
*I am standing beside a bridge on Helton Creek in North Carolina. It is a small bridge and the truck that passed was just slightly above me so that I could see underneath. A mylar balloon was caught in the underneath of the truck. Dora the Explorer looked my way as it passed. Her mylar background catching the sun.
*Helton Creek. I am casting to a pod of trout in a deep pool. The water is so clear that I can see each take. At the bottom of the pool is a dead trout, belly up. The others pay it no mind. It was the biggest fish in the pool. I thought to myself that if I were to retrieve it, odds are it died as a result of a careless angler.
*The family cabin. A very small brook traverses the property. Rumor has it that at one time a large beaver pond at the top of the mountain was full of brook trout. The dam was destroyed during the fringes of a hurricane as it dumped much water on the blue ridge. I camo up and investigate. Stepping over a log. I see a brook trout. Perhaps five inches long. He is not fooled by my attire, and with one flick of the tail, vanishes right before my eyes.
*Andrew and I go on a nature walk along the afore mentioned brook. A large tree has fallen over it. He wants to walk across it. I stand in the stream and hold his hand as he tries to balance. Right in the middle of this trunk/bridge is bear scat. I show it to Andrew. The adventure ends and we go back to the cabin to play in the front yard.
*South Holston. My friend John makes coffee at the parking area using a jet thing. He has instant starbucks. Creamer and sugar he keeps in a cosmetic bag and I give him a hard time over it. He caught the biggest trout of the trip and offers details. I wonder to myself how many people who see him every day on television have any idea just how great a guy he is. Afterwards he puts me in his spot from the previous day. And I catch a bunch of fish.
*We are in the cabin our group rented, watching the Tennessee/Alabama football game. I look around the room and everyones eyes are fixed on the screen. Their faces look as though they are watching someone die.
*Upstream from me (50 yards or so) an elderly gentleman falls. The water is shin deep at best. He cannot get up and I call out to see if he needs help. Out of pride perhaps he says no, but I keep an eye on him. Three years ago I almost died on this river not very far from where this is taking place. I watch as he uses his rod to get upright and make his way to shore. He disrobes, dumps the water from his waders and redresses. The thought occurred to me then, I wonder when you are to old to be doing this? Then I think of his wife, who probably worries that he is out alone. He will perhaps go home with a story and she will worry more next time.
*I sit on the bank with my friend Jeremy. We watch our comrade Brad working a run. It is getting late on the last day. We are the only ones left on the river. As always on our group outings, we are the last to leave.
*I had worked a run with no luck and moved on to give it a rest. Later came back to same run...still no luck. Came back the third time and was still luckless when a Blue Heron strides over, thrusts his beak into the water, and comes out with a trout that appeared to be to big for it to swallow. I was wrong. The better of the two anglers succeeded.
Hope this paints a partial picture. More to follow.
11/10/2011
Marctober...A month in review
Greetings folks! Marctober has come and gone....and what a month it was. A massive text report is coming soon, but for now...here are a few pictures.
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| Me and my best pal at the front end of Marctober |
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| The South Holston |
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| Yours truly looking particularly gruff. After day three you aquire a certain..."gameyness". |
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| My friend Jeremy reloading |
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| Gearing up for day two on the South Holston |
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| The road to Helton Creek |
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| My friend John and I slayed em in this run. |
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| My friend Gary high sticking a run. |
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| Setting one free...actually they were all set free! |
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| As you can see...Fall in East Tennessee is amazing. |
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| THE MASCOT OF MARCTOBER |
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