Field & Stream

 

I don’t really remember where the love for the field became the stream. As a child, I remember my brother subscribing to the magazine, Field & Stream. I fell in love with the notion of sitting in a cold duck blind either on upland waters or in a 6x8 box on stilts somewhere in the Core or Pamlico Sounds. When my son was too young to remember, I’d haul off to Hyde County which at the time was the eastern flyway mecca of waterfowl. We’d sleep in dives, get up at 4 am, wader up, and walk into impoundments of flooded corn aka cocaine for ducks. Unlike deer hunting, waterfowl hunting is a social sport. As my son, Lewis gained in years, his first love was deer hunting. He reached the local pinnacle of a nice 10-point buck at our family farm. However, as the taxing duties of climbing a deer stand, sitting on a cold seat, still and alone waned, Lewis was introduced to The Duck Commander where he learned the tricks of the duck call and later was led to &saving faith by Phil Robertson, the Duck Commander himself. We would later drive 5 hours one evening to the Greenville, NC Duck Expo to meet him in person. 

Lewis and I took many trips duck hunting, watching the sunrise and the feathered creatures land in our group of decoys. Those days were incredibly exciting. We experienced many reservoirs in the local area and sounds, salt marshes, and natural lakes along the North Carolina Coastline. 

The evolution of the human heart is interesting. Lewis was introduced to one of my great loves in his twenties. As a child, I was hooked on fishing. I remember bungee cording my tackle box to my Honda XR75 and putting my bait caster between my legs and over the handlebars so I could motorcycle to local farm ponds. My local friend Grover and I would “tear them up.” We kind of had a competition as to who would catch the most. My Dad and Mom during this time would take the ole john boat and use a flyfishing rod and popping bugs to catch the bream and bass at the local ponds as well. I was intrigued by the art of a wisping line being laid inches from the bank. The fish would pop the topwater lure, take it under and they would pull the fishing line into the boat to net the fish. That was probably my genesis of flyfishing. 

I purchased the entry-level Clearwater rod and reel in my twenties and returned to the ponds I roamed as a child. A few times I would go to the mountains to find a trout stream to try my luck. Honestly, it was more an experience of seeing the wonder of our mountains than landing the beautiful rainbow, strong brown or native brookie. The year 1992 created a vision in my mind of a beautiful story and the epic rivers of Montana. I visited Montana on a family trip in the early 2000s where we saw the rivers, but we never stopped to fish or wade. Finally, after many years, Elizabeth and I spent a week in Helena, Montana whereby a random yellow page ad, we chose a guide to put us on the Missouri River. Craig, Montana. Trout central. Our guide, who is now a close friend, Taylor Todd, was not only a guide but a teacher. After 8 hours on the river and 20-25 large rainbows, Elizabeth’s mammoth brown; I knew I had to introduce Lewis to the stream experience. The next summer, we came back to Montana, this time with Lewis. The experience was equal to the previous year. I remember seeing his eyes when he landed his first fish. The memory is almost like slow motion. We were surrounded by Wolf Creek and Dearborn Canyons that line the wide flowing river once traversed by Meriwether Lewis and William Clark.
Connecting with the water’s current and feeling a tight fly line with a trout on is almost electric.

On that trip, I watched the evolution of a committed duck hunter to an all-in trout fisherman. Since that trip, I have watched Lewis become a master at the art and science of all thing’s trout. It has increased his geographic knowledge of the North Carolina Mountains. Truly, a large part of my life has been in the field and stream. All things said the experience has been grandeur. The sunrises have made me speechless; the sound of the streams has given me peace. The inheritance my son has gained being connected to nature gives me great satisfaction. 

Trout Finding & Quality Time

What a great way to spend post-thanksgiving! My son, Lewis and I took off to the mountains of North Carolina for a couple of days. We both had a small backpack, a flyrod and waders. Our goal was to find trout. We headed to the NC Trout capital, Bryson City, NC. Chasing the NC Wildlife map, we happened on Alarka Creek. Alarka is a hatchery-supported creek that begins in the Big Laurel area of the US Forest Service land and meanders it’s way thru rocky knolls, farms and woods finally ending at Fontana Lake. This classic NC mountain community is beautiful. We found a pull-off, wader-ed up and got right to

“work” in the stream. Lewis quickly connected with a brown trout using an Elk haired caddis. The Elk Hair Caddis imitates an adult caddis fly or a small stonefly which is right down a trout’s alley! We fished a couple spots along the Alarka and then decided to go to the Deep Creek which flows through Bryson City. 

Celebrated not only for its fishing, Deep Creek has several hiking loops for hikers and bikers alike. It was obvious we were in a pandemic as the parking lot was stacked. Everyone was socially distancing and wearing masks, especially us guys waist deep in the water….sans masks. Once again, it didn’t take Lewis long. Using what anglers call a Dry Dropper, he pulled out yet another brown trout. A

Dry Dropper rig consists of a dry fly, in this case, the Elk Hair Caddis, with a nymph or wet fly attached to it via a piece of tippet. The dry fly acts not only as an attractant with a hook, but also as an indicator for the nymph. As the fly floats, if it quickly goes underwater, you just might have a fish on the line. In this case, ole brownie chose the fly, not the underwater nymph. Having lost his fishing net, I watched him use is hat as a net. It was funny yet also a classically industrious use of his lid. 

 After we hiked about three miles and fished Deep Creek, we headed into Bryson City for supper. The Smokey Mountain Train was in town and the Christmas lights lit up making downtown look like a Hallmark movie. We ate at The Everett Hotel & Bistro, which I will say was an excellent choice. We topped off the meal with a fudge brownie in celebration of the brown landings Lewis had that day. I enjoyed what is probably the best double shot expresso I’ve ever had. Getting dark, we headed to the Super 8 in Cherokee, NC. It had been years since I had visited the Cherokee Reservation. 

 The next morning, we headed to what is called the “Trophy Waters” of Raven Fork Creek. We Fished about four hours. I finally got on the board with a beautiful Rainbow Trout; nothing huge, but as always, some of the best fighting pound for pound. I told Lewis I wanted to take him on a quick trip down memory lane, so we exited the water. As a child, I remember my parents taking my brother and I to Cherokee, staying at one of those side of the river hotels. I remember seeing the outdoor drama “Unto these hills”. A road that was always etched in my memory was the Tsali Blvd. which turned into 441 North. This is probably the most incredible representation of the Smokey Mountains you can drive on. We peaked the mountains at Newfoundland Gap, near Clingman’s Dome. Lewis, like me as a child saw the wonder of God’s handy work. Pretty amazing views. We drove on toward Sugarland Visitors Center and turned left to another amazing memory of my childhood… Cades Cove. 

 My memory as a child was the family camping and riding bicycles around the 11 mile loop road looking at the hundreds of deer, occasional bear and wild turkey. Cades Cove, Tennessee is an isolated valley in the heart of the Great Smokey Mountains. The valley was home to numerous settlers before the formation of the national park. Some of their homes are still there today. Today Cades Cove, the single most popular destination for visitors to the park, attracts more than two million visitors. It felt like 500,000 were there on this day! It was much more crowded than I remembered. I’m sure COVID had something to do with that. As I expected, we saw bear and deer. We also saw people violating the signs that said do not approach the bear. I had my iPhone ready to capture the stupidity on video if necessary. 

 Thru traffic, we made our way out of the park to Gatlinburg. Evidence of the forest fires were still on the sloped hill sides. We ate at Big Daddy's Pizzeria, which I would recommend (great crust & perfect marinara sauce). As mentioned, our goal was trout finding, but what I found was a 26 year old who not only has perfected the art of fishing, but who has become a man I am very proud to call my son. 

Quality time is special and this two day trip is one I’ll deposit in my memory bank for a long time.