I was recently reminded of a fishing trip I took roughly a year ago this week. It was a relatively cool March day and recent rains had my brother in law James and I searching for fishable water in the Smoky Mountains. We settled on the Middle Prong of the Little River. The fishing report indicated that the water temperatures were 43 degrees and the cubic feet per second in the Little River was nearly 3 times the normal levels. In essence, the water level was high, the currents were swift, and the temperature was still too cold for optimal trout fishing. Yet, with eager anticipation James and I arrived in the parking area, suited up in our waders, and headed to the path hoping to prove reason wrong and land fish. This stream is normally docile and in the summer months you can practically jump across it. It only took a few moments for us to realize that we would likely do more hiking today than fishing because the water was as high as I have ever seen it here. We slowly worked our way along the stream bank stopping and casting in areas were the water was slower hoping to entice some unknowing trout to accept our offering, but time and time again we were denied. We decided to cross the water and head to our favorite plunge pool, not because we thought we could catch anything, but because it’s a beautiful site to see. We found a narrowing in the stream and began to cross. Half way across I began to wonder if this was a good idea. The swift current fought our every step and as James and I both walked up the bank on the other side no words were needed. We looked at one another as to say “perhaps that wasn’t the smartest thing we have ever done.”
We made our way to the plunge pool with no problems and as we headed back we both seemed to hear a noise over the roar of the water. We emerged from a Mountain laurel thicket and spotted a young boy on the other side of the stream. At the same time James and I said to one another “where is the adult?” He hadn’t noticed us and when our eyes met we could see the relief on his face. He attempted to yet to us but the stream drowned out his voice. A few yards away I noticed a downed tree stretching across the river. I handed James my fly rod, got down on my hands and knees, and shimmied across to investigate why this young man was all alone. When I made it safely to the other side the young boy told me that his name was Andrew and that he was part of a group from the Tremont Institute. Andrew had gotten lost on a solo hike and had been wondering around in the woods for almost two hours. I made sure he was okay and told him that James and I knew exactly where Tremont was and we could take him there. I was nervous making Andrew cross the drowned tree but there was no other way to cross the water. While it wasn’t a long fall, the swift current could easily pin a person between the water and tree and even an adult would have a difficult time freeing themselves. Andrew crossed with no problems and James and I tried to reassure him as we walked. When we reached the portion of the water that James and I crossed earlier it was apparent we wouldn’t be able to take the same path with Andrew. The water was too swift, plus James and I were wearing waders. The water temperature was in the 40’s and the air temperature in the 50’s and hypothermia was a real risk. There was no other way to proceed other than to go up and over a very steep ridge. I lead, followed by Andrew and James was last. In the event Andrew slipped he wanted to make sure someone was there to prevent him from sliding down the steep bank. We all got on our hands and knees and made our way up the slope grabbing trees, roots, and anything else that would assist us with traction. In similar fashion we slid down the back side of the ridge and in no time at all we were back at the car.
This was one of the first times since finding Andrew that I thought of my own children. Their entire lives we have repeatedly told them that they are NEVER to get in the car with a stranger and I could sense that Andrew had heard this before. I think the ordeal we all shared in getting to this point was enough evidence for him that we had his best interest at heart. We made small talk on the short drive to the Tremont Institute and when we arrived a staff member was forming a search party just outside the entrance. I yelled and asked ‘’are you missing a hiker?” and I could see joy on her face when I told her we had him and he was safe and sound. We provided our contact information as well as the details on where we found Andrew and the staff was grateful for our assistance. They whisked Andrew away to make sure he was okay and I’m sure to answer further questions and as quickly as James and I found him on the stream he was gone. As we walked to our car outside the other kids in the party asked ‘’ are you the fishermen that found Andrew?’’ James and I both laughed as the kids thanked us for helping their friend. We joked on the way out about where the statue of “the fishermen” would go and we agreed that Andrew just because the most popular kid in the camp.
Sometimes our paths collide in the most unexpected ways, but it is my belief that there is a plan for us all and only God knows the full details. I don’t know how Andrew found his way to the opposite side of the stream and miles away from his party but if the three of us had passed only 10 minutes prior we would have missed one another altogether. James and I received a very kind letter from Andrew’s parents a short time after he returned home to St. Louis. I hope this experience hasn’t dampened Andrew’s sense of adventure or his appreciation for the wonderful beauty God has blessed us with. In truth I don’t fish solely for the purpose of catching fish. I fish because when I’m in the woods and I’m miles from civilization it becomes readily apparent that 9:00 meetings and revenue targets mean nothing. The woods and streams have no appreciation of status or deadlines. All too soon Andrew, like my children will be an adult with responsibilities and expectations. My hope is they don’t lose their sense of wonder and awe at the sight of fire flies dancing in the field and the stars twinkling in the night sky.
He (or she) broke the water and from 25 feet away I could see the most brilliant pink in his cheeks and the deep pink stripe that ran down his sides. I would never have expected such a large fish to be in such a low run of water, but he was and now the fight was on. I tried for several minutes to net him, but each time I would get him close enough to net he would sense my present and dash for the currents. I fought him for what must have been 10 minutes before another angler assisted me by lending me a hand. This was a beautiful fish with vibrant colors and a jaw that was beginning to hook. I held him for a photo opportunity after our long tussle. Writhing in my hands I could feel his sheer strength and couldn’t help but respect this fish and the valiant effect he gave to be free. I measured him at 16” and slot limit or not, I couldn’t have lived with myself if I had taken him home. This is the fish that all of those who fish the Clinch are trying to catch and to rob other’s of the joy I just experienced wouldn’t be right. 
When I returned home it was time to head to Cades Cove for my birthday picnic. We dodged the rain showers that were off and on long enough to grill our burgers and eat. The best part of the lunch was the cake my wife made for me. We loaded up in our vehicles and make our way around the cove. As we approached the pull off to Abrams Creek trail the rain was coming down and I begrudgingly kept going. When we made it around to the cut through road we encountered a beautiful double rainbow that seemed to end in one of the fields just over the ridge. The sun was shining through and it was obvious that this was a sign we should take the cut through road, circle back around, and head back to Abrams. That is exactly what we did. I was able to fish Abrams for an hour and pulled five wild bows from the same run of water. It was the ending to a really nice birthday. 
