Back from the Smokies. The park is heavily trafficked but so well managed that it's still a pleasure to visit. The weather was pretty good during our visit, but the twice daily thunderstorms had really filled the rivers. When I stopped by Little River Outfitters to pick up some flies, I found out that Little River was flowing somewhere above 600 cubic feet per second. To put that number in perspective, the average flow at this time of year is around 150 CFS! Moreover, the creek which I had hoped to fish was closed due to agressive bear activity!
I took a few hours to walk up the headwaters of Little River and fish a few spots. I'm really only a "fair weather trout fisher" and so when conditions are abnormal I don't have the skills or experience to adapt. Consequently I wasn't expecting to catch anything and I wasn't disappointed. Still, it was great to get into the mountains and cool down a little bit.
On the way back to Nashville, we stopped by a lake for a picnic lunch. I was hoping to hook a few bluegills after we ate, but the shoreline didn't look very fishy. I commented as much, and our friend Heather, a Tennessee native, replied that she knew of a nearby spot where people fed bread to big carp.
That got my attention and as soon as I finished eating I ran off to look for these hungry fish.
Two carp can be seen here. One in the bottom right corner and the other just behind the white goose.
I soon found them and within a few minutes I had Tara, Heather and Michelle chumming with bread while I rigged up my fly rod. I don't have any bread flies in my collection so I simply took a plain orange nymph and hooked a piece of bread crust on it. My first cast put the bait right in the middle of the feeding fish and in less than a second my indicator was jerked underwater. I only had the fish for a moment, long enough to tell it was pretty big, before my leader snapped. Repeated casts were less successful. The bread quickly became soaked and fell free of the hook. The carp were really keying in on the bread and wouldn't look twice at my carp bugger. But they
were interested in my indicator, a white Thingamabobber about the size of a chunk of bread.
I have said this before, and I'll say it again:
we don't catch fish with hooks or flies or rods or reels. We catch fish with our brains; we catch fish because we are smarter than the fish. I watched those big lips break the surface and gulp at my indicator, and I thought for a couple of minutes. Then I reeled in, slid the indicator all the way down the line until my carp bugger was hanging maybe half a centimeter below it, and recast. Once again a carp gulped at my indicator as soon as it hit the water, but this time it also gulped down my fly which did it's job and hooked firmly in the fish's mouth. I played the fish hard, trying to keep it away from the nearby piers and pilings. I was without a net, but with a little help from my friends, we got the hungry cyprinid on shore for a photo:
Besides hooking oneself, freshwater fishing has a number of other hazards. I ran across two of Tennessee's more dangerous residents this morning - the dreaded denizen of the deep, the snapping turtle (look closely, it is there):
Even more fearsome, I also ran into the deadly
Post Script: This snake is actually a cotton-mouth! Thanks to Bill Bailey for the I.D.
This past weekend, Tara and I decided to go camping at Tennessee's Land Between the Lakes. We bought back country camping passes at the park entrance, packed up our boat, picked a spot on the map and started paddling.
The back of the bay was filled with nervous water (all the little circles of ripples in the picture.) Millions of small bait-fish had congregated in the warm shallows. Such a gathering doesn't go unnoticed by hungry piscivores, and every 30 seconds or so a marauding bass would bust through part of the school with a splash.
As soon as we had set up camp I set out to try my luck fishing. I waded out into the school and tied on a clouser minnow that was about the same size and color as the bait-fish I was seeing. There were schools of bait and feeding fish in every direction so I just started casting. I began with a fast retrieve near the surface but got no strikes. I slowed my strips, pulling the fly almost leisurely through the water, and letting it sink down near the bottom of the school. It wasn't long before I felt tension on the line. I set the hook and played the fish a few feet before it leaped into the air, a nice bass!
Tara and I just returned from a trip to Oregon. It was good to visit with family and friends, and I did get a little bit of fishing done. We met up with one of my childhood friends at the Oregon Country Fair (NOT to be confused with a county fair) where we watched a band perform The Beatles entire Abbey Road album. Somewhere between "Octopus's Garden" and "I Want You" we got onto the subject of fishing. Jared is one of the most accomplished outdoorsmen I know, so it didn't surprise me to learn that he was re-exploring fly fishing, something he hadn't done much since he was a kid. Not one to pass up such an opportunity to fish and catch up with an old friend, I made arrangements for an afternoon of fishing on a small trout stream near town.
We fished through the afternoon into the evening. The fish largely ignored our nymphs, but when the sun dropped behind the trees, the trout started rising to the big dry fly that Jared was using as an indicator. Joining in the fun, I also tied on a dry fly and we fished several riffles as the dusk deepened. I landed a few small rainbows. Jared hooked the fish of the day at the head of a deep pool, but alas, the wiggly fellow managed to throw the hook.
onto the grill!
Fresh fish delish!
Back from the Smokies. The park is heavily trafficked but so well managed that it's still a pleasure to visit. The weather was pretty good during our visit, but the twice daily thunderstorms had really filled the rivers. When I stopped by Little River Outfitters to pick up some flies, I found out that Little River was flowing somewhere above 600 cubic feet per second. To put that number in perspective, the average flow at this time of year is around 150 CFS! Moreover, the creek which I had hoped to fish was closed due to agressive bear activity!
I took a few hours to walk up the headwaters of Little River and fish a few spots. I'm really only a "fair weather trout fisher" and so when conditions are abnormal I don't have the skills or experience to adapt. Consequently I wasn't expecting to catch anything and I wasn't disappointed. Still, it was great to get into the mountains and cool down a little bit.
Two carp can be seen here. One in the bottom right corner and the other just behind the white goose. 
I have said this before, and I'll say it again: we don't catch fish with hooks or flies or rods or reels. We catch fish with our brains; we catch fish because we are smarter than the fish. I watched those big lips break the surface and gulp at my indicator, and I thought for a couple of minutes. Then I reeled in, slid the indicator all the way down the line until my carp bugger was hanging maybe half a centimeter below it, and recast. Once again a carp gulped at my indicator as soon as it hit the water, but this time it also gulped down my fly which did it's job and hooked firmly in the fish's mouth. I played the fish hard, trying to keep it away from the nearby piers and pilings. I was without a net, but with a little help from my friends, we got the hungry cyprinid on shore for a photo:
I have been known to badmouth trout from time to time, but standing there in the cool current with this shiny little fish in my hand, I found myself suddenly wishing for high mountains and cold clear streams.
Post Script: My wish may soon be granted. We're planning a short trip to the Smokies next week, and I may be able to sneak off for an afternoon of fishing...
