Matthew's First Fly Fishing Trip

The past few Saturday mornings I have risen at 5:00 a.m. and in almost zombie like fashion found my way to the Clinch River for what has now become my Saturday morning routine of fly fishing.  On this fine Saturday morning I would be taking my son up for what would be his first attempt at fly fishing.  I vowed to spend one on one time with him on this trip showing him the nuances of the style of fishing I have grown to love.

A gentle nudge was all it took to wake Matthew this morning.  I loaded up the truck with our gear while he ate the cereal I placed on the table.  These are the times I wish I was more of a morning person, but in truth I'm not.  Sure I can wake up when work or more importantly, fishing or hunting require it, but if left to my own devices I could sleep until 8:00 every day without fail.  Neither Matthew nor I spoke much the first few miles of the drive, partly because I needed more coffee in me to start my motor, and Matthew was probably still half asleep.  The silence gave away its hold on the morning when I told Matthew that no successful trip to the Clinch could begin without listening to my new found theme song as least one time.  My brother-in-law James actually tuned me on to this song, but it's a song that should be in every fly fisherman’s music collection.  The song is by Steve Martin and the Steep Canyon Rangers (yes....that Steve Martin).  Steve Martin may have been The Jerk, but little did I know he is also one heck of a banjo player.  I played the song "Yellow backed Fly" and Matthew and I both seemed to be optimistic about our trip.

We arrived in the parking area and slipped into our waders and made our way down to the water.  We were not the first people in the water, but we were ahead of the crowd so I felt good about the day.  I want Matthew to enjoy fly fishing, but I'm also a realist.  I didn't learn to fly fish in a day and neither will he.  I guess I forget just how difficult some aspects of fishing can be for an eleven year old. We waded through the ankle deep water to the exposed rocks, but only hours ago these exposed rocks had water flowing over them and the algae was still present slowing down our progress. Speed was not the order of the day.  We finally arrived at my favorite spot only to find another fisherman already firmly secure and casting away.  We settled in upstream and began to fish.

It soon became clear that my plan to simply allow Matthew to cast (with my help) would not work.  It took me practically an entire summer to learn how to cast and work a good drift and Matthew too will have to put in his time to learn.  My new strategy was to try and catch as many fish as possible and let Matthew reel them in and net them.  This plan was a better introduction to let Matthew feel the tug on the other end of the line and after an hour with no fish, I was beginning to wonder if even this plan would work.  Finally the drought ended and I was able to land a Brown.  Matthew worked the fish well and netted him with ease.  Eventually we were able to work down river to fish with Matt P. and his father Tim.  This is when the fishing was at its peak. We caught plenty of fish and Matthew was extremely happy with our results.

 I looked across the river at Matt and Tim and I wondered how many outings like today's they have enjoyed.  The friendship between father and son is apparent.  When Matthew like Matt is married and expecting a child of his own, days like today are the memories I hope we can share.  I wondered if perhaps Tim also looked at my Matthew and remembered when his Matthew (Matt) was just an eleven year boy wanting to fish with his father.  These are the moments that bind us.  All too soon Matthew will know the trials of adult life, but today we were simply a father and son enjoying the river and the gifts it had to offer.  This wonderful day was capped off when I allowed Matthew to cast the fly rod by himself and his efforts were rewarded by a nice Rainbow that couldn't seem to resist the #16 San Juan worm we were fishing.  Matthew later told me this was his favorite place to fish and the best trip he has ever been on.  My hope is we can share many more together.  Proverbs 22:6 says "Train a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn from it."  I am doing my best Lord.  I hope for Matthew's sake this includes fly fishing.

A Post On Growing Old and Enjoying Life's Moments...

Each of our lives is like the rising of the morning sun at dawn.  It burst forth with beauty and wonder and no one knows what the day will hold.  Yet from the moment the sun rises it is destine to set and we seldom take stock of the day when the sun is over head at the noon hour.  Life’s joys too are taken for granted.  There are but a few small hours in which we fully understand the scope of these moments.  All too often the moment and is gone and the significance it played is only appreciated when we reflect back or we lose something that is dear to us.

Generations have grieved their losses; as too will I, for the time will come when my youth will leave me and I have suffered greatly and the only comfort I find is in the tender moments shared with those I love.  Their memories will haunt me like bitter sweet ghosts. Unable to set these memories free yet bound by the happiness they rendered.  There will be a time when my occupation passes me by, my children are grown, and the world begins to darken. This is the time when life, like the sun, slowly fades until there is light no more.  I pray the Lord will grant me eyes to see the moments of light in my life that they may keep me warm as I grow old, for only love endures through all time.  Yes generations have grieved, but only love endures through all time.

Another Great Day on the Clinch

 I have always heard the old saying “if a tree falls in the woods and no one is around does it make a sound?”  Today I asked myself this same sort of question after spending another Saturday on the Clinch.  The truth is that this mornings trip went as well as any trip I have ever had. 

I woke at 5:00 a.m. and with military precision started my day.  My mornings are usually driven by Starbucks and Kashi and this morning would be no exception.  Gear, Coffee, and ceral bar in hand I was out the door by 5:20 and in the parking lot at 6:10.  This fine morning I was going it alone.  My brother-in-law James was back in Richmond, Matt had projects to complete, Garret had business to tend to and my kids were still tucked into bed.  Everyone I fish with had other plans that kept them from the water. 

As the sun forced a few rays of light through the dense fog sitting atop the water I could see the silhouette of a few other fishermen, this day I was part of the “early crowd”.  I waded in eager to see what the day would hold and to claim my prized spot.  The day was overcast and the cool mist of the Clinch lay like a wet blanket on the water most of the morning.  When I reached my fishing spot it was barely light enough to tie a fly on and I could hear the “hoot” of an owl in a near by tree.  The morning started slow and I could see there were two other fishermen a few hundred yards away.  They were close enough to see but with the hypnotic flow of the water and the distance between us I could only pick up every few words of their conversation.  Those words were much easier to understand when they were accompanied by the splashing of a trout as they reeled one in. I thought to myself that it’s nice to have fishing buddies.  Seeing them made me reflect on all of the wonderful fishing trips I had been on in such a short time.

Last year my wife and kids had a remarkable day on the Clinch, good enough in fact that I became almost obsessive about Trout fishing.  It was a special evening indeed.  The backcountry camping trip with Garret in which Garret and James were there when I caught my first Smoky Mountain Rainbow.  The hiking / fishingtrip  Garret and I took to Abrams Creek which I previously posted on, was primarily because of an earlier succussful trip James and had taken to Abrams.  All of these outings share a common thread; all of these trips were shared by friends and family. 

This thought of companionship first came to mind again when the fishing started to heat up. I caught my fifth Brown Trout of the morning and found myself wishing James, Garret, Matt, or the kids were here during such as prolific morning.  I netted a total of 14 rainbows and browns on Saturday, the largest of which was 13.5”.  It was without a doubt my most productive day and a fly fishing dream come true. Yet as enjoyable as it was to catch all of those fish, it was a little less meaningful without having someone to share it with.  If my children had been with me on a day like this it would remain part of Kelly family folk lore for years to come.  Instead, I fished till the water began its swift rise, drove home, and when asked how the fishing was my reply was “it was great.”  That’s really all I could say.  Unless you feel the cold water on your wading socks, the tightening of the fly line in your hand, and hear the splash of a Trout rising to the surface there is no need for any more details. 

The truth is that I don’t care what sounds a tree makes in the forest.  I’ll leave those deep philosophical questions to be answered by folks who do.  If you ask me why I love fly fishing I can tell you it’s the beauty of the cast, finding just the right fly that works, and the places I find myself with my fly rod in hand, but what truly makes fly fishing a passion is the memories I make sharing days like today with the people that I call friends.  Since no one was there to share this memory with me this post is my best attempt of letting all who care know what a wonderful day it was.

Tellico and Citico Recap

Fishing, like life is full of ups and downs.  There are days you will remember for a life time and days you wish you had just stayed home and pulled the covers over your head.  I recently had a day at the Tellico River and Citico Creek that started out as a “should have slept in day”, but before the day was over it would prove to be a memory maker.  Since the Tellico and Citico have some stocked waters and I was playing the part of the guide, I decided to take my brother-in-law James down for some easy fishing.  We had just experienced a really nice morning on the Clinch the day before but this is now Sunday and the waters of the Clinch would be rolling on high by the time we were home from church.

We had lunch and headed down to Tellico Plains to purchase the required trout permit for our day of fishing.  Permit in hand we drove up the winding road to the Tellico River first and so began our fishing.  The heat was intense and the water levels were down.  These two things do not lend themselves well to a productive day of fly fishing.  Undeterred we worked our way down river to find an entry point and we began fishing.  The water was warm and there were little to no signs of trout feeding either above or below the water.  Bead heads, Tellico nymphs, and various dry flies were no match for these lethargic and finicky trout. We fished until James succumbed to the heat so we headed to the truck for some hydration and shade.  Since this trip was proving a very fruitless endeavor thus far we decided to use this time to drive to Citico Creek as we made our way home.  If James felt better we would stop and if not we would drive through and wave to the trout on our way home.

Let’s recap the day’s events. We drove an hour, paid an additional $5.50 for the trout permit, and caught nothing but a near sun stroke.  James was feeling somewhat better but he decided to be an observer for the rest of the day to document any catches I may make. The first trout documented lead me to believe this was a day that would have been better served reminiscing about the morning before on the Clinch when the fishing was good and the water was cold.  The fish was in fact a trout, but it has to be the smallest trout on record caught on a fly rod.  I don’t know how the little guy (or gal) was even able to fit the fly in its mouth.  There were one or two other 4”-5” trout caught but nothing to be excited about in stocked waters. 

I stopped at a few more beautiful seams of water before finally deciding we should call it a day.  The sun was hanging low by this point and the day had tested our resolve.  On the way out as we drove down into flat land and even warmer water the hopes of catching sizable trout on this day vanished like the sun as it began to set.  I told James I wanted to make one more stop at an area that I had caught red eyes in using my spinning rod last year.  This time I had my fly rod and no idea what to expect.  At this point I had abandoned my waders and I was amazed at the warmth of the water as I stepped in.  I’ve taken baths that didn’t have water this warm.  I cast a Tellico Nymph in the idea locations and drew no addition from a single fish.  As I made what I decided would be my last cast, I allowed the fly to drift through a large pool as I headed down stream and back to the truck.  What initially felt like a hung line soon sprang hope eternal within me as a saw the small mouth Bass streak in front of me.  The rod bent, the reel began to “zing” and the fight began.  This was the largest fish I’d had ever hooked with my fly rod and I wasn’t about to blow it by rushing him in and snapping the line.  James was there to capture the last few moments of the fight on video. 

I finally wore him down to the point that I could net him and just like that the day was worth the disappointments previously encountered. (At least from my standpoint….but hey, I caught the fish and I wasn’t the sick one so James may beg to differ) The net gain from this day was that I caught the smallest and largest fish I’ve ever caught.  Some days are pull your cover over your days and some days make memories you carry a lifetime.  This day taught me enjoy both.

A Morning on The Clinch

What would possess a man to rise from his warm comfortable bed at 5:00 a.m. on a Saturday morning?  What force of nature could pull at his heart with enough endearing whispers to cause him to rise even before the sun decides to clothe the day with its light?  The answer is a fly line and a fish.

 This particular morning the destination was the frigid tail waters of The Clinch River.   Like clockwork my brother-in-law and I rose at 5:00 a.m.  Coffee was in hand, a small breakfast was had, and we were on the road by a quarter till 6:00.  We pulled into the parking area above Miller’s Island at 6:30 on the nose expecting to find an open lot and open water.  Instead we found a lot half full.  Some fishermen had already made it into the water and the ones that remained seemed to dance around as though they were about to begin a race;  grown men with one leg in waders surveying the parking lot to see which if it would come down to a photo finish to get to the best spots.  I half way expected to encounter booby traps as James and I made our way to the water. 

One of the most beautiful things about being on the Clinch this early in the morning is you are promised a cool mist.  Depending on the time of year, this can be a refreshing blessing or a windblown curse that will chill you to the soul, but there is no questioning its beauty.  We made our way to a slower stretch of water to meet some friends of mine from work.  Matt and Tim had been there for thirty minutes and had already hooked one. This gave promise to a good day but the slow moving waters prompted James and me to move around to the front side of the Island where I’d had some luck before.   The move proved to be a good choice.

We found our way back to a spot that Matt had shown me once before and after getting settled in I could start to see the fish moving through the water around me.   James and I both caught trout. Most were rainbows, browns, and I even caught a Brook trout.  We saw several sizable fish swimming in the area but I suppose they got that big for a reason as we were unable to get any to take interest in our flies.  Most of the fish we caught were in the 10” range.  We had our most productive fishing on an olive colored scud.  There was a 20 minute period when the activity reached a high and it seemed that every fisherman in the area was pulling in fish.  What a joy it is to be on the water during these times.  Nothing seems to empty my mind like a fly rod and some open water.   

The dam was scheduled to release at 10:00 and as we made our way out ahead of the rising water the fishing seemed to really pick up. At 10:45 you could see the water level rising and as it did the surface seemed to almost quake with feeding fish.  James and I couldn’t help but stop and get a few casts in.  Within minutes we both landed a fish each and decided a day like today wasn’t going to get much better so we head back to the truck.  This is the force that made us rise at 5:00 a.m. and chances are we will rise again.