May Day on the Lil Pig

While wanting to try out some smallie patterns that I tied up for an upcoming fly swap, I decided to steal away a couple hours and head out to the Little Pigeon to get them wet. Since my son was born (6 years ago mind ya), I have not been out during the week to flick a line... With my oldest in kindergarten, the youngest in a 2 day a week pre k program and the weather finally cooperating with my work schedule - I decided to venture out and wet a line.
My buddy Rusty came along and brought his raft as we were prepared to do a short float to cover more water for my little time, but of course Murphy decided to pay a visit and put the kibash on those plans. While parking my truck at the take out, I noticed it was acting up more that usual (I was already running on expired time with the starter) and sure enough, the mechanical gremlin reared its ugly head - the car wouldn't start. SOOO, what to do....I only had a few hours before I had to get back, teach my photography class, pick up my kids from school, and then go to work...but I wasn't about to pack it in either...well I'm already here, lets go fish.
We had to wade of course and the water was cooler thanks to a deluging front earlier that weekend. As a result, the smallie bite was off but I was just happy to be out, but its tough to fish effectively when you have issues looming - my eye was constantly on the clock.
Working my way down stream, the water was pushing fairly swift and was slightly stained. I was startled to hook a nice smallie in a soft side of a tail out not more that 3 feet in front of me. The surprise hookup didn't afford a good connect and in a couple of nice jumps and that bronze ship sailed away...it was a very decent fish, a porker too...
And it wasn't on the pattern I tied, I ended up switching over to a clouser because of the currents. But you gotta adapt to the situtation and the clouser seemed close enough for government for what the bass were looking for.

The funny thing was that here we were looking for smallmouth and Rusty tagged a one of the bigger 'bows I've seen in a while (course I haven't got out much lately)
It's a washover - a washed down holdover from the "trout rodeo" that is in Pigeon Forge every spring. We reasoned that if it can make it to the tailwater and find a spring, it could theoretically live a long, healthy life. There is definatly enough food in the French Broad.

Seeing as how the bite was off and the looming issues of me having to deal with my car and get back in time to deal with life's responsibilities - we cut the jaunt short and headed back up stream. 'Course you have to have that last cast and on the way out I managed to get this small guy to hand which makes it all worth it. In the end, the tow truck came, the starter was the culprit, and I made it back on time to take care of business. What a day...

Early Spring Slam

">While out on a weekend getaway with the family in Gatlinburg, I was finally able to get out for a few hours and wet a line. Knowing that I may not be able to get out for a while, I decided on the trifecta, the "have my cake and eat it too", and go for one of each - a brookie, 'bow, and a brown and thus frequent the waters I love to hang out in and consider "home waters". It would have been nice to get out somewhere and explore new water because in spring you see the best the any watershed has to offer with usually willing fish and bug activity, but limited on time and happy to be out, old familiar haunts make it well with the soul.
Rain had moved in that Friday night and I knew that water would be pushing harder that I'd like." border="0" alt="" />Though we need the rain desperately around these parts, when you finally get to fish - a less that ideal situation is frustrating, but again, I was free and standing in trout water no matter the cfs.
There are some watersheds where you can find all three species in the same river, but I did not have the luxury of that pursuit so to make the best of it, I started my brookie hunt in the upper West Prong of the Litte Pigeon River - the map will day Walker Camp Prong, but its all the Li'l Pig to me. Over the years, 'bows have established a foothold and have been getting larger there and it disheartens me greatly to know that an easy access brookie spot will eventually go to the dogs...rainbow striped ones that is, but I know that the second part of the slam will be fairly easy to complete because of this invasion.
Passing the mist enshrouded Chimneys (should've stopped and got that picture!) the rain was not heavy, but enough to be annoying. Seeing patches of the river through the trees confirmed that the water was really pushing through the gorge and I hoped the stretch I was going to fish was a little bit slower due to is more "subtle" slope.
Upon arrival, it wasn't whitewater, but it was definatly pushing....
It was tough going inititally, and it didn't help that somehow I managed to leave my waders at home - that water was freezing. But after finding some soft spots around rocks a couple of brookies rose to a foam posted para adams and also managed a couple of bows. Part one and two of the slam complete.

For the the completion of the slam, the Little River is brownie nervana and so I headed below Elkmont in hopes of better water conditions, a hatch, and more willing fish. The rain began to lift and the sun was making a showing by time I got to the parking area where I knew I'd find at least one willing brown. There were already a few anglers about, but non where I was going to put in, so with the para adams still on I plied the currents in a likely run. The water was at least warmer here 56 degrees or so and saw some sporatic hatches of gordons, caddis, and midges. Hopefully the fish would be looking up. A few casts in and a nice fish shot up from the depths and took that fly with authority. It was a great tussle, the rod was bent, the pull was refreshing - this was a nice brownie or so I thought...
A family watching with small kids joined in the fight, cheering me on as I brought the fish in closer. Only to discover it was a very nice, pot bellied rainbow and the brown it fought like - the largest I've ever caught on Little River to be sure (granted, it may have been about a foot long, but this is the Park). However, due to the show and tell for the young ones, there wasn't time for a picture as the fish needed to be released.
As I moved up to the next section of the stretch of water I was hoping to complete before having to go back to the condo, I began searching the dark, slower edges of the river where we've caught some nice browns holding in the past. Sure enough, one did come out to play and from a spot that seems to always hold at least one decent fish. Playing the fish to the waters edge and taking a snapshot completed the slam. It was the only brown to hand, but it was brilliantly colored and the red edged fins signified all that is wild and what I love about the mountains.

After a few more casts, I decided to head out to catch up with family. On the way out I ended up meeting Ray Ball and his crew. Ray's been fishing the Smokies probably longer than anyone out there as he grew up in these hills. Calling him a fishing legend may be a shiny label he wouldn't think of himself as, but his name does come up in various anglers' discussions of storied anglers in context with the history of this park. He is a carasmatic guy that i hope i have half the zest and zeal he does at his age when talking about fly fishing. Ray couldn't stop grinnin' about the stories of the good ol' days, fishing holes on Little River he's named, and tying his beloved calftail parachute flies.
Meeting Ray was icing on the smokey slam cake. Its one fo the reasons I love fishing in the Park. There is such rich, diverse history to the Southern Appalacians and fishing is a part of it. The fact that I can meet someone such as Ray that brings the history of these waters to life makes me that more appreciative and fortunate to haunt the same waters as well.

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.