Fly Fishing for Trout in South Carolina

…for my first big fish on the Davidson. This could easily become an obsession with me. To be able to stand anywhere in the river below the hatchery with trout of all sizes swimming around me and not get a strike? I may need professional help here, with the only question being what kind of professional help.
Asking fellow anglers (who are getting strikes and playing fish) what they are taking, and they are very helpful. But the same fly on the end of my line gets ignored. It’s like an out of body experience, almost. I don’t think my pants legs would get wet if it were an out of body experience. Would they?
I’m not giving up. I will be back.

Scrimshawed for a fund raiser raffle held by the Mountain Bridge Chapter of Trout Unlimited.

Indeed. It’s not as though I haven’t been fishing at all this year, but the trips have been few and far between. Not a good situation for a web site that claims to be about fly fishing for trout in South Carolina.

As mentioned in the previous post, I’ve been devoting quite a bit of time to the art of Scrimshaw, with a lot of reading and studying. Included in all this is the time spent making various tools, and finishing pieces of ivory and horn for projects not yet begun other than an underlying idea in my head.

I like art. I like the outdoors obviously and therefore I like art based on nature: animals, fish, etc… . I have been doing this thing called scrimshaw since 1982, off and on. Some years I did more than others, but very spotty until nearly 2 years ago. I decided to improve my skills, and, with the help of two books by Jim Stevens, I have been making progress to the point that I am now going public with it. Hence, I have added scrimshaw.rodandquill.com. I hope it proves pleasing.

Taking off a couple of days for a late fall vacation, Rhee and I zipped back up to the Chattooga and hiked up to the spot I enjoyed two weeks ago. This was actually motivated more by a desire on my part as I was hoping to strike while the iron was hot. Unfortunately, Rhee was suffering from the drastic drop in temperatures and found it hard to get warm except when we were actually walking.

But, the iron was still hot. Well, not quite as hot, but still plenty warm.

Fumbling through the fly boxes for a pattern that would detect any sign of interest, I finally was able come up with a March Brown nymph look-alike that got some enthusiastic response. In fairly rapid succession, I was connected with four flashy, acrobatic, and surprisingly strong, rainbow trout. Some slugged it out, others took to the air, and one zinged around the run like it was a ping pong ball.

Well, that slowed a bit, so I eased down a few feet and tried a part of the pool that had not been disturbed. That, too, didn’t last very long before I was hooked up once more. This time, I thought my wrist would need some bracing and my suspicions were very pleasantly confirmed when I was able to verify that, yep, it was a brookie. Not just a brookie, but one of those authoritative males still retaining evidence of a kype, and thickly muscled shoulders. It had lost the flaming orange belly, I guess due to it being near the end of their spawning season. Unfortunately, as things happen, he slipped the hook as soon as I lifted him from the water and before Rhee could capture the picture. Man, he sure was georgeous.

But that didn’t stop the action, as I kept getting lucky by connecting to 3 more brookies, and all of them felt like hooking up with one of those underwater bulldozers. The last one in fact, accomplished a very short line release, and the mostly straightened hook, on a small black stonefly pattern, was evidence that this one obviously felt it had earned its freedom. Learning the hard way that these fish don’t like being horsed in, I agreed and much to Rhee’s relief, we took our leave.

“I’ll be back.”

“Well, the rod part I got. But what the heck is a quill, Andy?”

“Now, Barney, I thought ever’body knew what one of those was. It’s a feather, that’s what it is. ’Course it could be a part of a porcupine, but I don’t think that’s what’s goin’ on here.”

“Well, fine. But what’s it got to do with fishin’, huh Andy?”

“Some fishermen use feathers for making flies to catch fish. But before you ask anything else, you need to do a lot of reading to catch up, Barn.”