The South Holston (SOHO) In Spring.

    

Russ and I had fished together before in the Smokies but this was an opportunity that I couldn’t pass up.  Russ had insider information on the South Holston and I had always wanted to fish this Tennessee jewel.  I met Russ sometime after 4:00 am at the local Hardee’s parking lot where I was introduced to John and Dave.  We piled into Russ’s Ridgeline and like a shot from a canon we were off.  I remember thinking as we passed the Bristol Motor Speedway how fitting it was to see the speedway because after the two hours in the back seat of Russ’s truck I felt like part of a Nascar team.  We drove to the spot we had been given directions to and suited up.  We waded into the water and right away we began to question either our location or the directions.  We were told to expect ankle deep water but instead we found nearly thigh deep water that was difficult to wade.  This prompted a double check of the TVA release schedule and just as it stated the generators were sluicing minimal waters flows.  Our failure was to look past the generator schedule to the actually flow rate.  The water was still high from the previous night’s release.   

 

We made the best of the situation; walked up to the second bridge and began to fish.  The water was waist deep and choppy and my enthusiasm for this mythical river began to wane.  There were a few pockets of very nice water but there was no activity on or below the surface.  There was a very nice hatch of Sulfurs and still there were no fish rising.  A drift boat moved over an area too deep for us to wade and had several strikes confirming this water actually holds trout.  An hour into fishing this area and Russ finally hooked up and it lifted the spirits of the whole group.  We decided to explore and as we drove down the road we were greeted by pulls off already full of fishermen and cars or private property signs.  We eventually made our way below the dam, picked our spots and fished.  I hooked up within thirty minutes and the trout were very active but finding a fly to interest them was very difficult. 

 I could see other fishermen catching fish but in all I managed one fish and Russ likewise only brought one fish to hand.  It was around 4:00 when we decided we would prepare for the long drive home.  Feeling somewhat defeated and disappointed we drove down river road and headed home.  The pull off areas were now empty and we decided we would try one more spot before calling it a day.  The wading was treacherous due to the amount of water and the slope of the rocks.  Standing on the top of the rocks was a safe bet but the down slope was immediate and any false steps would surely result in waders full of water or worse.  I began to see random splashes of water and realized a light hatch of Hendrickson’s or Light Cahill were coming off.  This was all it took to wake the trout up and I saw large beautiful trout leaping from the water.  It was very technical trying to cast to these locations because there were only small pockets in which to lay the fly in order to get a good drift.  I tied a Light Cahill in size 16 and surveyed the area. I looked down stream and Russ, Dave, and John had abandoned their fly rod but all three were catching large Brown trout on spinning rigs.  Scanning the water before me I would wait for the trout to give away their location and I would cast into the lane where the trout waited to ambush its prey.  The time passed rapidly and for two hours the four of us enjoyed our best fishing of the day.  I began to realize how magical this place must be by drift boat.  The large Brown’s I saw leaping from the water like Humpback whales were out of reach.  They were simply too far to reach by casting and too dangerous to attempt to wade to.  We all managed some nice fish that evening and as we drove back to Knoxville we had all but forgotten the difficultly we encountered most of the day.  Three hours of solid fishing made up for the six hours of disappointment.  This sense of expectancy is what brings the fishermen back to the river’s edge time and time again.      

2012 Year End Review

How many cliché remarks have we heard about time? How it flies, how we can’t buy it, and how it slows down for no one.  2012 is merely a memory and while 2013 lays ahead last year was a great year and I would be remiss not to high light a few of the personal and outdoors highlights of the year.

In February my bothers and I decided to meet with our families in Flat Top, WV for a first time ski trip.  While none of us actually skied the tubing was fun and it was a great weekend with the family.

In March I squeezed in a couple hours to fish the Clinch and what I had told myself would be my last cast I was able to catch this nice rainbow on an olive scud that I tied myself. 

 

In early April the leaves are in full bloom and the spring hatches are in full swing as well.  On April 13^th, Garret, Jim, James, and I made our way to Hazel Creek in the Smokies for a great two days of camping and fishing.

In June I found myself on the Clinch again. While the fishing was slow I was able to pull in this nice 19’ Brown using a 16 bead head pheasant tail.  It was the highlight of every fishing trip I’ve made to local waters.

Soon enough the heat of July was upon us and I used some vacation time to meet up with my brother’s and family on the Outer Banks of North Carolina to hang out at the beach and to take my first deep sea fishing trip.  Although Patrick was ill and not able to fish with us it was certainly a trip that I’ll never forget. 

The beach trip ended and I found myself on the friendly waters of the Clinch once more.  This time my mother and father-in-law were in town to watch our kids so my wife came along.  I wrote on this subject already but I was very proud that my wife was able to cast the line, set the hook, and bring her first trout to hand on this trip.  What a great time we had that morning on the mist covered Clinch River.

On an average Sunday morning my soul was lifted with a joy that is unexplainable.  As I stood above the baptismal pool steps and watched both my children commit their lives to Christ my mind drifted to their first cries and the happiness these two little people have brought an undeserving sinner like me.  Yet even with all of my faults God has loved me and as my eyes try to remain fixed upon the Grace of Christ, so too my children can experience God’s never ending love.  On this day we joined our church and our children joined the body of Christ.

 

Armed with my son’s 20 gauge youth model shotgun, the first weekend of September brought my first dove hunt.  My 12 gauge would not cycle the 2/34’ shells needed for dove hunting so I took the only other gun I had.  I was a treat and I see why so many people say dove hunting is the most fun you can have with a shotgun.  I didn’t limit out, but I also didn’t go home empty handed.

 

As summer gave way to fall we had a combined family trip to Disney World.  Four families all stayed together at the Animal Kingdom Lodge and it was a trip I’ll never forget.  The satisfaction of seeing my nephews and all of my in-laws gathered around the pool enjoying the moment was an awesome site.

November came and my annual deer hunting trip to my brother’s house offered ideal weather conditions for the hunt.  The morning started like most but on this day the wind offered us the advantage and the bucks were moving everywhere.  Several nice deer were taken and my fear was that I would miss another golden opportunity. Donald set me out on a point where the wood line meets the field.  I could hear the dogs turn back and assumed the deer they were chasing had turned as well.  That’s when I saw a nice buck with his head down trying to make a break for the field.  I drew, put a bead on him, and pulled the trigger.  I thought for certain I missed, but as I looked for blood the deer laid not more than 20 yards again.  He may not win any records but for a man enjoying his fourth season of hunting it was like seeing an Elk laying there. I was able to bag another 3 point buck later in the week making it my best effort to date.

November brought a change of the four legged kind as well.  As part of the kids Christmas present my wife talked me into buying them a Chocolate Lab.  Chelsea is a beautiful dog and thus far has made an excellent addition to the family.  I’ve already taken here on a December dove hunt and she loved running at my side through the dove field.  She may be a camping, hunting, and fishing companion but first I have to stop her from eating my house apart from the inside out.

The year of our Lord two thousand and twelve was a magnificent year and I can only hope that 2013 will be a worthy successor. 

Wife and Water

I am a impatient man.  Most who know me have accepted this about me long ago or else they simply avoid me.  Last Saturday my wife, Heather, decided she would like to join me on the water for some Clinch River fly fishing.  Since the grandparents were in town to watch over our children there was no better opportunity to spend some time on the water.  We arrived in the parking lot to find it as full as I've ever seen it.  Recent storms in the Smokies had blocked access to the park and like ants scrambling from approaching rain, apparently all of those fishermen made their way to the Clinch to get a line in the water.

We waded down to my normal hole and all the while I was silently thinking "there are so many people that we won't even be able to find a spot to fish."  When we arrived at our hole sure enough two guys were already fishing the prime spot.  I further examined the profiles and saw that it was Matt and Tim from work and I felt very comfortable sliding in.  I tried not to encroach on their water, while allowing enough room for Heather and I to cast.

I tied on a wet fly for Heather and set her up in an area that wouldn't require much by way of casting and should yield fish on the dead drift.  I set up just below her down stream and we began to fish.  Fishing started very slow.  I'm not sure if it was due to the pressure of so many lines in the water or technique but either way the fish were not very cooperative. I watched Heather and gave her pointers on where to cast but as she whipped the rod back and forth it appeared more like a child with a streamer in the wind than the eloquent cast reminiscent of " A River Runs Through It."  I reeled in my line, laid my rod on the side of the bank, and committed myself to helping my wife catch her first fish on a fly rod.

I spent the majority of our time assisting her with her cast and showing her where she should be directing her efforts.  My patience was never tested and this didn't at any time feel like a inconvenience.  I enjoyed spending this time teaching my wife about the hobby that has evolved into an obsession. As the sun burned off the cool mist hovering above the water and she could literally see the fish swimming her focus became razor sharp.  We switched to a Sulphur dry fly and interest in our offering quickly picked up. Several fish struck at the fly but Heather was slow to set the hook.  Once she felt comfortable I picked my own rod back up and resumed to my spot fishing. It was only about ten minutes later that with surprise in her voice I head Heather exclaim "I got one" and at that she reeled in her first trout on a fly rod.  She set the hook and brought the fish to hand on her own with no help from anyone.  Each cast that day showed improvement and she was able to hook at least one other fish. On the way out she told me that she thinks she likes dry fly fishing more than wet fly fishing.  That's my girl! I've been married to this woman for 16 years and each day there are new things to love about her.

The Salt Life

A heat wave had taken over much of the nation but I didn’t really care because I had the cool waters of the Atlantic to look forward to.  I had seven days of family, fun, and relaxation to enjoy.  We loaded up and drove the eight hours to my brother Donald’s house and things went pretty much as planned.  We had a deep sea charter planned for Tuesday so on Sunday we all rose and drove to Nags Head on the outer banks of North Carolina to relax, unwind, and live the salt life for a few days.

            The sun was high over head when we checked into the Tar Heel Motel which was to be our home for the next two nights. To say this motel is unimpressive at first appearance is an understatement, but after check in we were greeted by clean rooms and a cold running air conditioner and that’s really all I need.  We gingerly made our way across the hot sand to the cool waters of the surf and for the next two hours we soaked up the sun and the salt water. 

            Monday evening we unfolded tables iced up our coolers and enjoyed some fresh shrimp and soft shell crabs in the motel parking lot.  It was enjoyable to feel the fresh ocean breeze while sitting in a lounge chair and watching my children play with their cousins.  Eastern North Carolina, Knoxville, TN and Cincinnati, OH are not exactly close to one another so it’s not often that all three of us brother get to spend time together with our families. 

            Patrick had not been feeling well and on Monday night he decided he wouldn’t be able to make it out on the charter boat for our deep sea excursion. This was without a doubt the biggest disappointment of the trip.  One of the highlights of the trip was to be all three of us brother’s fishing together but as life doesn’t always go by the script we write in our heads and it wasn’t meant to be.   At 4:00 am on Tuesday morning Matthew and I woke to join Aretha, Donald, and Chase for the drive to the marina.  We arrived at Oregon Inlet to meet the Captain and first Mate and by 5:00 am we were on our way 40 miles out to the Gulf Stream and its fertile fishing.

            We trolled for about an hour and finally the first fish was on.  Dolphin (Mahi-Mahi) was our prey this morning and as Chase reeled the beautifully colored fish leapt from the water in protest.  Two hours on the gentle rolls of the Atlantics swells were enough to place my stomach squarely out of sorts but when the fish are on a sick stomach is the last thing on your mind.  We fished the day and landed 40 Dolphin.  It’s amazing that most of those fish came from two schools that we passed the boat through.  When the schools were found fish were on every line and we couldn’t get baited lines in the water fast enough.  We dedicated the last two hours of fishing to Tuna but came home empty handed.  We arrived back at the marina at 4:30 like clockwork to be greeted by crowds of people watching each boat unload the days catch.  Our numbers of Dolphin were impressive but the masses wanted to see Tuna.

            The rest of the week was spent playing baseball with the kids, smoking chicken on the grill, and relaxing in the pool. This mountain boy could sure get used to the “Salt Life”.

Clinch Brown

 

I would love to write a fishing report about an epic day catching fish after fish but that post will have to be another day.  This past Saturday the plan was to take a guy from work to my favor fishing spot and let him catch some trout.  I suppose that mission was accomplished as he was able to catch some fish, but the truth is that Saturday was a slow day of fishing and as I sat on my back deck tonight I realized why.  The full moon hung high over the trees in my back yard and illuminated everything.  My guess is the trout on the Clinch River had been feeding all night and by morning they had but little interest in my offerings.  I have read many reports of fishermen refusing to bother fishing during the full moon cycle due to the slow takes.  I made my way to the Clinch like I have many times before and by 6:30 a.m. I was preparing to feel the cold water against my waders once more.  There were four of us fishing and although I caught four fish and missed several others it was nice just to cast a line and feel a tug at the other end. 

At 9:30 I decided to break from the group and fish a run of water that had netted me a few Brook trout and one decent Brown on a previous trip.  As I scanned the water the sun was high enough on the water to see the fish moving about.  Each cast would send trout in all directions as my fly line hit the water and they would settle back in always looking up stream and waiting.  I tried my Olive Scud with no luck.  I tied on a San Juan worm without a single nibble.  The trout wouldn’t even look at my Sulfur and as I tied on what I vowed would be my last fly change of the day I was thinking more about lunch than fishing.  I would end the day with a Bead Head Pheasant Tail in a size 16. This is a larger fly than I generally fish at the Clinch, but I had a couple large fish in mind when I tied it on.

When I waded into the area I immediately saw several large Rainbow Trout cruising the pool but my casts to them were to no avail.  I spotted what I first thought was a Carp in the far side of the stream, but I determined this wasn’t a Carp but was in fact a large Brown trout.  As one of the other guys fishing, Jeremy, walked his was upstream toward me I saw the Brown turn and at the same time I felt me line go tight.  Since I had never hooked a trout this size here before I was fishing with my Orvis 3 weight rod which I affectionately call May.  May was bought for fishing the Smokies and I wasn’t sure I could bring this fish in with a 3 weight rod. When the trout realize he was hooked May began to sing and the “zing” of her reel was music to my ears.  As I fought the large brown I never for one moment thought I would bring him (or her) to hand.  Each time I made my way closer with net in hand my presence was felt and fish would jet out to deeper water.

  I slowly made my way further and further to the bank until the fish was in shallow water and I was better able to manage him without rushing him in and breaking my line.  The struggle lasted what I would guess to be about 8 minutes and as this beautiful trout found the bottom of my net the fight was over and we were eye to eye.  It would be a lie to say that I didn’t think about keeping this fish as a nice addition to my “man room”, but that thought was short lived and my only concern was keeping the fish alive while allowing me a few picture to remember him by.  Jeremy snapped some pictures using my iphone and I held the fish in the water until he could once again swim on his own and just as quickly as this fish was caught, he was gone.  It was a memorable day for me because it marked the largest trout I have caught on the Clinch, but my hope remains that it won’t be my last.

A Little Birthday Fishing

I was awakened at 3:00 a.m. by the sound of hard rain accompanied by thunder and lightening.  I looked at the clock and tried to nestle back into my warm covers before my 5:00 a.m. alarm would call me to attention.  I had been waiting for months for the release schedule to lighten enough to allow wading on the tail waters of the Clinch River.  I had a busy day planned and I was concerned the weather would interfere with my agenda.  It was my birthday after all and while I’ve never been one to make much of this day, my wife had other plans. 

I made it to the Clinch with no issues and although the sun had not yet rose, I was set at ease to see the rain clouds were moving out and the morning would be dry.  I spent the early part of the day fishing my usual spot with no luck.  I began my walk out and took the advice of another fly fisherman and tried a run of water before I left.  Within 30 minutes I caught a medium sized rainbow trout.  This would be the first (of what I hope will be many) fish that I caught on a fly that I tied myself.  There is a certain sense of satisfaction that comes along with tying your own fly and actually catching a fish using it.  I caught a brown as well and before I was set to leave I drifted my olive scud through this run of water one last time.  I felt a slight tug and thought a fish must have hit the fly and I’ve missed my opportunity, but as I pulled the remaining slack from the line it became apparent that I didn’t miss the fish.

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.

A Lucky Catch

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.