Emergency Landing

December 30, I caught the biggest trout of my 29 years of fly fishing, rounding out 2013 to be a great year on the fly for this guy. I may have hooked trout this size, but I've never landed them. The story of landing this trout is the best part of this fish tale, and it was only possible with a little help from my friends (cue Joe Cocker and the Wonder Years).

I had taken two high school guys up to the Davidson River with hopes of putting them on some big fish. Atticus is an experienced fly fisherman who is passionate about the sport. Hayden is a little newer to fly fishing, and was breaking in his new rod, reel, and chest pack he had just received for Christmas.  The biggest hope was to get Hayden on a good fish. After about an hour and a half with no strikes, I was ready to move to a different piece of river.  As I was trying to convince the fellas to move down stream, we noticed a few takes on top, and thought a little hatch of midges was emerging. Two cast later I set the hook on a huge brown. I immediately asked Atticus to grab my net saying "this will be the biggest fish of my life!"

I was fishing three flies on a four weight, all on 6x tippet. My subconsious told me there was no way I was going to land this seemingly 24+ inch trout.  She ran me down into the deep hole below the run I hooked her in, then proceeded to look for every rock and log she could wrap my leader around. I was confident she would stay in the safety of the deep pool, but after about 5 minutes, she made a run down stream towards a long set of shallow rapids full or rocks, limbs, and debris.  I had to duck a fallen tree and run my rod tip under a submerged limb to keep from getting wrapped up. The big hen settled in a little piece of pocket water just above a log jam, 60 yards downstream from where I hooked her. Atticus suggested we spook it back up towards the big pool to narrow the variables of landing She-Brown the Wonder Trout.  Super idea. We got behind her, spooked her, commenced dodging logs and limbs like a fly rod clad ninja back upstream, and sighed in relief when she entered the tail out of the big hole.

The trout proceeded to dive 10 to 12 feet deep multiple times, without seeming to tire,  causing all kinds of strain on the 6x tippet, and creating a massive tight belly in the fly line bending under the weight of fish and current. She nearly had me down to my backing a couple of times. As I thought the trout was finally beginning to tire, it headed towards a couple of small fallen trees at the far side of the pool which  I had managed to move the fish away from early.  Maybe I was overconfident at this point, because i didn't worry, but the fish slowly moved in amongst the many limbs of the submerged trees as I applied pressure trying to coax it in the opposite direction. It slowly writhed in amongst the labyrinth of limbs, like a Katherine Zeta through the laser field in Entrapment, then the pressure I applied grew static and I realized my line was wrapped in the limbs. I knew my fish was certainly gone.

Atticus had been scrambling across the tail out trying to get to the far side of the deep hole to spook the fish away from the tree fall.  He crawled on top of the trees laying across the river, but my line staid tight around a limb.  I was certain the fish had broken the 6x tippet at this point, and returned to the safety of the deep water. "Do you see anything," I asked Atticus with low expectation. "No. I stirred up mud walking over here and can't see anything," he replied. I was dejected as he hovered above the cold waters lying on a few waterlogged branches.

Then it happen. Atticus communicated with focus and determination, "I see it! I'm going for it." He plunged his right arm in amongst the tangle of limbs, shoulder deep in the frigid water, and lifted the thick brown trout up into the 36 degree air by the tail, gripping it like a steelhead. Victory.

Hayden, Atticus, and I all celebrated with hoots, hollers, and jigs.  Hayden and I tromped across the river to examine all 25 inches of the healthy trout. After a few hero shots, the fish vigorously swam out of my hand and back into the hole it had fought me in minutes earlier. It was the biggest trout I'd ever landed; a fish of a lifetime.

Maybe it was worn out from the fight, and holed up under the safety of the branches, to tired to leave when Atticus approached the fallen trees and climbed on top of them, but for some reason we landed the beast. We shouldn't have, but we did. One good head shake would have easily snapped the 6x tippet with my line wrapped around a tree. This was definitely the fish that should have got away.  Without Atticus as super net boy and landing coach, it would have been just another fish story about the one that got away.

Christmas (lights-out) Trout

Here is a tale of two trout trips. They take place on the same stream about a week apart, but are as dissimilar as Waffle House and a Japanese express food joint.  Ok, maybe thats a bad simile. Japanese Express and Waffle house food may be eerily alike.

It's the most wonderful time of the year… Christmas rain, Christmas lights, Christmas trout, and the reminder that Christ offered up an opportunity for all mankind to avoid eternal damnation. It's a stellar combo, the latter of which may bear slightly more importance.  This is the time of year that my schedule allows me more chances to get on the water, and it's also the time of year the Carolina skies tend to render copious doses of winter rain.  To boot, December temperatures in the Old North State can be down right bi-polar (not the North Pole-South Pole kinda of bi-polar, cause that would be just plum cold. The up-and-down-inconsistant-current-Tarheel-Basketball kind of bi-polar. Glad I could clear that up for you). Regardless of the the Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde highs in the 70's and lows in the teens during the same week, I fish when my schedule allows, not when conditions are perfect. 

Matt navigating the gorge

Tuesday December 17 was partly cloudy, highs near 60, and the area streams had plenty of water after the previous week's rains. I chose to fish a new-to-me gorge section of a local stream. Best fishing decision in a while, because the fishing was lights out! I landed about 20 fish in 4 hours and I only fished hard the first 2 hours. Each good looking piece of water coughed up pre-spawn pink finned rainbows, some of which were well above average for WNC wild trout standards.  I had never fished this stretch of water before, and was stoked to find it only 45 minutes from home. I even hooked what was a 14-16 inch wild trout that spit the hook before I could get him to the net.  The black girdle bug and superman prince never needed to be changed from my line, and my thing-a-ma-bobber bounced frequently in the 47 degree water.

Pink pre-spawn fins on a wild rainbow

A week later on Christmas Day, I fished the section of gorge just below my previous trip, and it was a very different day.  The water was a bit higher and still falling after the recent rains.  The previous two nights had seen lows in the teens, and the Christmas Day high was a balmy 37.  Dreams of Tiny Tim offering "a Christmas trout... for EVERYONE" danced in my head on the way there, but I ended up with mostly coal in my creel on the crisp Christmas wade. 

I knew there were fish in the stream.  That was confirmed 8 days early. And after plying the depths of every run and pool, including the most productive hole from the previous week with nary a bite, I got the first strike of the day an hour and a half into the outing while swinging my girdle bug in to tie on a streamer.  It only reaffirmed my notion to swing a streamer in search of the fatty I had hooked and week early.  I tied on a Christmas Tree.  I really don't know what the fly is called, but it's just gold and copper flashabou with lead eyes.  It looks like tinsel, and it was Christmas day for crying out loud. It screamed out to me like Princess Leia desperately calling out to Obi Wan as "My only hope!" Three minutes later I was holding a ten inch, pale brown Christmas trout that would only have served as a snack for the optimistic tiny little Tim.

My Christmas Tree streamer

However, the fish that removeth the skunk need not be a behemoth to make the lander of said minnow an elated angler (wikipedia FACT).  It was the first brown I had ever caught from this stream, and the only fish of the day.  

The tale of two days on the stream helped remind me that you can't judge a stream by one trip.  The weather was different on the two days I was there, but it couldn't have impacted the water temps that drastically.  There are days when the bite is good, and you know why.  There are days when the bite is off for obviously reasons. But then there are all the rest of the days.  The majority of the days. Where the bite may be mediocre, stone cold, of red hot, and we may never truly know why. We can speculate and leave pleased with one Christmas trout, or leave floating on 20 pink wild rainbows.

The Christmas trout knocks the skunk off.  Merry Christmas to me!

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year from Bows and Browns to you!

Fall Freeze Out

Whats cooler than cool? Ice cold.

It's been a pretty cold November here in North Carolina.  This morning when I stepped in the river around 8:30, it was 22 balmy degrees of guide icing cold. It helped concoct what would be a perplexing morning for me. I hoped the chill would keep the throngs off the Dirty D, but the wader clad army was full tilt on this Thanksgiving weekend.  I bypassed the crowds of the usual honey holes upstream of the bridge and near the parking lot, and walked a bit down stream to one of my favorite, and typically less visited, runs.

The water was flowing just over 100 cfs and had been as high as 1000 cfs a few days before after the rain and snow.  The "log hole" i was headed for needs at least 100 cfs to fish well, and seems to be getting shallower over the years as more water gets diverted to the other channel of the river. Upon arrival, I was pleased to see fish actively moving about and even rising regularly to sipp midges. I fished a three fly rig with a stone fly as my lead fly, then an egg, then a midge larvae.  I cycled through the normal midges, and changed eggs once.  I managed to get only one strike from a naive dink in two hours of persistent nymphing. I could smell a skunk. I hadn't been skunked trout fishing in … I can't remember the last time I was skunked.  At least 9 years. Hashtag humble.

I decided to move back to the crowded section near the parking lot and see what was crackin.  I had about on hour left to fish before I had to lay down my trout wrangling (or lack there of) for toddler wrangling. I slipped into to a familiar run, a piece of transition water at the head of a long slick.  The fish were visible, and not as seemingly active as the fish I had left. I still had my version of a Morris Stone as my lead fly, a carolina egg, and the trusty red midge on my 6x SA flouro tippet (buy one get one free at Davidson River Outfitters right now). In less than five minutes, I was into my first fish of the day. Red midge. Soon after I had my biggest fish of the day, a football of a rainbow that ate the stone fly.

A couple near me seemed excited, disappointed, and perplexed after I landed two fish rather quickly, so I struck up a nice conversation with the lady about the finicky Davidson River and my fly choices and tactics. I walked over to her,  showed her my flies, gave her my productive pieces of water, then proceeding to quickly pull 4 fish out of the piece of water she had been previously fishing with no success. I'd been lieing if I told you I didn't enjoy hearing her shout out "He caught another one!" a few times in a fashion uncouth of proper fly fishers. My ego is grateful for her uncouthness.

The 45 minutes of fishing near the couple from Atlanta/my-biggest-fishing-fan, was fantastic. Just before leaving I had that inner dialogue and self-pact that anglers often construct in their minds; "I'll leave as soon as I catch one more."  After I caught the next fish, I deemed him to small to count, so I caught another in about four cast, and then climbed the bank of rhododendron with a goofy smirk on my face. I felt like Babe Ruth calling his shot, except my accomplishment was way lamer and not as significant, and nothing at all like Babe calling his shot. Nonetheless, I left the river feeling like the Great Bambino, having called my own shot.  Thank you Asian Atlanta lady for adding to my delusions of grandeur.  If only I could leave the river like that every time.

As the kidz say on twitter, I left the river smh (shaking my head). Though grateful for the stellar 45 minutes of fishing bliss, why couldn't I get those fish in the log hole to play ball with me? The fish who did impale themselves on my hooks took the Morris Stone and red midge at almost an equal rate.  I stuck one on the carolina egg.  The fish in the first hole snubbed the myriad of my offerings. There were hardly any risers in the section I caught fish in, and plenty of rises in the stretch that kicked my glutes.  I suppose the risers down stream that heartlessly shunned me were dialed in on some emerging midge. The stone fly I was using as a lead fly must have been getting my midge trailer lower than the film trapped midges the fish must have been keying on. STILL… you think in my buffet offering of midge larvae, a few troots would have eaten my midge even if it was lower in the water column. The water was pretty shallow, so it wasn't as if my flies were floating under the fish. A buddy suggested a greased leader, size 26 fly, and hook sets on any visible rise near the area I suspected my fly to be in could have cracked the case of selective sippers.  I'm not sure I'm compelled to fish in that technical of manner yet. I'll just move and find some more willing fishes to fall prey to my current arsenal of tactics… and an excitably city lady with more fly savvy than her hubz to cheer me on.  Until then, see y'all in the funny pages.

Into the Wild

It was one of those days when the stars aligned.  I had a Monday slated to fish, a remote section of river had rare flows that made it accessible and fishable the same Monday, and the October weather was going to be in the low 60's and overcast. I had only fished this gorge section once in my life... and I got skunked.  It had been 8 or 9 years since I made the trek into the gorge one hot mid-summer day, and the legends of big browns never came to fruition. Heck, dink rainbows never came to fruition. I felt like this October trip would at least serve as a litmus test for the fishery.


The hike in started with a waist high stream crossing to get to the trail, and subsequently, the next trek up the gorge in waders quickly became a wader-sweat-fest, despite temps in the mid 50's. 30 minutes later, we hop in the stream and I begin to work it with a Bill's Provider and CDC pheasant tail dropper. Less than 15 minutes later, I'm holding a gem of a 10 inch bow and I began to wonder if legends will prove true.  At least I can verify that there are fish in the river.

Scrambling up house sized boulders, sliding down the other side and trying not to break my stick or my neck was half the adventure. If my buddy Sam hadn't tagged along I wouldn't have fished this section of river due to the remote sketchiness of gorge.  Sam saw a big fish chase his streamer after I directed him to pull it under a overhanging rock. I then miss a few fish, and 2 hours later it seemed to slow down and disappoint.

I then walk up to a long run with a big tail out that looks promising. This run was 5 or 6 feet deep instead or 10 plus feet like a lot of the other holes.  I switched to a Kevin's Stonefly with a size 18 BWO emerger. The olives were come off pretty good by hatch standards for Western North Carolina.  Second or third cast, I hook the biggest fish of the day to that point, and when I play it in close to my feet another large trout is chasing it! I think it was a brown around 18 inches.  The fish I have on spits the hook right at my feet, so I'll guess he was 12 inches or so. Moments later I'm into a fish that has my click pawl screaming.  I had to play it for five minutes.  I was certain it would be every bit of 18 inches. Turned out it was a generous 14 inch rainbow, but it was a great wild NC trout that fought like mad.

I caught a couple more, then felt compelled to take Sam to a DH stream near buy and get him on some trout.  It was his first time fly fishing, and the wild trout were a little too quick for him.  Even thought the fishing seemed to be picking up the further we got from the trail head, and it looked like a long stretches rock pile before the next big hole and a good time to bush whack our way back to the trail. It left me wanting to go back and walk in a little further before hopping in the stream.  Don't worry, this remote stream still had some unsavory visitors out in the rugged wilderness.

old night crawler container in a artificial lure zone

Sam caught his first trout on a fly rod about an hour and a half later, rounding it out to be a great day. Can't wait to get back to this gorge, but who knows how long it will be into the stars align again. I am confident those plunge pools hold some brutes. I arrived home to find the latest Drake had arrived in the mail.  It was a solid day.

South Holston River Float

South Holston River

I got a call on Thursday morning from my friend John, and when I finally listened to the message early Thursday afternoon, it was an invitation to stay at the Watauga River Lodge Thursday night and float the river the next day.  For free.  Check your voice mail folks, you never know what you might be missing.  Low and behold, the stars aligned, and my calendar allowed me to skip a meeting on Friday and make it work. After helping feed the kids, rubber meet asphalt and I was headed east towards Johnson City, Tennessee (insert Old Crow Medicine Show tune here) with visions of drift boats and brood browns in my head.



Upon arrival at the lodge I moseyed over to the fire ring, got a jolly greeting from John Barker (a.k.a Smokey and the Bandit), met some new folks, and enjoyed the fall chill in the air with a Sweetwater Pale and sea salt and pepper kettle chips. After swapping some stories, we hit the hay at the lodge. Good pillows and good toilet paper.  I think that covers the bases to let you know Brownie Liles of the Watauga River Lodge isn't trying to cut corners. Great, great place.



We hit up a down-home-greasy-spoon-dive-of-an-East-Tennessee-diner for breakfast, then met our guides for the day, Ollie Smith and Evan Dowdy, around 8 am. Both Ollie and Evan own their own guide services, but are contracted out by Brownie when they are available and Brownie has more clients than his full time staff can handle. Ollie actually taught me to tie flies back in 1998 while I was at Appalachian State University, and I have kept up with him a bit through story and legend since, so it was great to see him.  As the guides met their four fisherman for the day, they suggested we hit the S. Holston instead of the Watauga. I grew even giddier at this suggestion! The S. Holston is the "dream stream" of TN.  6,000 fish per mile. My new acquaintance Dave and I hopped in Evan's ride, and John and Mark hopped in Ollie's rig and we were off to the put-in at the weir damn.

Put in on North side of the river. One on South bank too.

 I had never fished out of a drift boat, and I was itching to get on the freakin' water. #Stoked. When we arrived at the put in, it was a bit of a circus.  I don't know, I guess about A MILLION boats and trailers were there. Seriously, I would assume 15-20 drifts boats launched from the weir dam that morning. Rivers that are congested are usually congested for a reason.

Evan rigged us up in the parking lot, dropped his Hyde drift boat in the gin clear cold waters, and we were dead drifting 3 nymphs under an indicator before you could say tungsten bead head.  A bunch of boats were anchored up near the put-in, presumably trying to put clients on the less savvy stocked rainbows, but we drifted quickly below the barrage of boats because we were floating the entire 7 miles of tailwater and were more interested in the wild browns than crowds. 15 minutes in, Dave was hooked into a 18" rainbow that spit the hook after a decent fight. 20 minutes in, I boated our first fish, a feisty 10 inch stocker bow.

another drift boat in the passing lane

The fishing was never hot. We picked up a fish every 20 or 30 minutes on average. After 7 hours on the water we boated about 20 fish between Dave and I.  Dave, the engineer out fished me.  Freakin' engineer brains gave him the edge. I bet I landed 7 or 8 of our 20ish fish. Evan worked hard on the oars, changing flies, eyeing indicators with us, and untangling my embarrassing triple nymph bird's nests. My pride would like to blame my tangles on longer cast than usual with a bigger indicator than usual.  Casting 3 flies at a time is always a little tricky, but I looked like a rookie at times.  Evan was patient and servant hearted all day long though.

typical 12" wild brown from the bowels of the SoHo

I didn't take many fish pics. I kept waiting for that picture worthy fish. My biggest was a 14 inch brown.  You could tell that everyone out was really having to work for their fish and the it was a tough bite that day. We saw a random sulpher or two, got into some Blue Winged Olive spinners a few times, and a few BWO duns near the end of the day.  I saw some big ol' browns in that crystal clear 45 degree water. We mostly blind casted towards grass lines, seams, and other feeding lanes, dead drifting our nymph riggs. The underwater grass was vibrant green and beautiful. We picked up the majority of our fish on scud imitations. Evan commented that they were taking the flies with reservation instead of nailing them, and often fish would come unbuttoned in the water or as soon as they were in the net.  A steady eye and quick hook set were the fisherman's friend. Evan's watchful eye helped me hook into a number of strikes I would have missed otherwise.

Valet parking at our lunch spot

Maybe the biggest surprise of the day was lunch. It was top shelf stuff. Evan and Ollie set up tables on an island and broke out fried chicken, pimento cheese, crisp apples, home made "Bossy Sauce" fruit dip, pickled okra, assorted cheeses, pepperoni, summer sausage, chips, and water.  Ollie had also closely protected some thin, crispy-chewy, caramelized oatmeal raisin cookies that tasted double good with bossy sauce. I've been promised a "great lunch" stream-side before, but this was truly great.  After a slow morning of fishing, the good eats and soft chair literally put fuel in my tank and lifted my spirits.  If you ever need a guide for East Tennessee, I highly recommend Evan, Ollie, or booking through Watauge River Lodge. We got Grade A performance and professionalism during a day when the bite was never really on.



The day ended much like it started.  When you only get a bite every 10 or fifteen minutes and your blind casting, it gets easy to get sloppy, loose focus, and miss strikes during conditions where strikes are too precious to screw up.  Close to the take out I had a heavy strike, solid hook set, and a bend deep in my rod.  Seconds later a fat 16-18 inch female brown exploded a foot above the water's surface, head shaking, and successfully spitting the hook. I was grateful to at least feel one of the browns the SoHo is known for, even if only for a moment.  Then much like the circus at the put in, we watched a hilarious, yet painfully long process, of a pontoon boat trying to trailer at the take out. After chuckling and repeatedly looking at our watches for 15 minutes, the bottom of the drift boat touched the concrete of the boat ramp, and the return to North Carolina began. To steal a Clooney quote from Oh Brother Where Art Thou, I feel like one float on the SoHo will only "arouse my appetite without fully bedding it back down again."



Big shout-out to John Barker for always caring for me, and making this day happen. You da man. 10-4, over-and-out good buddy.

My boy Mills celebrated his first birthday the following day. This is his brown trout cake I decorated, in honor of one of my favorite streams and his name's sake, the Mills River.

North Carolina's State Game Fish - Red Fish

redfish left to rot in a NC gill net

Redfish, puppy drum, red drum, and spot tails are all the same creature. The Red Drum is the state game fish of NC, and dang are they fun to catch on the fly.  Gill netting in still practiced in NC, and some people are fighting to get it stopped.  Read this article on Captain Gordan's Blog, Redfish Rendezvous to get a better idea of the implications of gill netting.

Costa Del Mar Fisch 580 Revies

About 3 years ago I was fishing with my buddy Ryan. He often has the latest, more expensive gear.  He let me try on his Costas with the 580 lenses.  My jaw dropped.  Looking into a popular slick on the Davidson River, the water seemed to disappear and the trout seemed to be hovering above the seemingly waterless river bottom.  I was sold.  However, when I looked up the prices on the 580 lenses, and realized they were all well above $200, I chuckled and kissed the idea of the magic glasses goodbye.

Around christmas that same year, I suggested I wanted some Costas to my wife.  I had tried a few pair on, and really liked the way the Fisch frames fit my head. While looking on EBay for the less expensive lenses, we stumbled upon a new pair a Fische 580 silver mirrored sun glasses and scored them for about $120.  That was about $140 LESS than retail.  Merry Christmas to me.

Since, I have really loved my glasses, and their performance is top shelf. When I was without them for a couple of weeks, sight fishing for carp with out them seemed impossible with out them.  They really give you x-ray vision into the water.  Here is a quick list of pros and cons.

Pros:
-THE BEST polarized lens out there
-Silver mirrored lenses are recommended for fresh water fishing
-Very sturdy frames
-Rubber grips on frame keep glasses very secure above your years
-Great case to store them in

Cons:
-The rubber on the bottom started separating but Costa fixed it for free
-If there isn't a breeze (like in the woods fly fishing in NC) the lenses can fog up on hot humid days here in the NC mountains.  If I slip the glasses down my nose a fraction of in inch, they clear up.
- I stepped on them one day and it cost $100 to replace the broken lens.

I hope this helps if you are thinking about buying a pair.  I am convinced that the 580 lens is the best fishing lens out there.  Worth $260? Thats up to you to decide.