This week we took off Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday (today). And went fishing. Monday was meant for the Cullasaja River between Highlands and Franklin, but instead ended up on the Davidson. Had Angus, our Scottie, with us which kind of limits things having to watch him. At any rate, I had no luck and we headed back. Tuesday was yard work, ’nuff said. Today: back to the Davidson. I like this river because it really presents a challenge for me. The fish are pretty technically demanding, i.e., they see a lot of people. So much so that you could swear they merely yawn regardless whether you attempt to approach unnoticed, or simply walk up in plain view. Most folks, me included, generally walk away without getting a rise.

Today was different. I lost 3 flies; 2 were snagged by “tree trout”, and the 3rd was simply ripped off my leader. Obviously it was wanted, and just as obviously it was the only one like it in my flybox. I switched constantly and only managed to get flipped off and ignored. End result: a mental note to dust off the fly vise and get busy! I have got to do better and get dedicated. Later… .

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.

The major issue that I find fault with is the permission of boating in this section of river. Using a criteria of 450 cfm as the “optimum” flow level beyond which fly fishing for  trout becomes impractical, seems completely arbitrary and  impractical. Many of us have no choice after having travelled considerable distance, and we can only adapt our tactics as necessary to accommodate what conditions we find. In my experience of forty-some years on the river, I can see no reason whatsoever to implement such a controversial policy. The area was created and set aside as a “pristine” section where those seeking solitude could go and find that peace, and not be forced to endure the encroachment of thrill-seekers who seem to continuously run out of new places to pursue their sport, without regard to the needs of others.

East Fork brookie

I thought it might be another “everybody else caught some, except for Mark” day, but I managed to fool a small hatchery-released brown first, and a little later a decent brookie tried to eat the same streamer pattern. Right after that, another actually tore the streamer right off the end of the leader with a more than solid hit. It almost felt vicious if it hadn’t also felt good. Left me with one more, which didn’t seem to possess the same allure as the first. Note: get back on the tying vise… replenish, replenish, replenish.

We took a break before going back to fishing, but the rest of the afternoon didn’t produce any more cooperation. The weather started doing switchbacks also, and then began turning colder and uncomfortable. We packed it in, considering it a pretty good day all in all.

Sunday. Rhee and I went back, mostly for a ride through the mountains’ fall color, but I wanted to check the last pool from Saturday. Had to wait out a couple of guys, so I fished above them with no luck. Hooked up with a tree trout, normally a cause for unkind thoughts. Retrieving my fly, I also recovered another fly. Dropping down to the pool below, I had no luck with my offering so, just for giggles I tied on the fly from the tree. Seemed to be the ticket, or at least 5 brownies and 1 brookie thought so. They were all small with the brook trout being larger, but they hit authoritatively. Then they wised up and developed lockjaw. Strangely enough, as I waded back trying yet another last cast after last cast, I ended up with another “tree trout” hook-up, which resulted in picking 3 more flies from the same branch. I didn’t try any of these, figuring to save them for later not because I didn’t want to tempt fate, but because I was getting cold again.

Decided to wrap it up and spend the rest of the time with my patient wife. This one may require further research… .

In spite of Rhee’s best efforts to get us into an early start, I manage to “take care of this ‘n that” and we don’t get going until around ten or so. Which means that we won’t be close to trout-fishable water for at least a couple of hours. As it turned out, the weather was just short of gorgeous: a nice breeze, cool temperature for the middle of August – this from a report that the early morning registered 57 degrees. I know, but these things can happen in the mountains.

At any rate, the fish were active. Oh boy, were they active! Well, let me first mention that we parked in the Fish Hatchery parking lot. I walked straight from the car to the river after rigging up, a walk of maybe 200 feet. And there were people everywhere (well, the place IS popular). So this sets the stage to let you know that these fish are not bashful or spooky. You can stand among them in the middle of the river and it’s like you don’t exist. Cast all you want. Change flies all you want. It doesn’t bother them in the least. And they don’t bother you, either.

These fish ranged all the way from fingerling size to leg-length. They were going after food all around, tailing, humping, even clearing the water completely. Yes, the big ones too. Sounded like kids doing cannonballs into the water, some of them did. I guess that’s why I couldn’t tear myself away from them after 3 hours of throwing dry flies, wet flies, nymphs, streamers, and what have you. Managed to get two strikes, and missed both. But finally I had to concede defeat. These trout are too educated, and I feel equally uneducated.

I left the pool to the jerk who moved into position less than 30 feet from me at least an hour before I decided to rejoin my patient wife. And this hits a really pet peeve of mine. What the &*#%$@** has happened to fly fishing etiquette? Does no one have any consideration at all for someone patiently trying to find the solution to catch a difficult trout? Were these people raised without any manners at all? I was in that position without moving so much as a foot in either direction, and people showed up both upstream and downstream as if they were simply walking into a restaurant or something. I had to modify my casting to keep from hooking the fool. Next time, I’ll see how close I can come without hooking an ear. I know it can only benefit my casting technique, which does need improvement.

Sorry for the rant, couldn’t help myself.

Like, not long ago, trying to update to the newest version of WordPress, I just totally killed the flog. I had no choice. I had to revert to the old html, which freaked me out completely, I thought I had lost all of the latest posts, etc… .

But, as the saying goes, even a blind squirrel can find a nut and I got lucky. We’re back online and now all I have to do is see if I can stir up enough brain cells to recall the last couple of trips to blather about.

Also in the plan is my intention to begin addressing conservation issues.

Stay tuned. Hopefully you can find the channel once more.

You’d do that wouldn’t you? Well, wouldn’t you??