The Fishless River

Well, I know I have trips to log in that preceed today's timeline, but I've got to go ahead and get this one in before this one passes me up and details get fuzzy...

I took a new friend Chad out to fish this afternoon. He's never fly fished before and it's been a while since I've been out...so it was a time to get aquainted, hit the basics with the long rod, and hopefully put him on a trout. We were sort of limited on time and with the rain around we were in need of some compliant fish...I figured the "fishless river" was the place to go. The water was dubbed so by my buddy Mark "Varmit" as kind of a cheezy code for the river that's not really a secret, but most don't realize it as seasonal put and take fishery full of eager (okay, rediculously stupid and easy) fish. It's an ace up the sleeve, a secret stash sort of place that you really don't want to publicize. Sometimes there's some holdovers that can surprise you, but mostly the water gets too warm to maintain the trout population year round - but man, if it could, you'd have a tailwater that would rival the SoHo. This water is caddis soup. The hatches in the spring will be the best you'll find anywhere around here.
Anyhow, it was a drizzly morning that we were sure was going to blow off soon so we left the raincoats in the truck ...big mistake - don't you know- it'll only rained harder for the next hour or so when you're out there knee deep in the river. In the mean time, there were fish rising all over sporadically to some small olives, #22 or so and and figuring the action was on untill that rain hit harder and the fishing shut down for a while. So we worked on casting and mending and discussed the finer points of "if I were a trout, this is where I'd sit to eat" and so on. Chad was a quick learner and after getting the rain gear and the the weather subsided, he managed to stick a couple of fish on a PT. While they weren't brought to hand, he was able to feel the take and it was his first taste if of what very well be a new addiction.
Things were slow, couple of other guys on the water were not having the hand over fist action we all expect out of this section - it was beginning to live up to the cheezy codeword. But we then realized Marc and been out here the week before when they actually stocked as he quickly educated them to a sore lip degree. Thanks man, 'precciate ya...
But as the rain did move off, the fish began to rise again. Going with the "throw anything as long as it's a caddis" mantra, we switched over to an olive X caddis....within a few casts, Chad had on his first fly caugt fish. I had my back turned at the time, but the unmistakable ziiip sound of a dry fly hookset and flopping of a broadside landing fish is music to my ears...it was a decent fish of about 10" and Chad's grin was just as wide. I was pysched, I was glad for him and it broke a- take- a- buddy- out- and- fish- but- they- don't- catch- but- I- do curse. After a several dustings later of the X caddis, Chad hooked into another nice fish and I think he was hooked as well - pun intended. I was content. By this time all was quiet on the river front people wise, the rain had lifted, the trout were active again and my buddy was catching fish - very few times you get that fleeting moment when you feel a though everything is centered in your universe.
We cleared out after a while longer and headed out to find a burger. It was a great time this afternoon. The fishless river, though not up to it's usual compliment - did live up to its name in more than one way...

First Time Smallie Hunt

Well, as you can tell - I'm a slogger - a slacker of a blogger that is ... and remember, if that word should catch online - you heard it here first. But as I have stated, my life is infinately complicated and while I have a few moments here and there- I'll jot down a plug about trips past...
Late summer this year (the time stamp on the pic says mid Sept. )I manage to target smallies for the first time in my life with a fly rod...pretty sad me thinks - been a fisherman all my life who will fish for anything by any method, but the last 10 years have been solely been with a fly rod only after trout. I've always heard about the bronzebacks' trout like qualities and there's no shortage of smallie water around here - I can be on prime stretches within 20 min in either direction, but I've always found myself hoofin' it to trout water. Guess I'm just a bad creature of habit or is that a creature of bad habits?
'Course it is that familiarity which breeds content when dyed in the wool trouters begin to sample the warm riverine appetizers on the piscatorial menu - smallmouth bass can become the main course. If you've never done it , I suggest it whole heartedly. I can remember catching them by "accident" on the Little River when fishing as a beginner for stockers below the Y. Got so mad at those stinkin' smallies 'cause here I thought I had a monster trout pulling me all over the river, and it turned out to be this little smallmouth bass. Boy, If I had only known then....
Anyhow, I managed a trip to a water I can't really say where exactly other that its in Tenn....I can't even really tell you what we used to catch 'em other that its a wooly booger variation...my buddy Rusty is basically out scouting for prospective places to take clients so, mums the word....
Anyow, I was amazed how hard these fish smacked that streamer. The small ones hit like a ton of bricks...the bigger ones made your heart pound. I had a couple of break offs and who knows what kind of shoulders those brutes had. I managed a half a dozen or so when the fishing kinda slowed down toward mid afternoon. I was at the head at a really deep, swift run and decided to high stick to get my fly under that surging current - lot like hitting pocket water in the Park - I had lost my got to fly on a larger unseen fish earlier and so tied on a weighted black wooly booger. I pitched it in the seam left of the heavy current and the fly drifted only a second or so before the the line twitched and it was fish on...it was a good one. I wrestled as hard as my pulse was racin' as fast as that fish had me all over that pool...I finally beached that bronze bullet (shaped more like a howitzer round) as it was my best smallie to date and my biggest of the trip. The picture really doesn't do it justice, being a camera phone snapshot and all, but its still documentation.
Later on that week I noticed post on other boards how smallmouth fishing was at a standstill on area waters - the late summer blues...not on this water- and there was a reason for it that I can't divulge...but rest assure I ended up with plenty of action, a dozen fish of to hand, and a few more which I never got to see...I was told that this wasn't even considered a good day for these guys and just wait and see when it's primetime....man,...stinkin' smallies....

The Holston

Well, kinda embarassing...my little speil about keeping up a blog...I have't really managed to get out much since then. Oh, there was a couple of on the spur moments to Metcalf Bottoms and high stuck a few nice fish - but on a whole, no real adventures to speak of.

I did however, manage to hit the Holston below Cherokee Dam with a buddy of mine who had borrowed a little Native Drifter from a fellow guide. A few weeks ago (obviously past due for a true blogger) we tried to float from the dam to a take out called Nances Ferry. Getting up at the crack of dawn and drive the hour to get there (after dropping off a car at the take out - no shuttle service here) we arrive to a locked gate to the boat launch. Irritating to say the least. So we plodded on down to Nances Ferry and waded some. Our target was smallies seeing as how the Cherokee is primarily a winter/early spring fishery. Temps get to warm downstream because Cherokee Lake is not as deep as some of our TVA impoundments and so the generations aren't as cold year around. In the fall as temps cool, TWRA puts in a ton of fingerlings in a 14 mile stretch that by spring are a chunky footlong trout and fun to catch. They don't seem to be particularly choosy about thier fly, but it tough not to fish anything other than a caddis.
The general consenses is that if this water would maintain a decent temp, some of these fish will survive the over harvesters and this tailwater, with all is bug biomass, would rival even the South Holston - our current blue water gem...
Mid summer reports from local guides said that there were some actually some holdovers - and they looked healthy. Then we were hit with a drought. But the irony is that it has cause more generations and the water has been more favorable.
So we decided to take the boat to a little unknown ramp at Indian Cave and salvage a float. He was after smallies, but after catching a few healthy trout at Nances - trout was on my mind.
Even as we put in, I notice rises in the slack water below us. I tried for a few, but the gin slow water and boat put them down...
We did find some nice shoals that had feeding fish and there were other waders about, and the trout were there. I was astonished to say the least.
As we drifted down, we hit pockets of trout here and there...our guess was maybe they have gravitated to the various springs that dot the river. Some areas were void of trout, but carp were everywhere and a few smallies.
It was a hot day, 95 plus if I recall correctly - man those currentless stretches were brutal as heat exhaustion on the oars was imminent threat. I don't know how many bottles of water I drank that day, but I was still thirsty several hours after making it home late that evening.
towards the take out, we anchored at a nice set of shoals...not more that 10 ft from the boat I picked up some nice 'bows and a beauty of a brown that I actually saw leap moments earlier. Seems there were some caddis coming off and there was no hesitation to thier takes of my EHC.
The smallmouth seem tight lipped and none came to any streamer pattern tossed their way.

It was a great day, though hot and humid. It's amazing how you forget those things when you're catching fish. I hope that these fish will hang on through the continuing drought. Next spring this stretch will be slab city.

A new years resolution...

Here it is another new year. A resolution I have made besides the obligatory get-in-shape or contribute to world peace, is to keep a better record my fly fishing pursuits. I wish I had kept a better detailed log of my past 9 years of fly fishing various east Tennessee waters and other states (not too exotic of locales mind you). From my very first little rainbow caught above Tremont (Great Smokey Mountains) on my hand tied flies to seeing monster browns rising to a blanket sulphur hatch from a Clacka on a one generation flow on the South Holston tail water. The back country camping trips in search of specs with a buddy into the Smokies and the visits to my folks in NW Montana and catching westslope cutts and greyling in Glacier Nat'l Park and "guiding" my dad to his first fly rod trout...time flies (no pun intended) and everything seems to blend together. Every now and again , I wish I could reference or even relive a particular moment from a past outing. Not just the critical info of weather,water temps, flies and tactics used, nor just a brag board of fish I've caught - but mostly reliving a good time with the people I've been fortunate to catch fish with or the various introspective observations of life and fishing and everything in between (epiphanies if you will) that I swore to remember but have all but forgotten...
And so, this is my grand attempt to start a new journal. After seeing a few blogs, I've decided to try my own. Maybe seeing it "published" can spur me to keep up with it. Though the sad part is as the saying goes: no man ever fishes as much as he wants too - I really don't have the time like I used to to get out and explore a stream. Which is another reason why I wished I kept better track of my past endeavors. My life (as I'm sure I'm not the only one) is infinitely complicated. I have a wife who has just started grad school, a 5 year old son learning and participating in seasonal sports , a 4 year old daughter starting in cheer leading, a job of raising 40 teenage boys that litterally has be busy 60 - 80 hrs a week all the while being a Mr. Mom to my own kids and 3 days a week teaching a basic black and white photography class... the combined chaos kinda keeps me off the water. I'm lucky to get out once or twice a month. In addition, the next two years , 2/3 of our income will be gone and that really hurts the water seeking budget. Can't help but long for "the good ol' days" of which now I have trouble remembering, hence all of this...
Documenting those glorious fleeting moments of freedom when I actually do get out to wet a line, surrounding myself with like minded friends and maybe even catch fish or two might help me back row a little against the swift currents of life, casting to the past a little bit more before drifting downstream into the final take out.