Tag: Eco-Spirituality
Plan D

Plan D

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I’d been looking forward to fishing a very special place for months. My calendar dinged a reminder: My day! Abrams Creek. 

A friend from Black Mountain was coming over and we were going to seek the green drake hatch that had captured me, raptured me, last year on my birthday with my guide friend David from TroutZone Anglers. (Read that story here).

We left the house by 7am and drove through the national park and all the way around to Cades Cove with hardly any traffic snarls…that in itself was a little miracle during spring break season. We saw wild tom turkeys doing their impressive dances as female turkeys pecked for bugs and perhaps rolled their eyes as they turned their backs to the toms in search of breakfast. I was impressed with the tom’s dances; but, I’m not a female turkey. We also saw many white tailed deer as we slowly made our way to the turn to Abrams Falls. 

Finally, we were close and I pointed out the road coming up on our right. I also saw orange barricade barrels there but thought there must be a hole in the road. But no. As we drove up there was a sign hanging that simply said: Abrams Falls Trail Closed. Plan A: failed.

Kip later told me I said, “NO! No, no, no, no!!” I don’t even remember saying that as I was in complete shock. (Sigh). Months of planning and looking forward to this epic day and it wasn’t to be on that particular creek.

Both being positive humans we quickly re-grouped. I suggested we park at the visitor center and inquire about fishing the creek from there down to the trailhead. At first the three ladies behind the counter paused as their eyes bugged out and then in unison said, “NO! You cannot access the trail. It is closed.” Calmly we explained we were NOT trying to access the closed trail, but rather fish down to it. Then, they calmed down enough so we could smile and wish each other well before doing a bit of a scouting mission down the trail in the 32 degree air temperature.

Yes. It was 32. It had been 28. So you see, there was a bit of a warmup happening. A very small warm-up.

As we walked beside the small creek, we saw huge masses of trees blown down from a recent wind storm. Cades Cove had just re-opened a week ago. The park roads were closed for days as they worked to clear them. So we definitely understood why Abrams Falls Trail was closed. I’m guessing it won’t be open for a long while.

Plan B: failed due to skinny water and a general lack of enthusiasm from two fly anglers. Onward to Plan C.

We drove down a gravel road where I had previously seen people fishing two years ago. Once again, we felt the water was too small for what we had in mind. Plan C: failed. But, the temperature jumped from 37 to 50 degrees in a very short time. At least it was warm enough to feel more comfortable wading. Just where to go? 

The national park isn’t short on water with 2900 miles of streams, so we finished driving the beautiful Loop Road and made our way back to an area I’ve been wanting to fish, but will not name. Even though there are some rather steep gorges, we managed to finally, at 11am, put on our waders and boots, assemble our fly rods, tie on some feathers and cast. 

Water was swift and rocks were very slippery but we saw several trout rise and miss or rise and refuse. Sometimes it’s challenging to figure out what exactly is happening when trout are rising. I caught and released a nice rainbow and then another one before we moved on. We fished from the vehicle as too many areas were not wadeable. I caught another small brown trout in another pool and a rainbow a bit further upstream. At least we were seeing fish rise and there was successful dancing with trout.

The sun was bright, the water was clear. This makes fishing these wild trout very challenging. I stayed low as I could, hid behind boulders, stood in the shadows of large tree trunks in order to be a stealthy trout hunter. Sometimes it worked, but they were a weird bunch of trout kids today.

With the sun so high and bright, we headed back to pavement and another area I adore fishing that would offer a little more shade.  Again, we had a lot of fish action and I managed to catch a very nice rainbow and lost another one that was hooked but spit the barbless hook…but wait…that might have been back on the gravel road. It all blurred together after a while. We still had some silly trout antics that had me laughing. 

Just for kicks, I tied on a fly with odd colors I combined to see what would happen. I cast several times, making my way across the water. I could ‘feel’ a fish in a really nice calm area and sure enough…a larger trout rocketed out of the water but slapped the fly with its tail. It dove down, leaped back out of the water and slapped it again. Note to self: it is offensive to trout to use red thread and a bright blue foam body. Experiment failure…but that’s the fun of tying flies. You never know when you’ll invent the next fly that changes the world of the fish and insect nerds that we are. With this particular one, I was properly scolded by a large trout and I muttered an apology.

We were riding back through the park after getting off the overly-warm waders. We chatted about our crazy day. The trail being closed, the attempts at finding good water. The weird behavior of the fish at both locations (far from each other). And how much incredible fun we had. 

Our plan was such a great one. But it crumbled as we found the road closed. We could have allowed that ruin our day but WHY!?!?! It was such a magnificent day with turkeys dancing, deer frolicking, mayflies hatching…sun, wildflowers, trout and their silly trout antics. All the stuff magnificent days are made of. 

The day was a gift. Plan D was a gift. Crazy trout antics…a gift. A friend open to letting the day unfold however it would…a gift. 

Had either of us been attached to our plan, the day would have been quite different. Our flexibility, good humor, patience, and determination to let the trout lead us, allowed us to receive the gift of the day.  

I always think that how I spend my birthday influences how the next year will unfold. So I expect some doors will close, others will open and I will be unattached to closings and openings . Maybe one…or two…or three doors need to close so that the right door has space to open. I will cultivate flexibility, patience, and a keener ability to simply go with the flow so the magic can happen. I will allow Life to go off script as I open to the unwritten, unknown way forward.
Realigning

Realigning

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Last week, I explored my angst about not getting enough time in Nature; during five days off, I made an effort to change that. Every day, I went into the woods and came out happier, more at peace, and more aligned with myself.

Over the past two decades, when I’ve asked what I’m supposed to do with my life, I’ve heard to deepen my connection with Nature. It all comes down to that bit of inner guidance. Not, ‘Save the world,’ or ‘Do something huge.’ It’s been clear and simple…’Create a deeper, personal relationship with Nature.’

It’s taken a while to understand that I didn’t have to become an expert guide or teacher to lead others to their own connection with Nature, to their own inner healing journey. For many years, I thought that was what I was supposed to do. After some recent soul-searching, I’ve come to understand that living with a deeper awareness of the inner connection, the Oneness, can create positive change around me, just from being rooted, anchored in a reverent and reciprocal relationship with Nature. 

I’m most joyful when I’m with Nature, listening to flowers, water, trees, rocks…I mean being still and listening with my heart. Perhaps my contribution to the world is simply going out and practicing this. If we change ourselves, we create ripples of energy that move out into the world. In essence, by being exactly who we are, we create positive change in the world. Not by forcing or even inviting. Just by being who we are in our most genuine expression of soul.

The act of intentionally connecting with Nature changes me and it changes Nature. I’ve felt the shift many times as I consciously connect with various aspects of Nature. And it’s an outcome that isn’t coerced or pushed; it is a natural, organic way of being. 

I love to reflect on experiences I have outdoors and express them through creative processes. That’s all very natural for me, like breathing. Writing, photography, composing music…all arise from releasing myself to the creative flow that comes by being in sync with the the energy of Nature…Oneness…Source.

Many times people have viewed my photographs, read my essays and books, and commented that they can never do what I do but enjoy experiencing it through my sharing. I’m finally understanding my ‘work’  is to simply go out into Nature with an open heart, with a conscious desire to listen, connect, learn. 

Last Thursday, my teacher was a trout lily in full bloom. I sat on the narrow trail beside the lily and listened. In the stillness, I felt intimacy with the flower, mountains, birds, the creek far below. I felt my soul filling my body. I felt harmony within myself and everything around me. But, there wasn’t me and everything else….it was simply everything expressing the energy of Life in different forms. 

Friday, I hiked over 12 miles on a trail filled with beautiful wildflowers with friends and fly fished in the most beautiful water I’ve ever seen. Saturday I visited a unique geological area with a friend and saw bluebells and shooting stars. Sunday I waded a section of local water and danced with beautiful rainbow and brown trout. Monday, yesterday, I waded with pouty trout that kept missing the fly. All of it opened me to Nature, to myself, to all Life.

From now on, instead of trying to figure out how to help people connect with Nature, I’m going to listen to decades of guidance…Deepen your connection with Nature…and take it to heart. I’ll connect deeper with Nature and allow It to teach me, heal me, fill me with joy. I’ll allow the creative process to move within that relationship and witness the unfolding. I trust this to be my Path of true service to the world.
Celebrating Mayflies

Celebrating Mayflies

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I stood along the side of the stream, cold water flowing around my waders and blue sky overhead—blue sky filled with hatching mayflies. Tiny fairy-like-flight of insects rising from the water’s surface into the warm spring air. 

Admittedly, I was distracted from watching my fly float along the surface. Several times it intersected with a hatching mayfly and I was anticipating a trout to make the imitation of the mayfly and the mayfly into a sandwich. Alas, it didn’t happen.

But, last summer I was fishing another creek and through the clear water, I watched a trout chase a hatching mayfly from the depths to the surface. Right after the trout missed the emerging insect, my fly landed at the exact spot and the trout took the fly. Never in my wildest dreams…I’m not sure even my friends believe that wild story. But I swear it’s true and I can show you the deep pool where it happened…but I won’t, because it’s one of my guarded spots that me and only a couple hundred people visit…thankfully not at the same time. I’ve only seen other anglers there once in four years.

On my birthday last spring, I was with a guide friend and we waded upon a green drake hatch. (There’s a blog dedicated to that magical experience you can read HERE). Those huge mayflies had us both laughing and excited, in awe. Yesterday, they were smaller but brought no less joy to this nature-lover.

It seems everyone knows mayflies by their flying persona, but the mayfly lives in that evolution of their lifecycle only a couple days. The majority of their life is spent underwater…as a buggy looking, rather hard-shelled, multiple legged nymph. 

I stood in the water watching and thought: last year, females laid eggs in the water and two weeks later they hatched. They spent an entire year as an underwater bug and maybe I stepped across them last summer when I waded here. Now, they are hatching as I witness. Now they begin a 24 to 48 hour time as air-breathing, flying mayflies and will shed their exoskeleton once more during this time. Then, they’ll mate and the female will lay eggs and they will hatch (unless eaten by a trout) next year, perhaps when I’m wading the stream with my fly rod. And yes, I actually stood there thinking all of this!

The egg-laying was also happening yesterday as I stood transfixed in the creek, lost in the wonder of magical mayflies. 

Mostly, mayflies are underwater buggy creatures; however, their flight is what we celebrate because that’s what we witness, and some (like me) hardly notice the fish when a hatch is underway.

Perhaps our lives are a bit like the lives of mayflies…we spend the majority of our time growing and looking positively buggy in our attempts to develop into good human beings. And on occasion, our hard work pays off and we metaphorically take flight and are able to express our beauty, the beauty to which all of us are destined if we realize our potential.

I learned this from a little mayfly that lit on my waders, over my heart. We had a wonder-full conversation, fueled somewhat by my imagination. But mostly, I just softly whispered words of love and appreciation and thanked the small wonder for bringing me so much joy. 

I created this image for the logo of my business, Wading Women: Holistic Fly Fishing. So…yes, I do adore mayflies. 

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It is said that a trout’s diet is up to 70% underwater nymphs like mayflies and other cool insects like stoneflies. Every spring I spend as much time as possible in the water, casting my fly rod…which is really just an excuse to witness one of my favorite nature phenomena. And a favorite of the spring hatches? The yellow sallies, a type of stonefly. They really do look like tiny yellow fairies flying up from the water.
Off the Beaten Path

Off the Beaten Path

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Yesterday, four of us got together to hike in the national park. It wasn’t a usual hike for any of us because we explored an area that wasn’t a marked trail; it was an old roadbed. Before anyone loses their minds about how dangerous this was, let me share our gear configuration and hiking credentials: three of the four of us had Garmin In-Reach Mini’s, all of us had GPS apps on our smartphones and knew how to use them, all of us are very familiar with the area with over half our group being born here and growing up here, we were following a river and could see the main highway through the park consistently, and we are all experienced hikers. 

We followed an old roadbed that one of our group had seen, after a snowfall, from the main park road. Part of it was semi-maintained due to the power line that ran beside it; however, once the power line cut across the woods and over the paved road to a picnic area, the old roadbed was filled with downed trees, dog hobble patches, and small brush. It is still ‘maintained,’ but only by the elk and deer that use it. It was actually quite easy to see the roadbed as it was cut into the mountains, it was just challenging to navigate at times. 

Along the way we explored historical areas where homesites existed prior to the formation of the park. There were broken jars and bottles, tin wash tubs, enameled pots, parts of old vehicles scattered around the sites but there were also old foundations covered in moss and fascinating evidence of prior homesteads.

Perhaps the most interesting and beautiful finds were spring heads that were noted with stacked rocks. One in particular was absolutely lovely. There was evidence of a human-created run of stacked rocks lining the waterway from the spring. 

All through the national park there are clues to locations of old homesteads with particular vegetation that isn’t native including shrubs and flowers. This makes locating the sites easy. It’s important to not disturb or remove anything from the sites as they are historical and therefore protected by the park. But exploring these areas can be done without changing them or harming them and it’s quite fascinating.

The woman leading the hike is a former employee of the park, so she gave us a depth of experience, knowledge, and wisdom that made our exploration safer. I certainly wouldn’t recommend anyone do this kind of hike anywhere in the park unless they have significant knowledge of the area, maps, safety equipment, and a lot of hiking experience. Two retired park rangers have told me stories of rescuing people that had no clue where they were or anything about the area but kept moving further away from marked trails, some of which ended well and others, not so much. 

Our adventure reminded me of blue-lining in the park. I do this while fly fishing and it’s quite amazing to follow the creeks, leaving the trail at times, to follow the blue lines on the map rather than marked trails. Again, the key to success is having the knowledge of where the trail is, where the creek leads, and the safety equipment to make it work. And of course, knowing my physical ability, knowing the water level, weather, rain prediction, and how to get help if needed.

This isn’t written with the intention of getting anyone to go off the beaten path to explore historical sites or to follow a creek away from a trail; it is written to encourage people to get out of ruts in life, to explore new things and places, not only in Nature but within themselves. Be willing to try new things, learn new things, find ways to expand the known by touching the unknown. And doing it safely and with concern for their own and others well-being. 

Another unexpected part of our adventure was the snow, sleet, sunshine and general minute-by-minute changing weather. Due to high elevation snow, the main road through the park was closed. We couldn’t shuttle one of our vehicles to the exit point so we had to walk back to our point of origin. Since the park road was closed, we had an incredible adventure of a quiet, vehicle-free five mile walk back down the road. That, in itself, was amazing fun. So, after our off-the-beaten-path adventure, we walked down Highway 441 as snow and sleet bounced off our faces and an empty roadway, free of the usual speeding cars and trucks with burning brakes.

It was an epic day.
Starry Awe

Starry Awe

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In the darkness, the branches of bare trees were illuminated by stars, twinkling and sparkling in the clear sky. Overhead, meteors flashed, some with long tails of sparkling cosmic dust making my squeals echo down the mountain, across the creek, and up the other side.

I looked at 9pm last night, but they were not active yet. So in the pre-dawn chill, I dressed warmly and stood under clear skies watching, waiting and then screaming in awe. 

What is it about standing beneath stars?  Maybe knowing these are the same constellations our ancestors, from thousands of years ago, stood under or that our loved ones, from thousands of miles away, might be standing under right now. 

It always brings perspective to stand beneath the sky and witness beauty so profound the only way to verbalize it is through whoops and hollers that echo across the mountains. Gratitude fills me as I type these words with fingers still chilled from the freezing air.