Tag: fly fishing
I Was A Leaf Looker This Weekend

I Was A Leaf Looker This Weekend

By |

The sweet smell of balsam fir trees hung in the thick fog. Every droplet that kissed my face seemed to anoint me with Nature’s most amazing scent.

I arrived early at the parking lot at Clingman’s Dome, hopeful for fog. Most people that visit want clear skies for the long-distance views. And they were there at the parking lot, but the top of the mountain was blanketed with cloud cover.

It’s a steep, 1.2 mile walk up to the observation tower made a bit more challenging because I was on Day 2 of my ‘Play Tourist’ weekend. Why I chose this weekend—when the leaf lookers were out in full force—I’m not sure. Maybe I wanted to see color. Perhaps I wanted an excuse to visit my favorite fly fishing store in Townsend. But most likely it was due to the rivers and creeks I fish running very high due to several days of rain. I wanted to let them drop before wading.

So, I got out the Big Mama Nikon and tripod and grabbed a telephoto lens as well as my wide-angle zoom—heavy equipment that I normally don’t hike with and reserve for special photographic endeavors. But the weather was finally rain-free and the temperatures very nice so on Friday I headed to Townsend, through the Great Smoky Mountain National Park.

I wanted to photograph some of the creeks and rivers since the water level was high. Water…the element that balances me, heals me, directs me back into my soul skin without fail. In my wandering, I had a perfectly timed encounter with three kayakers running a big rapid that’s normally not a kayaking river. After that, I decided to head to another watery place near Cades Cove but traffic was at a stop almost two miles outside of Cades Cove. No thanks. I turned around and went to Townsend.

I’ve been fly fishing since April and over the past month started tying flies, which has opened an entirely new, creatively amazing, journey. Little River Outfitters is where it all began for me and the staff there is beyond amazing. And their store…it feels good just to walk in there. I hadn’t visited their second story which is all fly tying goodies. Threads, equipment, furs, feathers, hooks of every imaginable size and kind and an artist’s dream. Color! Parts and pieces to create small versions of insects, or in my case…insects from Wonderland. Alice would be pleased. I had fun…way too much fun.

A drive back through the park, stopping at beautiful waterfalls and creeks and letting my Nikon play, added more fun to my day as I wound my way up and over the ridge through the park, and finally to my home. A late afternoon walk at my usual trail ended the day beautifully.

Saturday, I intended to go to the Upper Nantahala with the Nikon, but when I got in my car it headed to Clingman’s Dome. I explored the magical, foggy, balsam fir forest on top after the walk up. It felt like I was in another realm, like the fairy dimension opened and invited me to explore. Even though it was early, there were other humans there so I headed down to the parking area to leave before the insane crowd developed. But I got to Forney Ridge Trail and decided…what the heck.

The trail was downhill through beautiful moss-covered rocks and boulders. I was surprised at the number of people on the trail, but it was not nearly as crowded as the main trail. Unfortunately, I didn’t bring a water bottle or put the heavy telephoto lens in the car so I had quite a grueling hike. But it was worth it just for the beauty. There’s something very special about hiking through terrain that’s over a mile high. The trees are different, the air is cooler, and it seems somewhat removed from the chaos of the parking lot and everywhere really.

While I appreciate the opportunity to do short day trips in the national park—it is the most-visited national park in the country—I generally stay away from highly visited tourist areas until January or February, when visitors aren’t as numerous. When I finished my hike and came back to the Clingman’s Dome parking area, there were hundreds of people milling around, walking, blocking the way. It felt like entering a chaotic, alternate reality. I quickly walked to my car, dodging stopped cars waiting for parking spaces, gulped half a large bottle of water and left the chaos. There was a line over a mile in length just to get into the parking area. And cars were parked all along the side of the roadway. I was glad to be headed to my cabin in the woods.

Finally, Sunday dawned chilly and I took a chance to fly fish at my favorite creek. The water was up but running clear. While I couldn’t wade some areas due to high water, it was amazing to be in 51 degree, crisp air, standing in a mountain creek. 

I chose to fish a fly I tied and it was a huge hit with my trout friends. The first cast got a strike. But they carried it underwater without biting the hook…several times. I’ve never fished a fly that got so much attention from trout. One trout even came up under it, opened its big, white mouth, and acted like it was going to take it but then just backed away. It was the best entertainment I’ve had in a long time. It was amazing that something I created brought entertainment to the trout as well. But they didn’t engage in anything but playing with the fly…and that’s okay with me. I saw a couple of mistakes I made in tying it that created a crippled insect appearance. Sometimes they go for a crippled fly, but it probably makes them more suspicious. And our wild trout in the national park are spooky to begin with.

After nearly three hours of wading and standing in the creek, casting a line, and generally losing myself in the non-linear time of Nature, I felt like a reset button had been pressed and I was back inside my soul skin. 

The leaf looker season is just getting started. Today (Sunday) over 2000 people went through the Oconoluftee Visitor Center—I wasn’t one of them. I’ll be seeking the quiet places, the hidden places, and avoiding the crowds and chaos for the next few weeks. But you can bet I’ll be wading and playing with trout and allowing the creeks to keep me in balance.
Deep Peace

Deep Peace

By |

It’s a sensation that is birthed at the core of my being and moves through my body and mind. I used to find it diving—being in neutral buoyancy, surrounded by water, contained by an ocean or freshwater spring or underwater cave. But it’s been a while since I’ve been diving…selling a home, moving, the plague has redirected my pursuit of deep peace but it’s still with water.

I walked up the trail a mile and a half before exchanging my trail shoes for fly fishing boots. At some point during the wading and casting I paused, seeking something…what am I missing, I wondered. Within a moment I knew…that deep peace that finds me as I merge into blissful Oneness with creek, rocks, trees, fish. Ah…yes. It will come.

I intentionally slowed my wading, created longer pauses in casting, spent more time watching the surface and soon that delicious feeling began to move through me—the return of a cherished friend.

From the first time I cast a line and watched a rainbow trout wiggle its tail and spit the hook, I knew I was hooked. I have been in the water with humpback whales and photographed them and learned from them. I’ve been with a large pod of wild spotted dolphins that befriended me and played with me, but these trout are no lesser teacher and guide than my cetacean family.

Often while wading I am grateful for my yoga practice that helps strengthen my legs and improve my balance. The rocks are slippery, the water is rushing past, the bottom is uneven, so every experience of fly fishing is a yoga practice…slow movement, balance, breathing, connecting with something greater than myself. 

It can be seductive to analyze it, to categorize it, but the ultimate outcome is that I feel really good after connecting with deep peace. At first, I thought it was the neoprene smell of waders or wading socks that reminded me of diving. And that might be a trigger, but the real reason I love fly fishing so much is that it opens a doorway to profound peace, just like diving. It’s my meditation, yoga, mindfulness and Oneness practice. 
River Wisdom Keepers

River Wisdom Keepers

By |
A wisdom keeper with his student

We stood at the edge of Humble Hole, the place where big trout hover suspended in the cool waters of the Davidson River and watch as your fly floats by…dry, nymph it doesn’t really matter. This might frustrate many fly fishers; for me seeing those fat fish relaxed, unspooked by the fly line or movement of the two humans on the bank was beautiful to behold. After all, I’m not there to catch fish—I’m there to witness beauty. And those trout magi are the wise elders. Except that day the other human was also a wise elder in the art of fly fishing.

The largest fish hatchery in NC is located at the Pisgah Center for Wildlife Education. They raise rainbow, brook and brown trout. It’s open to the public every day except Sundays….and worth the visit.

The past two mornings were spent at the Pisgah Center for Wildlife Education near Brevard, North Carolina. I took part in a women’s fly fishing school presented by the North Carolina Wildlife Commission. They have various fly fishing offerings that include a kid’s program, casting classes, fly tying. Our two day school included the basics of fly fishing and casting on day one and fishing with a river wisdom keeper on day two. 

Steve was my mentor for the morning. I learned so much and improved my casting a lot.

I call these volunteers river wisdom keepers because they offer their experience and expertise as fly fishers to those wanting to learn. Veterans of being snubbed by trout, they offer solace to those of us eager to learn how we, too, can be humbled by a rainbow or brown or brook. But they gift us with so much more. After all, fly fishing is creating art while fishing.

It’s good to know what nymphs are living in the place where you are fishing. Steve shows me a nymph that looks like the pheasant tail fly that I’ve caught a lot of fish on in my endeavors thus far.

There are many elements to fly fishing…selection of the fly or flies to use (dry fly, nymph, streamer), tippet length, strike indicator placement, stealth, casting (without catching rhododendron, brush piles, rock edges, submerged sticks, yourself, your guide, your rod/line), water flow, ledges, holes, riffles, seams, shadows. The river wisdom keepers volunteer their time to teach about all of these elements and more.

Too often we fail to take advantage of the wisdom held within individuals who have spent years learning this living art. As I stood beside Steve yesterday, I felt honored to be one of those lucky enough to learn what he had to share. As I glanced upriver and downriver, other mentors were with their students…what a beautiful sight.

Steve was very trusting of me to hold the rod still as he changed flies. Once he even held one fly attached to the line in his mouth to add another one below it on a nymph rig…he did remind me not to move the rod. Trusting soul isn’t he!?!

The North Carolina Wildlife Commission provides these programs free of charge. Yes…free of charge (unbelievable, I know). The programs are paid for with funds generated from fishing license sales for the most part. According to an article in the Citizen Times several years ago, trout anglers gave the state’s economy an estimated $383 million from direct sales on fishing equipment, food, gas, lodging, and guides. That same 2014 study found 3600 jobs were supported by mountain fishers. A 2009 study showed a total impact of trout anglers in North Carolina impacted with $174 million boost to the economy. That’s a significant jump in five years. Considering the Great Smoky Mountain National Park had the highest visitor numbers ever last year, it’s difficult to imagine what economic boosts fly fishing is providing the state present day. A drive along trout creeks and rivers or a hike into even more remote creeks gives evidence to the high demand for fly fishing in our Western North Carolina cold creeks.

Women are the fastest growing demographic among fly fishers and our wildlife commission acknowledges this by providing dedicated classes for women. Because fly fishing has been a male-dominated endeavor, it’s sometimes challenging for women to enter into it. In the four months I’ve been involved with it I’ve visited several shops or outfitters just to see how a woman is welcomed. Some have been amazing and supportive beyond imagination. One was so full of testosterone and loud, vulgar stories I will withhold any support of that particular place or their guides for anyone. In April, when I started practicing art while fishing, I connected with several guide services for instruction (since classes were not happening due to Covid). Every one I ‘interviewed’ was asked how they felt working with women clients. My favorite outfitter, Little River Outfitters, recommended a company (Trout Zone Anglers) and I went with them after emailing the owner and checking out the bios of their guides. I chose one with a wife and two small kids…I mean, he must have patience. It’s important for women to feel supported and respected, especially when entering an arena that has been dominated by men for so long. But the smart outfitters, stores, and guides realize that supporting women means their business will prosper.

I didn’t intend for this writing to meander like one of our mountain creeks so I will bring in the line, so to speak, and simply thank the instructors and the wildlife commission for being so progressive in their putting education for all as a priority and especially to those river wisdom keepers that volunteer their time to spread the love of fly fishing.

Trout are some of the most beautiful fish. I hope to be able to paint abstracts that are inspired by their colors and patterns.
On the Fly…A Way of Being

On the Fly…A Way of Being

By |

It had been a few days since I’d been in the cathedral of water, rocks and trees so I was excited to find myself preparing my fly rod as I stood beside my car parked at the end of the campground. Two boys were riding bikes and obviously just getting to know each other…what grade are you in? second? I’m six years old…look at that tree…oh, yeah, that’s neat.How precious to overhear their conversation as I assembled my rod and reel and rigged it. 

Finally, their curiosity drew them to my staging area. Hey, what kinda fishing pole is that? I replied, It’s a fly rod…a bit different than spin tackle. They took in the answer and then the one that was clearly a fisher said, Oh, yeah. I use spin tackle. That’s a different rod and reel isn’t it? I went on to tell them a little about fly fishing and opened my little fly box to show them the beautiful flies. Oh, wow! Those are cool! Hey, you have a walkie talkie like me, he said. Oh, it’s a satellite messenger that allows me to call for help for me or anyone I meet on the backcountry trails. He said, Oh, yeah it’s sort of the same. I replied, Yes, both allow us to call for help. It’s good that you stay in touch with your parents while you are here.

I suppose my getting everything ready to fish bored them and they eventually sped off on their bikes after saying bye. My heart was smiling as I thought how nice it was to see two children of different races getting acquainted with no prejudice or hate…just curiosity and sharing and exploring the campground in the Smokies.

Warmer weather allowed me to wet wade and the connection to cold water inside my boots was holy water washing my feet. The fly rod is really just an accessory to my wandering and standing in wonder at the beauty of the place. I had two really good strikes and after an hour decided to move on up the creek but first I needed to stop by my car to drop off a wad of fishing line and plastic bottle I found in the creek. While there I decided to change my fly.

As I was finishing up a guy that walked past with his dog as I was in the creek walked over and asked how I was doing. I knew when I saw him on the shore that he was a fly fisher. You can tell by the gleam in the eyes and the keen interest…that spark of knowing how amazing it is to stand in clear, cold water with a fly rod. Once you fall in love with fly fishing…well, you can see it in a person’s soul. And it’s not just the fishing. It’s the rocks and water and trees and the entire ecosystem that calls to us, opens us to beauty that is almost unimaginable.

We stood and talked and shared stories about fish and places we’d fished. Obviously, my list was much shorter since I only began fly fishing in April. His wife and two little girls walked over and we had such a sweet visit. He told me about a different technique he uses, gave me two beautiful little flies and showed me photos of a place four miles up the same trail I love so much. I was so touched by his generosity of spirit to share about his successful fishing technique and gift of flies. 

Immediately after we said our goodbyes, I walked to a favorite deeper pool and caught a sweet little trout who leaped off the hook as I reached out for the line. Actually, this made me very happy because with less handling the fish recovers much quicker. (I use barbless hooks to further reduce injury to the fish). I continued up this favorite little run and ended up having a few more strikes and finally removed the fly and reeled in the line and just sat on a rock in the middle of the creek…for a long time.

That is my favorite way to meditate…feet in the water, seated on a rock, the sound of rushing water providing music along with bird song, green leaves creating a tunnel around the creek. I love diving but this is a good as diving for me except I’m not weightless while fishing.

After spending half an hour or so breathing in oneness with the creek, I stood up to wade back downstream and thanked the life there for our time together. As I arrived at my car another fly fisher was gearing up and asked about the fishing. He and his wife were visiting from out of state and we enjoyed sharing a bit about experience of fly fishing. He said he’d enjoyed it for years and it was so much more than the fish that drew him to wading with fly fishing gear. 

I don’t think of it as a sport because it’s really a way of being.

It was a most unusual morning at the creek. It felt like a celebration of love for the creek and forest and life within them with these beautiful people all brought together by a simple fly rod and reel and a passion for beauty found in Nature. I waved to the family I had chatted with earlier as I drove past their campsite and left with renewed hope for humanity.
Forgetting the Script

Forgetting the Script

By |

In a dream: I was the director of a Harry Potter play being presented in the old Baptist church where I grew up. Everyone was asked to bring their talent into the production and I was to write the script. I did write it but when I got to the presentation I had forgotten it and worse still, I couldn’t remember any of it…the theme, the general idea of what was happening…I had absolutely no clue of what to say or do. But everyone else had used their creativity to design two amazing, small sets that were colorful and delightful. At first the crowd was small but it grew to be a large gathering, all waiting to see the play. I kept asking others what the play was about, what were my lines even though I had written the script. The good news…it was a success even though I had forgotten everything I had written. Each person, bringing their own talents and simply going with the flow of the production, made it amazing. 

This dream really captured my attention and mirrored my frustration at wondering what I’m doing to make a difference on the planet, what I’m doing with my talents and skills. Sometimes it seems I’m walking a continual trust walk through dark woods in hope that the guidance is true. Anxious, sometimes fearful, but letting go of control and allowing my life to unfold into the highest expression of love I can offer is the only thing I know to do.

Today, as I was walking in the woods, I thought about the journey of the soul through incarnation. What if we have a glimpse into the life we are about to be born into and have goals of what we want to do with our life and then, as we come into physical form, gradually forget. And what if that’s intentional, the forgetting, so we learn to trust and not operate from ego but come from a place of soul expression–unattached to outcome, willing to trust our trajectory.

We get little cookie crumbs that guide us from one place to the next if we pay attention. Many times the crumbs come in the way of everyday challenges that seem much bigger than they ‘should.’ For instance, the recent influx of tourists, thus many fly fishers, have made my usual fishing creek seem crowded and overrun and over-fished so I began looking for other locations to fish. In doing this fears arose that made no sense. The fears seemed so much bigger than the experience. When that happens I know there is a much bigger issue that wants healing.

As I explored this issue of changing fishing locations, I found myself always going back to the one I was comfortable with instead of going to a new one. The night before I would feel anxious about a new spot. As I explored this through meditation I saw an image of fear  represented as sticks given to us at birth. Society teaches fear as a control mechanism and teaches us how to beat ourselves into submission. I saw how fear has been used by me to contain myself, to keep me from moving forward in life. This isn’t the fear that keeps me safe, to warn me of real dangers; this fear is a way of thinking and behaving that is so deeply rooted I am not aware of it. 

When we begin to consciously walk a spiritual Path, many times our lives fall apart and continue to do so. When we ask to grow and heal, opportunities arise that invite us to do just that and rarely is it all white light and warm fuzzy feelings. That happens and is amazing; however, usually it’s really hard work to excavate the true self. There’s a lot of conditioning and programming we have to clear.

Throughout my life I have used outdoor experiences to help heal my life. Usually they bring up fear and then I work with the emotions that arise to heal old wounds. Everybody has their own formula. Mine happens to be partnership with Nature. The following poem came from this recent experience of changing fishing locations…okay, from excavating old fears.

I

The place I love to fly fish is too crowded

Now with summer tourists and trout lust.

Other nearby creeks are better options

But I find myself paralyzed by fear to make

A change. What the hell?

II

They gave me sticks at birth, like they do us all;

Beat yourselves with fear—their control method.

And now, changing creeks and rocks and familiar trees

Seems too scary. Can I really cast my fly line in these

New waters?

III

Whirling, twirling like a dervish I dance

The sticks of fear from my bones

And burn them in the fire of purification

Opening the way for new life born

From ashes of the old.

IV

Light dancing on new waters,

Green and yellow glow in early morning

As I cast my line and release the old

Fears that kept me stuck and small.

Freedom to fly.

V

It isn’t the water or rocks, they are my 

Allies. It isn’t the trout, they are my 

Teachers. The act of expanding helps me

See the fear as the manipulation it was…

To keep me small.

VI

Dropping into the flow I feel boundaries

Disappear. Ashes from the stick burning

Stirs as fear tries again but this time I

See it for the monster it is and call it out:

Oh, sinister demon.

VII

All the drama, all the effort to keep me

Small? I must be immensely threatening to

Status quo. The deprograming is going well.

New creeks receive my line and trout are

Nodding their approval.

Perhaps the greatest fear I’ve discovered is the one my dream revealed this morning. What if I’m not doing what I came here to do? What if I’m not helping the planet? What if I’m failing?

Yet the dream also revealed that it is in letting go of the script and surrendering to the process of life that yields true beauty. And this is backed up by a recent meditation.

In the meditation I heard that the foundation of all fear is expanding into our true self and releasing the ego’s need for control. When we do this, we let go of everything familiar and step into the Unknown. The ego is all about control while the Soul Self carries the unlimited potential of The Universe where everything is possible.

Diving into the Unknown is the Spiritual Warrior’s Empty-Handed-Leap-into-the-Void. There are two cliffs and in between them is the Unknown. Can I let go of the familiar place of ego—the script—and reach for the other cliff, the place where my Soul Self has unlimited connection to Source? That’s the question we all face. Over and over again.