The South Holston April 2014

The South Holston (SOHO) is one of the premier trout tail waters in the eastern United States.  When my friend Russ notified me that the SOHO would be maintaining a flow of only 200 cfs we made plans to fish while the water was low.  In a normal year the sulfurs would be hatching and the fish would be looking up by now, but this winter has refused to subside and in return most of the hatches have been delayed awaiting the warm sun of spring. 

We arrived in Bristol eager to make our way to the water.  The high peaks of the ridgeline had a clear line of demarcation and the snow that covered those peaks was a majestic site set against the back drop of a clear blue sky.  While we put on our waders and gathered up our gear it was spitting snow and we noticed how stained the water was from the rains the previous night.  We surveyed the water and selected entry locations and both Russ and I set out to fish.  The wind was at my back but I could feel its sting on my knuckles which were already cracked and brittle from a cold winter.  We fished only a short while before realizing this spot was unproductive so we didn’t bother to take off our waders before loading up and moving on. 

 The pulls offs alongside the river were eerily empty and we questioned if the local fishermen knew something we didn’t.  We pulled under the Weaver Bridge and waded out to test our luck at the small island and saw a couple fly fishermen already working the right bank.  They fished long enough to pull two very nice browns from the bank before calling it a day.  Russ and I assumed their position without so much as a strike and we were worried that our two hour drive may be for nothing.  Now the sun was overhead and the cold morning had given way to a windy but pleasant day.  We loaded up once more and headed for the weir dam.

Russ with the largest rainbow of the day!

We arrived in the parking lot to find other’s already fishing and catching rising trout.  I stepped into the water and noticed right away how crystal clear the water was.  There are no feeder creeks here to stain the water and I was optimistic about our chances.  I tied on a number 20 zebra midge and adjusted my strike indicated to what I thought would be the right depth.  Russ was into fish immediately and had probably landed 8-10 to hand before I had my first fish in the net. This was a day in which Russ caught the first fish, the largest fish, and the most number of fish and I couldn’t have been any happier.  It took a few more adjustments to the strike indicator depth and I too began to get strike after strike.  Several fish broke me off before I adjusted to the ever so slight strikes these fish were providing.  When an opening came Russ moved down into another area and advised that I should move with him.  I was somewhat reluctant to move since I felt like I was finally dialed into the fish where I stood; but as I watched him gets strikes on almost every cast I all but ran to fish beside him.

What was to take place for the next two hours was like nothing I had ever seen while fly fishing.  I’ve fished several tail waters in Tennessee as well as out west and I’ve been covered by caddis during an insane hatch on the Big Horn River in Montana, but I’ve never seen feeding such as this.  While the surface wasn’t bubbling with trout, heads where emerging from the water in a ten foot seam that yielded

Not gonna set any records.....but I'll take them all day long!

strikes at almost every cast.  Russ and I were not “fishing”, we were “catching”…and in large numbers.  I would estimate that I took no less than 30 fish from that hole and Russ had to have taken many more than I.  Each time I cast my fly would only touch the water before the strike indicated sank and another fish was on.  I caught fish after fish with a pent us fury as if I were making up for every one that ever got away.  This was fine for the first 45 minutes and then I realized something. I missed the challenge of which fly would work, and what depth to fish it, and whether there were even fish in the area I was casting.  I’ve returned home from many fishing trips disappointed by the difficulties I encountered on the water and frustrated by the low numbers of fish caught.  Now I found myself having no problems catching a fish on almost every cast and in truth, it became boring.  Here is my advice to any fishermen that may read this blog; celebrate the days when the weather is nice and the fishing is easy, but don’t forget to relish those days when the weather is rotten and the fishing is slow. It’s not just catching fish that bring us back to the water.  It is the challenge and the hope that a fly may be cast and a trout may rise.