Fishing Tales
Blue Ridge Mountain Trout Unlimited
Chapter #696
Blue Ridge, GA
FISHING TALES:
Creativity among our members is certainly a gift and as with every fisherman there are many tales to be told. Of course, these tales are sometimes true in nature, at other times purely fictional, and sometimes combined to represent both. But ,within our members fishing minds a creative place exists that is longing to be be explored. So, this section is designed for members who have experienced the art of writing short stories or yearning to try their pen in hand for thier first story. Really Learning to Fish By Stony Brooks Ever wonder why some people are not just good fishermen, they are exceptionally good? Sure, some folks are lucky; but luck comes and goes even for the most fortunate among us. Talent, skill, and ability to adjust to conditions all trump luck in the long haul. It goes without saying that those who fish 200-300 times a year have an advantage in developing the knowledge and skill to be really good and therefore largely successful fishermen. The rest of us are constrained by our lives and obligations to be on the water less. So how do we get more out of the fishing experience, and how do we become better fishermen when we don’t get on the water almost every day? First, we can adjust our attitude so that we simply enjoy the act of fishing rather than the idea that we need to be catching lots of fish. Granted, that’s easier said than done. But the reward is worth the effort. Once we adjust our sights for satisfaction to more realistic outcomes, we will have more fun regardless of how many fish we catch. Even Type A people, like me, can do it. Here’s how: make your goal to learn something on the water rather than to catch “x” number of fish. Learn how to get a cast across conflicting currents; to get your fly down to the river bottom in a natural drift; to fish a different style, such as a wet fly on the swing. Trying to master a technique or even getting the fly to make a drift you think will work can be reward in itself. And you know what, many times changing things up and trying something new catches fish, which brings me to my second point: most learning and innovation comes from failure. Since we learn from our failures, rather than focusing on the fact that something did not work, we should try to learn whatever lessons you can from it and move on to something else. Do not be afraid to try something different. I can imagine that the first fellow fishing the Toccoa Tailwater to reach the end of a dead drift using a tiny Pheasant Tail nymph and strip the fly back was shocked when a fish took the fly on the strip back. What living prey zips upstream in 6 inch to 10 inch bursts? Nothing I know of… but the fish on the Toccoa do not seem to know that. As a fisherman, if you stay in a comfort zone of one method over and over, guess what? You are not learning much. If you go to the same place to fish the same methods, that’s even worse. The best fishermen are flexible and ready to try different techniques, even if something worked the day before. Approach every fishing experience with a willingness to experiment and to learn. Learning involves making some mistakes: tangled line, lost fish, and no fish. But isn’t that a better outcome than catching no fish using the same technique over and over and learning nothing? That arms you with no knowledge for the next challenge except what you knew before. When learning is an objective, even a tough day on the water has its rewards. The only way you learn things is by trying something different than you have done before. Third, try this for an even better fishing experience on a “good day.” You are on familiar water. The fish are there and they are biting. You have now caught 30 fish without changing flies or technique. Well, bully for you. Are you really having fun? Where is the challenge? Why not try something different so the 31st fish is caught using a different fly, a different technique, a different hole, a special drift or cast, a bigger fly, a dry fly, or anything that will teach you something new. Guess what. Now you are making the most of your experience on the water. You are learning. You may need that new skill, new fly, new method when the “old tried and true” is not working. And that makes you an even better fisherman. Plus, changing to that big ole ugly fly and moving to another hole may get the fish of a lifetime rather than a schoolie from the hatchery. ‘Could happen. But it will not happen drifting the same fly into a hole on the same line where you just pulled out ten fish. See what I mean? By Stony Brooks Author’s note: For all you skeptics, the physical events in this story are true, right down to the last detail. There is no accounting for the feeble but consistent workings of the male mind, so you may judge for yourself whether my imagination really took me on the path described below. Caveat emptor: Those who demand political correctness… read no further. Since the Blue Ridge Dam was not generating for a few hours in the afternoon, I grabbed my rod and vest, put on my waders and wading belt, and headed for the river. The October afternoon was gorgeous, sunny, and warm enough for me to eschew the fleece jacket. The lake turnover combined with color feeding the river from Weaver Creek, making the water slightly off-color but the bottom visible enough for safe wading and bigger tippet. There were caddis and olives coming off in sufficient numbers for fish to rise and show themselves with a sparse but consistent set of targets. I was optimistic and happy. Using a caddis dry fly and tiny nymph dropper, the fishing was steadier than I had seen in recent weeks. Sure, these were mostly stockers, but they were hungry and strong and pleasing, because half of them were hitting the dry and many reached low double digits in length. I was fishing, not prospecting, from the start. Two nice browns that I picked off in the slower water near the bank punctuated the fun I was having with rainbows. Another benefit: since the hiatus from generating was only four hours, leaving less than three hours to fish, I had this section the river all to myself. Then it happened. I was in the middle of the river, facing downstream, tending my drift with a flipping release of line from the rod tip when I felt something hit me in the back of my thighs. My first thought was my net which hangs from a D-ring on my rain jacket these days. But I was not wearing the rain jacket because it was warm and sunny. Baffled by the mystery of something solid now working its way between my legs, I reached down and pulled up a full can of Anheuser-Busch Natural Light. I am not kidding. While I stared at the can in wonderment over my good fortune, I missed the fish that took my caddis briefly causing a discernable tug and release. But now my mind was no longer focused on fishing. I turned around to see who was fooling with me. Nobody there. In fact, there was no visual or audible sign of any human involvement in the river. Obviously, I reasoned, the odds of a full can of beer hitting me squarely between the legs in a river some 80-100 feet wide are so astronomical that there must be a practical explanation for the event. My sharpened male wits were put in play. My first thought: I have given birth to a can of beer! And there was no pain in the process! No, that could not have happened, as the beer appeared outside my waders. Birthing the beer through my waders was a physical impossibility, I reasoned. Plus, women are the ones who give birth, right? Wouldn’t it be great if women could give birth to beer for us men? That would make women very attractive to men. We all know women want to attract men, right? They need us and want us. Well… being of a reasonably wise old age, I now realize that the idea that women should want to be attractive to men is a myth perpetrated by Madison Avenue to sell stuff. Women soon wise up to the fact that they neither need nor want men. The idea that women would go through the birthing process in order to produce beer is a pipe dream. Granted, it is a desirable dream for men, but one that fades away quickly in the cold reality of life. Sigh. So there I was in the middle of the stream holding a nice river-cooled beer with no explanation when it dawned on me: the fish must have sent me the beer to distract me from hooking their brethren. You know what, their piscine plot worked! While my masculine mind worked on the puzzle of the can of beer, my line dangled harmlessly downstream and the fish were safe. I noticed that the water was rising and it’s time to head to the safety of the bank. Safely on shore, the fact that I was so easily distracted escaped my thought process. Instead I held the cool aluminum vessel and contemplated the miracle that can of beer represented. Should I keep it and put it in a safe place to inspire future contemplation and valuable man-thoughts? Psssssssst. Yum. Too late. By Stony Brooks I recently listened to a Tom Rosenbauer Orvis podcast on fishing high and “off color” waters in which Tom gave some good practical tips about fly-fishing for trout when the rain comes and you are already rigged and ready to fish and don’t want to give up on fishing. Tom’s useful tips included fishing streamers rather than nymphs, traveling upstream to headwaters or fishing feeders which may not be as cloudy, and fishing likely spots for fish taking cover, like the water next to the banks which is slower. However, Tom notes that big fish on the prowl for confused baitfish or dislodged bugs and crayfish could be anywhere in the river, especially when the rising water is just starting. I always learn something from Tom’s books and programs. For me, however, fishing off-color water is not necessarily a less desirable alternative; it is something I do even if I have a choice of when to fish. Why would I choose to fish an off-color, rising water situation? Let me count the reasons. One of my favorite There are disadvantages to consider. Rising water means safety issues involving wading in faster, higher water without a clear view of the bottom. Debris coming downstream is more likely to foul lines. Keeping yourself and your gear dry is a challenge. I was once told to get the best wading rain jacket I could afford. That was great advice, and (with one free warranty replacement by the manufacturer), the one I chose has kept me dry for almost 20 years and counting. Your fishing tactics have to change. Dry fly and even nymph fishing is usually ineffective in off-color water. Fish can be harder to locate. Off-color water can actually improve fishing, but blown out, coffee with cream colored water can make it really tough to get the fly to the fish. It’s not unfishable per se, but getting the fly in a position where fish will take it is no longer a question of selectivity as much as it is getting the fly to practically hit the fish in the nose. There are tactics that can improve your chances to catch fish in or after rain. Fly selection is impacted by visibility and because the fish are looking for big meals dislodged by the deluge. Fish bigger flies and try some flash to make them more visible. I prefer wooly buggers for off color water, preferably with gold bead heads and flash-a-bugger styles. To me the key is movement, and big rubber legged flies are good but marabou and rabbit fur are even better in my view. Streamers top nymphs in muddy water. Tom feels that nymphs are at a disadvantage under these conditions because the trout end up spitting out lots of debris coming down the river and get turned off on things that are not lifelike. And lifelike means movement. However, stripping and sweeping and swinging the fly are all less productive in muddy conditions. If visibility is limited to inches, the fly could easily be stripped or swung in and out of view too quickly. I prefer getting the fly down to the bottom, which is where the trout will be, and twitching the fly on a dead drift. Since the cast can be short to non-existent in all but the widest and deepest holes, twitching and line control and feeling the take and setting the hook are all enabled by the conditions. Consider the fact that emboldened, opportunistic bigger fish may move into or just adjacent to shallower locations with feeding lanes that are stocked with confused, dislodged baitfish and other prey. Now I can understand if fishing in the rain with weighted flies, without casting beyond the length of the rod, and rolling streamers on the bottom to try to hit a fish on the nose and entice him to strike is not your cup of tea, but I will gladly take your spot on the river or stream. I am, I guess, less “selective” should I say, than many other fly fishermen. When I was a kid, I sat on the bank of the John Pool and Rainbow on the
Who knows we could end up with a Fund Raiser . . . a publication of short stories for sale. Let's set this as a GOAL!
MARCH 2010
FEATURED NOVEMBER TALE:
This Started as a Fishing Story, but…
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“Love Those Muddy Waters…”
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FEATURED FEBRUARY TALE:
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A Surprise on “Brookie” Creek By Joe DiPietro The tale I'm about to tell you is of a trip that three fly-fishermen will never forget. The plan was to fish a brook trout stream that dumped into a larger section of a local stream. It was a beautiful spot where the brookie stream poured into the bigger stream. On one side, a dark and shaded ravine to climb before reaching a set of waterfalls that separated the brookies from the browns and 'bows. On the other side of the stream was the soft side of a bend and a nice green pasture. The waterfall was not too far up, but the hike to get there was arduous. The three fly anglers gradually made their way toward the stream, carrying more gear than needed as we almost all usually do. When they arrived at the bend, they left behind the cooler they'd been toting and headed across the stream and up toward the confluence with the brook trout stream. A short way into the ravine, the anglers found themselves at the base of a large set of barrier falls, arguing over which way was the best to get to the top. The first angler made his way slowly around the sides of the waterfall, crawling on his knees on slick rocks and through thick rhododendrons to the top. When he arrived there, he walked out into the small stream, which couldn't have been more than three feet wide. He didn't move, he didn't turn around and motion, he just stood there, motionless looking upstream. After several minutes, he'd not made a movement and the other two fishermen made their way up the same path the first one had. When they arrived at the top, they also stepped out into the narrow stream and were stunned. What they saw left them all wondering if it were reality or the contents of the cooler they'd carried that had them seeing this vision. “I couldn't move, I thought she might disappear,” The first angler said to the others. “I thought it was a hallucination at first, but you see her don't you? She's amazing.” “We'll call her the Brook Trout Goddess and call it a day. She's too beautiful to bother,” said the shaken second angler. “OK, I'm thirsty anyhow,” said the third angler. The three shaken anglers made their way back to the bend and crossed the large stream, having not even made a cast that day. For what they saw had been quite enough. A sight much more surprising and beautiful than a little wild brookie. They drank a few more refreshments from their cooler and laid down on the grassy side of the bend, took a nap and waited for the afternoon hatch. After awakening, it took almost an hour of good fishing before the first angler said: “Was She real or was that a dream?” “Nope, I saw it,” said the second angler. “Real.” “Do you think she's still up there?” the third angler asked, as he headed back upstream toward the brookie stream. “I've only caught three rainbows this afternoon, but this has been the best day of brook trout fishing in my life.” The Blue Ridge Mountain TU Chapter #696 would like to sincerely thank Brook Hanna for allowing the use of the “Brook Trout Goddess” photo and for her help and information for the January Photography Program .
Another Feather Day
By Stony Brooks Some days you get the chicken; some days it’s the feathers. Despite off-color, and unusually warm water on the Toccoa due to lake turnover and a 130 cfs low level constant release by the TVA, I finally encounter some rising fish. My caddis and nymph dropper combo up until now has only enticed a few refusals and a handful of dinks that seemed to grab on the size 18 dropper just when I thought the cast and drift are perfect and the flies were approaching target water. But all that was blind casting and the rules have changed. Now I see some would-be takers rising. If I only knew what they were eating. I observe one caddis flitting around, some minute size 28 stuff that I couldn’t possibly tie on even if I had a fly to imitate them, and a couple distant yellow mayflies that could be cahills or even sulphurs. Funny thing. Don’t expect sulphurs. It’s the fall. But this is the Toccoa, and lord knows what’s going to hatch when the releases are rare and the water is silty and warmer than summertime because it comes from different lake levels. There is no accounting for manmade environment. So it’s trial and error. Caddis and sulphur dry dropper. Nothing. Caddis and cahill dry dropper. Another dink. Caddis and bigger cahill dropper. Nothing. Casting to rising fish and not even a refusal. Maybe I’ll try an emerger. Caddis and size 20 baetis emerger treated with Zink to get it below the film. The baetis emerger brings two of the risers quickly to hand. These risers are taking emergers. Now I see a noticeably different rise near the bank in an area where an eddy is softening the current. The rise form is not splashy or big, but the push of water accompanying the rise appears to be more prominent than the other rise forms. Different kind of trout? Different sized trout? Or is this fish taking different prey? I try my caddis/baetis rig once, and the current between me and the eddy pull the fly out quite unnaturally. Poor effort. I throw a big upstream mend during the next cast and the flies fall at the side instead of the center of the eddy. Better effort but not effective. I throw the next cast with a little stop at the end rather than the upstream mend, piling my tippet and flies into the eddy. Up the fish comes, but it refuses the fly. To rest the fish, I take my rig to easier grounds and catch a couple 9-10 inch rainbows rising in the main current. This is fun, but I want that big guy. I keep watching. What’s he eating? I reluctantly remove the baetis and put on a sulphur comparadun, size 20 with a trailing shuck. I put on the Zink and try it out on the smaller fish rising in the current. Some of them like it, so here goes. I may get only one chance. I move slightly upstream to get the line in the current upstream of the eddy without mending. I do my pile cast just downstream of the fish, and the eddy pulls the flies upstream slowly right over my target. Kerslurp. The fish takes the comparadun with a relish I had not previously seen from its prior rises. I am so ready for this that I lift my line, feel the wondrous tug of life at the other end, and promptly pull the fly from the fish’s mouth. However, I managed to stick the fish sufficiently to ensure it will not be taking another fly any time soon. Some days you get chicken and some days feathers. By outcome, this was another feathers day. But next time… Such is trout fishing. That’s why I love to do it and I am willing to be cold, wet, frustrated, beaten, and out fished by others. With trout, if you work on your skills, even if they are not Joan Wulff-like, and you fool around with the fish long enough, you can usually catch fish. You do not need the most expensive rod and reel. Most trout can be landed without even putting them on the reel. However, if you are not able to get fish when you know they are there, it’s usually your own fault. That’s not true with other denizen I have caught on the fly like tarpon, snook, redfish, or even bass. Those fish are either eating or they are not. Trout are almost always eating something, but you have to puzzle out what it is and then have the savvy and skill to present it the way the fish normally sees its prey. Is that a cool puzzle to solve, or what? Plus we fish for trout in the most beautiful, unpolluted arena in the world. But there’s the rub, TUers. Unpolluted; beautiful; pristine. Is finding that type of water more and more difficult as time goes by? Trout Unlimited is the signal organization dedicated to the preservation, protection, and restoration of coldwater fisheries. For me, the decision to fish for trout is borne of a passion for the ever-changing puzzle presented by the trout as a target fish. The decision to be an active, no, proactive, member of TU is borne of necessity. That beautiful puzzle will be a rare opportunity for me and my children and grandchildren were it not for the efforts of TU. Thank you for being part of it. Keep at it. Together we can make a difference. THE HIKING STICK This is an excerpt from a collection of short stories by Joe entitled There are times for most people when the things they need fall fortunately right into their lap. One of my best came while I was on my way out of the Cohutta Wildlife Management Area after a day of trout fishing on the Conasauga River. She is affectionately called the Connie by the folks willing to hike miles, on some of the most treacherous trails in the Blue Ridge Mountains, in order to get to her. With such a name it seems the river should have the sweetness and grace of a lady. However, the truth is that she only has the beauty. A mistake on the Connie is unlikely to hold any sweetness or grace. Yet even if a person lay dying on her banks he could never escape her beauty. I had recently made the full-time move to the mountains and was getting acclimated to the surroundings, the wildlife and hiking the steep, wild woods. Fishing the Connie was always preceded by several miles of a rough, downhill hike into the river. By the time I reached the banks I was drenched in sweat. Steam rose off my chest into the cool, fall mountain air. Getting the exercise felt great, but my legs were already burning from the descent. The hike out would be no easy chore. It turned out to be a notably better day of fishing, with a number of nice rainbows willing to gobble up just about any dry fly I could think to offer them. A day when all they would do was blast the surface and never just sip the fly. It would have made any angler think he’d found Heaven on Earth, no other anglers were seen and the rich shades of the Southern Appalachian Autumn shone red, yellow, and orange. A day full of long, curving casts that seemed to drop a dry fly on the surface with the most concentrated, gentle accuracy. I was moving upstream from one pool to another when my left foot locked between two rocks in the river bed and my right foot slipped off another rock ahead of me. My entire body fell backwards, but my left foot stayed put. The result was perhaps the worst sprained ankle I’ve ever received. I’m no medical doctor, but I’d have sworn it was dislocated during the fall. It was one of those times when the body does something it was never designed to do. After drenching myself and freeing my foot, I climbed the ravine slowly back up to the trail. With a day’s worth of gear strapped to my chest and back, I began the hike up the mountain to Betty Gap. Here again is the same case of misnamed locations. Another female name for something which is strictly home to the beautiful aspect of a woman — getting to her is no easy task for hooves, tires or feet — and once again no grace, no sweetness. I never have been regular about prayer, relying on it only when I find myself in dire circumstances, sadly enough, like so many folks do. On the day I took that fall, I’d not even begun to ask for help. I just got up, and started a long, uphill hobble. Over the first mile, the trail runs beside the river and is rather forgiving. Already though, I was concerned with how difficult the easiest section of the hike was. With more pain and time, my concern began to translate into fear and eventually into the beginnings of panic. It was then that I found along the trail a gift. This time, it was not one that I’d prayed for. It had been given. And since I didn’t know who had left this sturdy hiking stick, I simply decided to thank God. Someone had taken the time to saw a clean cut on the larger end of the stick and carved a dull point on the other. I’m rather certain that the work was not in fact done by God himself, but again, I had no one else to thank. I wore blisters on the palms of my hands from bearing weight on that stick as I hiked back up the peaks of the Cohutta forest. The ascent would have been impossible with out it and as it was, I had to stop and rest about every 10 yards as I got to the last stretch of the trail. The final ascent began and it took everything I had to make my way back to the wooden sign at the trailhead where my truck was parked. When I finally got there, I dropped the stick into the bed of my truck without even thinking about it. I pulled off my waders, packed my gear in the cab, and turned the engine over. That hiking stick has been in the bed of my truck ever since. I use it now every time I hike in to fish isolated mountain streams or rivers. Once I arrive at the water, I leave the stick alongside the trail and pick it back up on my way out. It has been useful for quite some time now. I’ve cleaned up a few of the bumps on it, where small branches once grew, and have made it smooth. The bark has glossed over around where I grip it. Obviously, I’ve grown quite fond of it. But it has been good to me, and therefore, I have good reason to care for it. The thought of naming the stick after a woman has crossed my mind because it does possess large amounts of grace and sweetness — its purpose being solely to aid and comfort me. But it’s lacking beauty and as a result I’ve left it without a name at all. Someday, at the end of one of my fishing excursions, I expect to come back to the trail where I left my hiking stick and find it missing. There is truly a part of me that hopes this happens. Even more though, I hope the person who takes the stick actually needs it, and that they thank God for it, not me.
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