Today was a special anniversary. Another year has passed since I started fly fishing. I spent 67 days fishing during this time period and each one filled me with profound beauty. Each day deepened my friendship with the creeks, rivers, rocks, trees, trout…and insects.
The beautiful insects trout feed on have captured my heart. Their life stories are incredible with some staying in a nymph stage underwater over a year before emerging into their final form. A few days as a graceful, winged creature and then they mate and die. Such profound symbolism.
I had a lovely mayfly hang out on my sweater for a while as I waded upstream today. Yellow sallies were everywhere, their tiny yellow bodies fluttering like fairies. There were so many insects hatching I had to keep my mouth closed, which was difficult as I kept laughing out loud at the multitudes of flying beauties. Many times my dry fly was floating alongside just-hatched mayflies as they dried their wings before launching into flight.
My heaven. Every part of the ecosystem in harmony with each other. Bliss-in-action. And while it’s fun catching and releasing trout, it’s the place they live in that keeps me coming back. Water. Wild, wonderful, clear, cold water.
Today I hiked and waded nearly 5 miles. Two very fat and sassy fish danced with me—a rainbow and a brown trout. The brown surprised and delighted me as this particular creek is typically a rainbow and brook trout stream…or maybe the browns just don’t show themselves that much for me.
What a thrill to invest my days in such beautiful places. With an open heart, I say THANK YOU! I don’t care how many fish I catch, but I do care how many days I get to spend in this magical place observing the seasons and cycles of Nature as an active part of it.
All week the forecast grew more and more ominous for Friday. Rain, over an inch, was called for when we made the decision to go for it. It was a guided trip I scheduled months ago to celebrate my birthday. That much rain is no joke in a mountain stream, but sometimes forecasts aren’t right. And sometimes the desire to wade is so strong, it’s difficult to think of anything else to properly celebrate one’s birthday.
When I awakened early on my birthday morning, it was pouring rain. I had packed all my gear the night before as well as a set of dry clothes. Even with wading pants and a decent rain jacket, the chances of getting wet were pretty high. By the time I finished breakfast and fed the dogs and cats, it was time to load the car and ask the dogs to assume their porch beds.
The drive through the national park was very rainy until I crested the gap. After leaving North Carolina and entering Tennessee, the rain lightened. By the time I reached Little River Outfitters, where I was meeting David Knapp of Troutzone Anglers, it was only sprinkling.
We used the large front porch at LRO to put on our waders and wading boots as the parking lot where we were headed would be muddy and more rain was forecast. Better to stay dry as long as possible in 55 degree weather.
The creek we were headed for is in my favorite place on the planet. Sadly, I rarely go there any more because traffic, on the 11 mile one-way loop road, is so insane and slow it’s just not worth the stress. But the rain helped us and kept the tourists to a minimum early in the day. Only one truck stopped in the middle of the road and parked to watch some unknown something. Finally, a tooted horn persuaded them to get out of the way and let the line of traffic behind him progress (sigh).
We made it to the parking lot just as it began to rain heavier. A few flashes of lightning delayed our hiking for about 20 minutes but we sat in the car and talked about guiding and casting instruction and my way forward as a women’s guide.
The sky lightened so we exited the car and got our gear. It was still sprinkling but sometimes the best fly fishing is with overcast skies and a bit of rain.
The creek bottom was difficult to wade. It’s a series of rock shelves, all very slick….snot slick… with small patches of sandy gravel in between with some areas of small, snot-slick rocks. Added to that equation was water discoloration from rain runoff. With a gray sky and no sunlight, the milky glare added to the challenge of seeing the bottom. It was definitely a see-with-your-feet sort of day.
The rainbow trout were incredibly open to dancing with me as David pointed out areas to cast to the creek. He said because it’s a spring creek the nutrient level is high for fish so there is plenty of food for them to thrive.
It was so satisfying to be in my favorite place in Nature on my birthday, in a new-to-me creek, catching and releasing beautiful fish with a guide who is as respectful and appreciative of Nature as I am. I was soaking in the beauty, lost for a moment in gratitude, when a huge mayfly flew past. Huge as in massive.
David captured this image of a Green Drake
It’s not unusual for mayflies to hatch in the spring. But for this species to do it on this particular creek on my birthday was quite a treat. David’s an accomplished guide with many years experience and he’d never seen the green drake show on this creek that began to unfold all around us.
I captured this image of a Green Drake drying those brand new wings on a mossy rock…safer than the water’s surface.
I became so distracted by the hatching and flying mayflies, I lost fish and didn’t care. We exclaimed in awe about this natural wonder many times and when five of these huge insects were fluttering around us at once it was like green drake heaven.
I don’t know if people who aren’t fly fishers get excited about beautiful insects. We’re not only fish nerds, we’re insect nerds…and happy about it. These flying creatures spend up to two years of their lives under water as nymphs. Then they hatch, when conditions are perfect, and emerge from the water. If they are lucky to escape trout, birds, and bats, they mate, lay eggs and die in a few days.
David took this image of a Green Drake nymph casing on my finger…they were floating past us.
The Eastern Green Drake (Ephemera guttulata) nymphs are large and live in the sandy mud of still or flowing waters. They have moveable gills on the abdomen. They spend up to two years in this stage of life. When they began emerging, gases and air collect under their exoskeleton and they are pulled to the water’s surface. When they start molting their exoskeleton splits along the back and they work to pull themselves out. Their wings can finally spread as they float on the water’s surface, allowing their wings to dry and the veins on their wings to fill with fluid. They have no mouth in this stage of life, so they don’t eat.
Another shot by David of the casing
The green drake will molt once more and emerge smaller, more slender with transparent wings and it is during this stage that they mate. After mating during flight, the females lay eggs on the water’s surface and die. Males fly off to the shore where they also die.
Nice shot by David of a newly hatched Green Drake. It looks like it’s lifting up gratitude for surviving a float in trout-infested waters
When I think of this one, small part of Nature and how so much goes on in the lives of these beautiful insects that are food for trout, birds, and bats, I’m rather awe-struck. To witness this event is very meaningful and hopeful as we live in a time where humans have greatly upset the balance of Nature with use of chemicals and toxins that interfere with insects natural reproduction…and without insects, that basic foundation of food for so many lives, humans wouldn’t survive. I’m thinking of bees and other pollinators especially.
I asked David to take a photo of me in my happy place.
Standing in the waters along the creek bank, witnessing the green drakes hatch felt like a glimpse into how Nature should be…healthy, thriving and the interconnectedness of it all working together to create rich, abundant life for all species.
David photographing a Green Drake on a leaf…notice his smile.
I often experience awe and wonder when I’m fly fishing. If I go for a few days without wading and finding the sweetness of life in a mountain stream, I feel off balance. But today, the morning after a day spent with the green drakes and rainbows and everything that creek ecosystem offered, I feel full, sated. My body feels as if it drank sweet nectar and is still in that dreamy place of feeling delight after a most-magnificent meal—perhaps like a trout stuffed with juicy green drakes. I wish I could spend every day exploring and observing the secrets of Nature as they are revealed through colorful fish, rushing water, and species like green drakes.
Green Drake Heaven
I finish this writing at 6.30am, April 8th…the morning after this epic day. As I walked into the kitchen to prepare a cup of cappuccino, I glanced at the clock on the stove. A wave of sadness moved through me as I realized that 24 hours ago I was loading my car to head across the rainy, foggy gap to begin the adventure that I already treasure. But mostly, I feel deep gratitude to live in an amazing place, to have a guide friend that is as appreciative of these places as I am and is mentoring me to become a fly fishing guide, and that I am alive to witness such beauty.
A note about choosing a fly fishing guide: I have such deep reverence for all life and respect every creature I am lucky enough to interact with. Yesterday, I realized that one reason my love of fly fishing has grown so much is I have a guide and mentor that deeply respects Nature and treats trout with care while handling them by keeping them wet, releasing them carefully and not even touching them if it’s not necessary. Had I had the misfortune of connecting with guides that do the grip-and-grin cowboy fly fishing, I probably would have given up long ago. I am so grateful to have a mentor that models respect and reverence.
The wind caused me to choose a slightly heavier fly rod. It was the first time I used it after it was gifted to me from the hands of an experienced and well-traveled fly fisher. I stripped line off the reel, did a slow backcast, paused for the loop to unroll and then sent the line forward. As soon as the dry fly kissed the water’s surface, a rainbow trout grabbed it and danced with me. As it arrived in the water at my feet, I gave the line slack and it unhooked itself and swam away with a no-contact release…my favorite way to end an encounter.
I considered it an auspicious way to receive the new rod and reel into my care. I think the rod was happy to feel the sun reflecting off its deep, translucent green surface. And the reel had its first-ever experience doing what it was born to do.
Three hours of wading in the creek—under sunny, unseasonably warm air—was filled with rising trout, leaping trout, pouting trout, and the utter beauty of the Smoky Mountains. Water levels had dropped enough to once again make wading one of my favorite creeks safe and enjoyable. But I kept thinking of the reel. And the rod, but especially the reel.
It was a special purchase many years ago—a collector’s item of sorts with a special finish from a high-end manufacturer. My friend told me, when he gave it to me, that it had never been used. When I took the rods and reels he gifted me to Little River Outfitters, the guys there enjoyed each piece I shared with appreciation but especially the Abel reel and the Winston rod. Daniel helped me pick out line and backing that complemented the finish and suggested pairing it with the classic Winston.
I wonder how the reel felt, after waiting all those years to fulfill its purpose, to be on the water, attached to an experienced rod, holding line and catching trout. I felt the balance of the pair as I lifted them to make that first cast, the smooth delivery of line, and the action as the fish engaged. The reel is a click and pawl reel, having no drag. Every reel has a voice and its voice is a growl, but after our time on the water yesterday, I think I heard a bit of a purr of contentment at being what it was born to be.
How many of us have waited and worked, hoping that someday our talents and skills align with work the world needs? What would that look like? What would it feel like to be ‘reel’ with the work we gift to the world? To be doing what makes our heart sing…or growl…or purr.
It became more just wading up the small creek rather than constantly seeking another small pool to cast into. Occasionally, I’d unhook the nymph and let it and the dry fly move through the air, but really I was just enjoying the profound beauty of the mist, the light rain, rushing water, and moss-covered rocks.
The air was 57 degrees and the water was 50 degrees. As I waded up the creek, the typical fog–that so often thrills me in the Smokies–started to form over the water. The softness of air enveloped me with light moisture as it kissed my face and hands. Everything else was under waterproof cover.
I saw only one trout and it was a brookie that danced with me until I freed it to carry on in the watery realms. But today, it was simply a bonus to connect with a fish for a few moments. Otherwise I was absorbing the beauty into my cells, feeling the peace of mind that comes from being in the present moment.
It always amazes me what two hours wading a mountain stream does for me, to me. Hours later, I’m still feeling the creek water move through my body, the mist caress and envelope me as it did the rocks and trees. And I’m already excited about returning, to the creek…to myself.
