I got up early, fixed some coffee and listened to some birds not far away. Although I couldn’t tell what they were, they sounded big. Looking at Google Maps, I saw a big lake or inlet next door. There was also a creek close to my camp. No wonder there were mosquitoes. I drove out of the park, turned right and followed South Railroad Avenue going behind my camp site. There was a train track on the other side of the road.
As I slowed down to look at the big estuary, a man got out of his car in front of me. I pulled over behind him, thinking I would take pictures of some egrets or something similar, but there were none. The man started rigging up a fishing rod, so I walked up and asked what he was going to fish for.
In his mid-sixties, he put a Hula Popper on as he told me he came here every morning for an hour’s fishing while his wife slept. He said he sometimes caught sea trout, flounder, largemouth bass and drum. “OK”, I thought to myself. “I think I’ll hang around and watch.”
This guy was a pro. He had a Daiwa rod and a Japanese reel, braided line and a tippet he tied onto a loop at the end of the line. As we talked, he must have thrown one of two lures 200 times, and never got caught in the grass once. He could throw that thing a long way with a two-handed grip with the lure dangling 2.5 feet below the end of the rod. He knew the currents and the wind, so he threw it past and left of a point. The current would carry the lure right past the point. It was pretty-much high tide, his favorite time to fish.
Fish began jumping to our left and further out. I suggested he needed a boat. “Ahh, I used to have one, but now I’m too old and sore to pull it out. I sold it last year.” The jumping fish were bait fish trying to escape some predator. Sea gulls cried above, swooping down to capture some.
Finally, we introduced ourselves. Stephan Champagne (pronounced with Creole accent). He was born and raised in New Orleans, but traveled a lot with business. He worked with the railroad for years, and said this is still a busy line carrying all sorts of goods – whatever someone wanted to have shipped. He worked in Newport News for a while, installing a system for ship building that was a big success.
Finally he got a hit – a good one. He had switched to some 2.5” topwater crawler he gave me the name of, but I no longer remember. It was a very nice trout. He quickly dispatched it with a knife to the spinal cord and threw it into a cooler. “Dinner”, he said with a smile. He said he preferred topwater lures. “It’s just more fun.”
After a few more casts, he looked at his watch. His wife would be getting up, so he started packing up, and we said our goodbyes. I enjoyed my morning with Stephan, and I think he liked having some company. I liked his stories as well as watching an expert fish. He talked about his 40’ mahgany trawler he bought and restored. He and his wife enjoyed traveling in it for about 7 years before he got tired of throwing money at it.
I stood looking at this pretty piece of water, imagining a nice fishing kayak, maybe one you power with your feet. Maybe I could get to the other side where all the fish seemed to be. Then again, maybe Stephan was right. Drive up, throw lures for an hour in the early morning, watch the gulls and maybe take a nice fish home for dinner.
Charlie Roberts, the fly tier I met at Chasteen Creek, told me to try Kephart Prong and to start fishing where the stream makes a big turn away from the trail. My plan was to fish this all day. I’ve been distracted by other things, and the fishing has taken a back seat. I have fished every day, but today, that was all I was going to do. Two cars were parked in front of me when I arrived at 8:00. Now maybe that sounds late, but the sun doesn’t come up until 7:20, and it was only 50°. My guess is they were hikers. There are lots of hikers in this park, and why not? There are tons of trails that are well-marked and maintained. There are backcountry campsites all over the park. If you are a hiker, this is paradise. Of course the Appalachian Trail goes right through the center of the park along its highest ridges.
I didn’t bring the Garmin GPS, telling myself, “Why would I need it?”. I did bring the InReach, which is a satellite device that allows me to send messages and track where I go. Martha had sent a message on it asking where I was. It also has a map I can access with an app on my phone. Trouble was it wasn’t giving me any detail. Seems I need to download a map. OK, I was going to walk up the trail until I could see the stream turning away from the trail (a road really).
After crossing the beautiful stream a couple of times, I thought it turned away from the trail, so I started fishing. I came here for 9 days of fishing because I had seen so many beautiful streams on my previous trip, and this was another one. It’s the perfect size. With huge boulders, plunging pools and crystal clear water, I could see why Charlie recommended it.
I had on the purple fly with white hackle that had at least produced some interest. I don’t know what it is – maybe a purple haze. I got some small fish splashing at it, but after 40 minutes of that, I decided to switch. There was a serious hatch of tiny brown bugs, yet I didn’t see any fish rising. I was not going to fish anything that small, but I put on a # 16 brown Caddis. 20 minutes later with zero interest, I went to a Royal Wulff. Nothing. Climbing this mountain through one beautiful pool after another, there HAD to be fish in here!
It was not easy going, climbing over and around boulders, going up a steep mountain. I had to get out once to get around a waterfall, but that wasn’t so easy either. Wandering around the forest, climbing over logs and fallen trees, I watched every footstep for a moving stick. I don’t hear so well, and with a pounding stream beside me, I would never hear a rattlesnake trying to warn me. At least I didn’t want to step on one. I was relieved to get back in the stream.
I have never seen so many hatches – constantly, all day long, and different kinds. I switched to a Light Cahill. First cast a hit! A voice said, “And now the fun begins.” Like the Purple Haze, little fish hit it, but not much else. One nice fish took it as the fly went under a rock. I thought I was caught on something, but it moved, wiggled and then it was gone. It was probably a good thing, as I would have kept it for dinner. It would turn out to be the only keeper I caught all day.
“What’s the deal?” I thought. Are they full from eating all these bugs? Certainly, I have never seen so many hatches on an eastern stream, and with such variety. Was someone fishing in front of me? I didn’t think so. I hadn’t seen any footprints, although it’s all rocks, and most of those are covered with beautiful, soft moss. Or were there just too many fishermen and women in this park. I mean it’s the last place I know of where you can keep five fish over 7 inches. When I was growing up, five was the limit, but they had to be 8 inches. We used to catch and keep our limit every time out. But then, we only fished April 1st until June when the snakes came out. Summers were for smallmouth fishing or golf.
Hardly anyone walked 45 minutes up a mountain and fished all day for five 8-inch fish. The vast majority fished lower down, where the fish were stocked. Then a movie changed everything – A River Runs Through it. Now everyone fishes for trout. Still, most people are attracted to the bigger fish – trophy fish.
The stream was getting smaller and steeper with fewer pools, so I got out when I could see the trail and walked up. The shelter couldn’t be far. Usually shelters were for the Appalachian Trail, but I wasn’t sure the Trail came through here. When i arrived, two men and a woman were talking and welcomed me. They were all hikers. One man was staying at Mile High Campground “where they have showers”, he said. He likes to stay there and hike a variety of trails.
The husband and wife were staying in a hotel where they have showers. He had knee surgery just 8 weeks ago! He said two fishermen came down earlier and hadn’t caught anything either. One said he had been fishing this stream for 30 years, and had always caught fish. He noted there are now over 100 fishing guides in the area, and it has hurt the fishing. I must say I felt better hearing that. I had worked hard all day, and although I am not the greatest fisherman, I thought I fished fairly well today. I had changed flies, tried to match the hatch and cast pretty well, but hadn’t produced a thing.
There have been articles questioning, “Are We Loving Our National Parks to Death?” Certainly, this park gets a ton of visitors. There are really only two roads in this huge park, and the traffic is heavy. The trails I have been on are well-traveled, and the campgrounds are booked solid. I could not get a site at any other campground in the park. They are booked solid, and the leaves are just starting to turn. In two weeks it will really be busy.
I love it here. These are beautiful mountains with lots of gorgeous trout streams. Yet, I caught two keepers in nine days. Kelly would have caught a lot more, but still, it is not what I expected. I had read stories of catching 50 or even 100 trout in a day. Hell, I bought a counter so I could keep track! I admit I don’t fish rainbows well, mostly because I’m not good at fishing under water. I prefer dry flies, and I prefer brook trout. I mean they smash the fly, then leap out of the water several times, run all around until you think you have a monster. Then it turns out to be an 8-inch fish. There is no better eating fish. You can clean one in 30 seconds. All you need to cook them is a pan and butter, and they are done in 5 minutes. They have a handle on each end, and when you are through eating, there is nothing left but a skeleton. Simply delicious! It has been a long time since I ate one. Even if you catch one, you can’t keep them – except here, and after a week of fishing here, I wouldn’t keep one if I did catch it.
My opinion is the Great Smoky Mountains National Park should join the rest of east coast and make the park catch-and-release, barbless fly-fishing only.
Batteries at 56% Sun only effectively hits the panels one hour a day, and it’s at a big angle then.
Charlie Roberts had told me to fish a stream up 441, the name of which I can’t remember, but he said there are two parking lots and to park on the right. Start fishing where the stream takes a big bend away from the trail. I passed Kephart Prong and stopped to check it out. I walked up the path for 10 minutes in my boat shoes before turning back. Crossing a bridge over the Oconoluftee, I wondered why I wasn’t fishing that.
I drove up the mountain, almost to the top without seeing any place with two parking lots. I did stop at several overlooks for some spectacular views. By now the crowds were out. 441 is the main road across the park, and it is also the most direct way to get to towns on the other side without driving all the way around the park. This is a popular place for motorcycles. It looked like a convention.
Coming back down the mountain I kept wondering why I wasn’t fishing the Oconoluftee, so I stopped at an access point, geared up and walked down a steep trail to the stream. I hate to be repetitive, but what a gorgeous stream, and what a gorgeous part of it. It’s smaller up here, but with big holes. I’ve never seen anything like it. There were pools, like big hot tubs as far as I could see. Sometimes there were three across the river, with little waterfalls filling them, then plunging down to the next one. The parking lot was rather large, and now I can see why. In the hot summer, what a place to come and cool off in your personal pool.
There was plenty of room to cast, and the stream is relatively easy to navigate and cross. Fishing each pool, I had a few strikes, but caught no fish in an hour before coming to a log jam. I could have gotten around it, but I wasn’t catching fish, and I remembered the book saying the fishing wasn’t good in this part of the Oconoluftee, for what reason I cannot imagine.
I went back to camp, had lunch and took a 30-minute nap. By then the day was fairly well shot. I cleaned up and thought about going to the Cherokee Museum in town, but they would probably close soon after I got there, so I opted to relax and read my book.
I went into town for a few things. Primary was to call Out of Doors Mart Airstream Dealer in Greensboro and see if they could help me with the leaking fresh water tank. Their first appointment was the first week of December, which is similar to what the dealer in Tennessee said.
Sitting in a parking lot where I could get cell service, I found a couple of Airforum posts on replacing their water tanks. They had pictures, so I could see how the system works. There is a pan that houses the water tank, protecting it against road damage. It is likely that a fitting is the source of the leak. What I was seeing was the pan draining. The cost of a new water tank is about $300 or less, but I didn’t have time to search.
At the Food Lion, I bought two gallons of water, since the water in the park tastes of chlorine. Also bought some fruit and checked out. While I was out, I decided to go check out Bryson City, just 10 miles away. It’s a cute, little town on the Tuckasegee River. It has the feel of a Fernie in British Columbia. There are lots of outdoor opportunities from here – Fontana Lake, the river, white water rafting and many trout streams across the lake. Martha would enjoy poking around the shops here, and there are interesting places to eat.
It took me a while to find it, but finally found “The Scenic Drive”, Rt. 91 along beautiful Tuckasegee River. It would be a nice river to kayak or canoe or fish. I passed a lot of RV camps in all flavors. Arriving back in Cherokee, I went to the hardware store and got the propane tank filled. The man looked frazzled. He said he couldn’t find or keep any help, so he is working six days a week. We agreed people are making more money not working. These are crazy times!
Back at camp, I had lunch and a cup of coffee and read my book for a while. I could have done that all afternoon, as it is very good, but if I was going to fish today, I had best get going. My options were to go lower on Bradley Fork that runs into the Oconoluftee at the end of the campground, or go up the mountain to Chasteen Creek. I opted for the latter. It is listed as a small stream, lightly fished, with brookies in it. I thought dinner might be coming my way.
I walked 1.2 miles up Bradley Fork Road and turned on the Chasteen Creek Trail. I have seen the horses take this loop every day. I turned to go into Backcountry Camp #50. I could see this would be a pleasant place to camp. A sign said the camp was temporarily closed due to aggressive bear activity. I checked to see where my whistle was. I had not brought my bear spray. I was carrying enough stuff as it was.
This is a tiny stream, choked with fallen trees and rhododendrons. I would have thought this unfishable, but the book said it was a pretty good stream. Now I wished I had reread the book. There was a foot path beside the stream, so I followed it up a bit to a nice, little pool, although casting would be tough. I caught a little brookie on the first cast and two more. OK, I was awake now.
I got out and walked the path to its end, where there was a very nice pool. I got caught in the laurels and moss before getting a fly in the pool. I missed a big hit and caught another little one. Well, maybe this was worth it, but I questioned that as I crawled over two logs to get upstream. There was no more footpath. I very slowly worked my way upstream to a bridge where the horse trail crossed. If I could get my fly into a pool, a fish hit it about 60% of the time. No wonder there were fish here. It’s a bear to fish. I worked my way upstream, with similar results, but it was like doing some kind of Army obstacle course. It was also a test of all your trout fishing tricks. I hadn’t bow-lined in a long time, but that one was useful. Dabbing into a hole was good, but the rhododendrons and mountain laurels were so thick, you could not walk beside the stream. Flipping the fly worked a few times, and every now and then I could cast, but not very far. I caught on laurels, bushes, briars and moss, but just had to try to be patient because the fish were here.
By 4:30 I did not have my fish for dinner, but I did not want to be caught in here in the dark. There were no trails into the stream, so the only way out was to beat through the thick laurels. I knew the horse trail was on my right, but didn’t know how far. A voice had told me to bring the GPS, but I didn’t. It would have told me how far the trail was from the stream, or if there was another bridge ahead.
I picked a spot and picked, ducked and climbed my way through the laurels, ever mindful of snakes. Luckily the trail wasn’t far away. I walked up it a ways to see what the stream was like, but I couldn’t really see it. Sometimes the rhododendron and laurels thin out up the mountain, and it looked like they thinned out a bit ahead. As I walked back down, I took a picture toward Chasteen Creek in a sea of mountain laurels. Maybe I would try this again up higher and start a lot earlier.
There are also three forks of Bradley Fork up higher, but that’s 4.5 miles up the road. That’s why there is a backcountry camp there. Maybe I am too old to backpack 4.5 miles, but it MIGHT be worth the trouble. I have seen a lot of people of all ages walking up this road, some with backpacks. On the other hand, I fished my way almost to that camp a few days ago.
Batteries at 79%, 82% last night (There are no hookups in GSMNP)
It’s been sunny every day, but sun only hits the panels from 2:30-4:00. The rest of the day I’m getting 1.5A. Takes 10A to run the furnace in the morning set at 58 deg. I’m getting 300WH/ day with a max of 13.7 and min of 13.1. All charging is on bulk.
Since I had seen so many fishermen yesterday, I decided to walk further upstream on Bradley Fork. I would walk an hour and start. I debated about taking the big or small rod, but opted for the big one. It will cast further, casts streamers better and is long enough to flip or dab a fly.
I started walking at 7:30 in waist waders, felt-soled boots, two shirts, a fleece and a fishing vest that weighed too much. At 8:00 I removed the fleece as I was beginning to sweat. I didn’t see anyone along the way. With plenty of time to think, I realized there are two backcountry campgrounds up here. fishermen could be camped up here and already be on the stream.
At 8:30 I got in the stream and started fishing. By 9:30 I had changed flies 5 times with no action. Maybe it was too cold for them. The sun was just now getting into this hollow. This part of the stream is steeper and smaller, but the pools are deep – really deep. It’s like the Hughes River in Virginia, but on steroids. This is bigger and more powerful. Sometimes it sounds like an airplane. Cicadas added to the sounds, which can be eerie in the relative darkness. Once the sun lit everything up, the mood of the hollow changed. Pretty in dim light, it is gorgeous in sunlight. Plunging down the mountain into deep, clear pools that were sometimes blue, framed by bright, white 3-foot waterfalls.
Looking up the stream, I recalled a quote from Fly-Fishing The Great Smoky Mountains, “ I could look up the stream and see where I would be in an hour.” I was fishing from the right side of the stream, which means I had to cast back-handed. I am not as accurate that way, and it’s tiring, but I was doing OK. I used a hopper, blue wing olive, a mayfly, a something-or-other and a Wulff and caught one 10-inch rainbow on the first cast with the Wulff.
I was surprised to see so many hikers walking up the mountain. It looked like half the campground were hiking this morning, and why not? It is a spectacular fall day. Several waved as they passed. One group took a picture of me casting into a beautiful pool. I didn’t notice any fishermen walk past, although you can’t be looking around while fishing this stream. I fell one time, but fortunately didn’t hurt myself or the rod. By 1:30 I was spent. If I was catching fish, I would have continued. It took me about an hour to get back to camp.
After some rest, I thought I should replace that drain cock since I was at 6% in the water tank. I removed two screws and pulled, twisted and pried, but it would not come out of the hose. Finally I broke it off and drilled out the rest. There was a hose inside the tank and it had a tightened metal ring around it. There was also a spring inside! Now how the heck did they do that, and why? I managed to remove the ring, but I should have slid it back on the hose. I put the new drain cock on, but would it hold without the tightening ring. If I had internet, I would have looked up how to replace this thing and learned how this tank works.
I patched two leaks that I could see, hooked up and went to the dump station to dump and fill up with water. Maybe at least I would just have a slow leak. Two wet tracks followed me back to my campsite – not a good sign. I poured a glass of wine, took a shower and shaved. I had already lost half of the water, although I hadn’t filled the tank completely. I filled a few bottles of water and the coffee pot, sure I wouldn’t have water in the morning. My guess is the hose, under pressure, popped off the drain cock, so all these leaks I have might be intentionally placed drain holes. There must be something else inside holding the water.
As I lay in bed, slowly waking up, I thought it unlikely the fresh water tank was leaking in two places, although possible with all the bumps and jolts I give it driving rough highways at 70 mph. At Highland Haven, I had trouble closing the drain cock after draining the tank so I could fill with fresh water. I had to use a screw driver to leverage it. Maybe I cracked it, or maybe it was just worn out. At any rate, it appears to be a simple thing to replace. If it still leaks and is the tank that’s leaking, I may have to go to Charlotte to get it replaced.
I went into Cherokee with a list. Call Martha was first. I wasn’t sure she was getting the InReach satellite messages, as reception here is spotty. It’s an easy 15 minute drive into Cherokee. Martha was doing fine, playing tennis and going to the UVA football game tonight. I told her about the leaking fresh water tank.
I went to an auto parts store in Cherokee. The plug for my forward-facing video camera had come apart, so I was looking for the parts that screw into the end of a plug that goes in the cigarette lighter. I consider this an essential piece of equipment. If I am in an accident pulling an expensive trailer with an expensive truck, I want evidence to show what happened. Since I have already had one expensive issue, the insurance would probably drop me if I had another.
A very nice gentleman said he didn’t have anything like that, but if I was going that way, there is a Walmart in Sylva, with several auto parts stores near it. I was going that way anyway, to Fallin’s RV Repair for a water tank drain cock, wishfully thinking the leak was coming from a faulty drain cock. This was a busy, little place with RVs in every available place to park. There was one man inside the small store. He was serving one customer while he talked on the phone to another. I wandered up and down the isles looking for a drain cock. I turned to a voice asking, “Can I help you find something?” He went right to it. There were two designs, so I bought both and thanked him. As he checked me out, he answered the phone, while another man came in. How he kept his pleasant demeanor through all this, I don’t know.
Now on to Sylva, about 17 miles away. I thought my GPS was taking me a crazy route, winding my way around this old railroad town, but that’s just the way it is. As I headed to Walmart, I envisioned walking around there for an hour looking for something they probably didn’t have. I spotted an auto parts store…… and turned left across busy traffic.
Three service people were helping customers, so I started wandering around when a kind female voice said, “Can I help you?” I showed her the screw and cap, telling her what they went to. She went right to the electrical isle and scanned plugs, selecting one, asking, “Will this do it?” Staring at it while rearranging my mind, I thought all I needed was the button. Then I looked at the price tag – $6. I smiled and answered, “Yes, thank you very much.”
Walking to the truck, I looked at the plug with two wires coming out of it. OK, I would have to cut my wire and connect these. I can do that, I thought. Staring at it in the truck, I realized I could just unscrew the end, take the button and put it into mine. I headed back to camp, optimistic I was going to solve both problems. Just out of Cherokee, I stopped at a pullover beside the Oconaliftee River. There is a well-traveled foot path beside the river. Across the river I saw three fishermen beside a huge pool. In the reservation, they stock the river with trout. Entering the park, cars were pulled over next to a big field where elk grazed.
After eating some lunch, I decided to go fishing for a couple of hours. I didn’t have time to go far, so I started at the end of the campground where Bradley Fork comes into the campground. I got in at a beautiful pool. Fishing a hopper, nothing was interested, so I started for the next pool. Someone was standing in the middle of it.
I walked up the road, heading up the mountain. I gave him what I thought was enough room to fish the next two hours and got in at another beautiful pool. Having no luck, I changed to a Royal Wulff. No luck. After fishing a gorgeous pool without moving a fish, I changed to a nymph. No luck, so I changed to a big streamer. No luck. I was changing again when the young fisherman who I thought I had given enough room, camp tromping past asking if I had any luck. I shook my head. I think he said he was doing well, but I couldn’t hear over the roaring river.
Bradley Fork is a beautiful trout stream – big, powerful, crystal clear water still flowing hard after the rains. Sometimes I heard airplanes flying over. Sometimes it was the river making a similar sound. Cicadas were also singing their mating song. Frustrated after a few more pools, I decided to head back. It was Friday afternoon, and two more fishermen passed me, going up the mountain. Then I saw two fishing their way up. What’s it going to be like on Saturday?
After the heavy rains Bradley Fork was up, running hard and brown. My guide is The Ultimate Guide to Fly-Fishing The Great Smoky Mountains by Don Kirk and Greg Ward. It’s a good book, woven with stories to keep it interesting. In this watershed (the Oconaluftee River) they discuss many streams, but have had good luck on Collins Creek. It’s a small stream, so my pick of the day. I was in the Smokies a few weeks ago with Martha, Karen and the kids, staying in Cades Cove. We so many gorgeous trout streams, I came back to fish some of them. The Great Smoky Mountains National Park was the number one most visited national park in 2020, and the third most visited park, the Blue Ridge Parkway being #1.
I drove up to the Collins Creek Picnic area and walked down to look at the creek. Small is right, and it has lots of trees across it and mountain laurel hanging over the edges. I went back to the parking area where a guy was getting out of his truck. Somehow he looked like a fisherman, so I went over to ask if he was going to fish. This stream is not big enough for two. He said he was not fishing. He and his friend Charlie were over the mountain at Big Creek, but since the temperatures were dropping, they were going into town to get propane. He suggested I talk to Charlie, who was in the bathroom.
Charlie Roberts introduced himself and began talking about the creek. He said he usually walks down to the road and starts, fishing back up to the car. He sometimes fishes up from here, but it has a lot of timber down and the laurels are thick. He said it opens up after a while. He is commercial fly tyer. There was a long conversation about what flies to use, but in the end said he usually fishes a Royal Wulff.
I put hip waders on and set up my small rod with a Yellow Sally. There were two beautiful pools to start with, but I didn’t move a fish. From there, the going got tough, and tougher the further upstream I went. I hit a few more pools without any luck, then decided to get on the trail and walk up. The path had been rerouted due to fallen trees, and the going was rough, especially after all the rains made the going slippery. I heard a ghostly voice behind me saying, “The Hell with this!” I turned around and walked back to the truck, drank some water and ate some peanuts. It was only 10:30, so I decided to walk down to the road and fish up.
The pools were bigger, the first two being beautiful. Didn’t move a fish, so I switched to a Royal Wulff. As I fished my way upstream, the going got tougher until again I heard that voice. I got out and beat the bushes back up the mountain, luckily ending up at my truck. There are a lot of streams in this area, so I am moving this one to the bottom of my list. Now maybe if I had put on a different fly the results might have been different. When you are catching fish, it’s a lot easier to put up with the impediments.
I went back and had lunch and a cup of coffee. I read my book and relaxed for a while. At 3:00 I drove to the the north end of the campground, geared up with the bigger rod and walked up the well-traveled gravel road for a half hour before walking down a path to Bradley Fork. It was completely opposite from this morning. This is a pretty big stream and I was standing in front of a gorgeous pool with more upstream. Amazingly, the water was clear, still running a bit hard, but very fishable. I had been hearing cicadas all day. I know I have cicada flies, but couldn’t find them. I opted for a hopper (grasshopper).
This 9’ 5wt rod with a 9’ leader might be a problem. I got hung up five times before I ever got the fly in the water! On the third cast I caught a 10-inch rainbow. Two casts later a smaller one. It’s amazing how that energizes you. Now to move. This was bigger water and I had on hip waders, but it wasn’t particularly slippery. Finally I made my way the other side so I could cast to the next three pools. Two fish missed it. Maybe the water is moving too fast for the fly to sit long enough. A few more chased it, so I wasn’t going to change flies. It’s a beautiful stream with lots of pools and room to cast, although with this big rod I managed to get caught on limbs several times.
I had only fished an hour and a half, but decided not to push my luck. Now, where to get back across the stream. Finally I found a reasonable place to cross without filling my waders, but there was no path on the other side. Again, I beat my way through the mangled laurels until I came to the road. My legs were tired now. I know I’m out of shape. 10 days of this should help.
When I got back to camp, I noticed it was wet under the trailer, so I peeked underneath. The fresh water tank was dripping in two places. GEEZ! All those thoughts went quickly through my head. New water tank? Where would I get that done? There’s an excellent Airstream place in Charlotte. Could I make it through the trip with this problem? Could I fix it myself? Always something!