Tag: Simone Lipscomb Photography
The Perfect Mirror

The Perfect Mirror

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It was one of those days. I couldn’t decide what I wanted to do. The weather was like that, too. It rained overnight and was supposed to rain more but then radar showed showers staying west of us. Rain? No rain? Walk? Fly fish? Yoga? I felt antsy and unsettled after putting out mulch early this morning. 

Yoga finally happened mid-day and it was a nice practice. So…fishing? All day long I wanted to go but was not sure where I wanted to go and if I wanted to use waders or wet wade? After getting irritated with my indecision, I got my gear together, put on shorts to wear under waders and headed to my favorite creek.

The humidity was very high from the overnight rain and it was quite warm. Since the water is cold, there was a beautiful fog hovering over the surface of the water. Walking into the water was like putting on a mantle of mist and entering another realm.

The fish were there and very smart and I wished more than once I was just wading in the creek without the rod, reel and vest. I found myself aggravated but couldn’t really blame the fish since I’d felt that way all day. I felt frustrated that I wasn’t able to do anything but scare the fish (I actually had a trout zoom out from underneath my boot as I was wading). 

The beauty kept pulling me back to myself and out of my head. But my mind kept chattering. I was doing something I love with such passion and it felt as if I was failing miserably because I wasn’t catching fish. Finally, I interrupted the negative thoughts as I sensed a familiar story being mirrored to me. It felt just like the frustration of doing the work I feel called to do and am so passionate about and it not producing a livable income. This has been an issue now for many years and one that grows more troublesome and worrying. 

I’ve been working parttime at a university vaccination clinic and it’s been nice to have a little income to slow the drain on my savings, but the clinic is closing and that is creating an inner disturbance. You see, for many years now I’ve made very little money as I have given myself totally to documenting and sharing beauty and being a voice for our planet. I’ve loved it and feel lucky to have the opportunity to photograph amazing creatures underwater and visit sacred places that have fueled my passion for healing. I’ve published several books with my photography and writing including three children’s books. Yet, with so much effort and money spent to create these works, there has not been a supportive income produced by them. I’m not whining but rather expressing a deep frustration and grief that the work of my soul, the endeavors of my heart are not paying the bills. 

If I get a full-time job just to produce an income, I won’t have enough energy to do the work of my heart. I’ve tried. And quite honestly, I cannot do it. The passion is so strong within me to do the work I feel called to do…and have felt since childhood…it feels like self-betrayal if I don’t do it. I struggle to express the depth of love I feel for our planet and all life here and so want to help bring balance

All of this was going through my mind as I waded back down the creek with mist swirling around me, softening the harshness of my thoughts. I finished fishing after taking note of my improved casting and promptly getting the fly stuck in a tree. After getting it out of said tree, the fly wrapped around the tip of my rod and created a massive tangle. I put the reel end of the ten-foot rod on the creek bank and walked out into the water, pulled my magnifier down from the hat brim and took 15 to 20 minutes to untangle the line which included removing the fly and strike indicator and carefully working with the spider-web thin line. I felt the fishing was done after that exercise in patience. Plus, I’d been wading for over three hours and was ready to head back down the creek and trail. 

So, the mists were swirling and my frustration was tempered by the absolute beauty bombarding me from every direction. I begin to realize that fly fishing was mirroring my life’s work perfectly. It came down to this thread of thought: I feel called to be in Nature and explore the energetic, spiritual, emotional and physical connection with it. Through photography and writing I share my experiences to encourage others to connect and heal and love our planet. But mostly I share these experiences because I cannot not share. I am a visual storyteller. Period. That is my calling.

I also am a yoga instructor, a Reiki practitioner and teacher, an intuitive, a women’s drum circle leader, a musician…I have all these skills that are centered around helping others heal and I haven’t found a way to put it all together to provide an income. So I am, and have been for many years, very frustrated. 

Walking down the trail I allowed the emotions to arise, to come up from the depths and be acknowledged. The sound of rushing water helped them to flow. Foundational understanding resulted: I would fly fish if I never caught another fish because I love the clear water, trees, rocks, green moss and so it is with the work of my heart; I will continue to connect with Nature and open myself to It and learn from it and share what I learn even if nobody reads my stories or I never sell another book or photograph. So deep is the trust I have for my soul leading me true, I am willing to risk everything to follow the Path. It doesn’t conform to the way of the world, but I know it is the right direction.

Patience. Practice. Perseverance. These three qualities are needed to learn the art of fly fishing. They are also a reminder for my Path…I want so much to help in the healing of this world. My gift is to be a bridge between Nature and humanity and use my talents of photography, writing, teaching yoga and energy work and creating music to fulfill my goal. I will continue to persevere through practice and patience. And trust that doors will open so my work can blossom and be a light into a suffering world as well as support me financially.  

Fly fishing—a perfect mirror for my Path, my Life.

UPDATE: the night after I wrote this blog post I had a most amazing dream and the next morning another profound lesson learned from a rock. Check out the follow-up post and the wisdom shared by a rock.

To support the work of my heart and soul you can purchase my books, order photographs, take private yoga classes with me, come for a Reiki session or just donate. I also do graphic design and book layout as well as editing. My self-publishing led to the creation of a workshop for those wanting more info on how to go from a completed manuscript to a finished book. I will work with individuals and groups wanting to self-publish. One of the ways I have given back is to partner with non-profits to support their work through my books by given a set amount to their organization and I’m happy to include this with mentoring in your publication journey.

Wild Trout Are Pouty and Other Lies

Wild Trout Are Pouty and Other Lies

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Amazing trout that allowed me to land and release it a couple weeks ago.

I took a break from my hike and stood on the bridge overlooking the creek—gazing into clear waters, wanting to find trout—I said out loud, You trout are pouty little things, aren’t you? Suddenly three huge trout materialized out of the rocks. It’s true, they popped into the creek via a portal or something because there’s no way there were there the entire time I had been searching.

I have read a lot since starting my fly fishing journey and much is written about trout being moody and pouty and difficult creatures. One guy even wrote in his book that they are stupid (I would burn that book if it wasn’t in my Kindle app). I guess they are difficult because they are more intelligent than those of us trying to see them and (gasp) politely ask them to bite a hook.

The three brutes meandered around the rock ledges, nosed the bottom, occasionally grabbed a bite from some insect nymph (which I can only imagine because they are too small to see even when a replica is on the end of my tippet). These ninja trout were queens of stealth and smarts. So of course they get labeled, along with all their kin, as being pouty or snotty or moody. Gosh, as a woman I know what that’s like.

Zoomed-in photo of one of my trout teachers this morning. Notice their color blends perfectly with the rocks.
Another photo of the same trout but zoomed out….these creatures know how to hide.

Wild trout are intelligent, wonderfully amazing creatures that know how to live and survive. Occasionally they might bite a fly we send their way but mostly they will nibble and spit it out in total disgust. Why? Because they are wild and free and let’s face it, much smarter than the two-legged animals stalking them.

After watching yet another trout join their morning breakfasting and apologizing for calling them pouty, I walked on and reflected on the encounter with these beautiful rainbow trout. Women have historically been labeled as moody or pouty when we have refused to bite the hook of domestication. Every wild woman knows what I mean. We can be very attractive to men who think how fun it would be to partner with us until they realize that they will never tame us. Just like the wild trout, we will not submit our wildness to anyone.

The other day I watched a guy beat his fly rod back and forth through the air (yes, use your imagination and giggle at the intended pun) like he was killing the trout before the fly ever touched the water. I actually laughed out loud at this barbaric behavior and thankfully the sound of rushing water muffled my laugh which kept up the illusion of politeness. Good fly fishers know the artistry and grace of a fly rod captained by a wise fly fisher. Man or woman, aggressive casting is cause for eye-rolling and laughter. 

Our culture was founded on the power-over mentality: labeling indigenous cultures as savages so destroying them was acceptable, burning women who were healers so their property could be seized, enslaving people because they wanted free labor. The language carries over to how we describe wild things. 

This morning those beautiful rainbow trout reminded me to honor their intelligence, their wisdom and their wildness and to never, ever give up my wildness to anything that would try to tame me. Many men have told me that women make better fly fishers. I think I understand why that is so just a little better now.
Wild Turkey on the Bridge

Wild Turkey on the Bridge

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It felt good to gather the gear and head to the creek. But today, I felt a call to a different section of water. Before I even stepped one foot into the water, a beautiful and huge wild turkey hen lit on the old bridge railing and peered downstream. I love it when magic happens from the start.

After she flew off over the water and disappeared into the trees, I walked down to the place where the Oconoluftee and Bradley Fork merge. Heavy cloud cover made the air beautiful, like only the Smoky Mountain air feels and smells. Rocks thickly carpeted with green moss, a light mist and overhanging tree limbs made wading especially pleasant. The fly rod was a prop today–an excuse to wade in the water with the trout and crayfish. I had a few good strikes but today was really about being with the creek and her creatures and learning from them.

I waded upstream to the trail gate with just a few bank walks. There’s just something mystical about quietly walking in a mountain stream. Sure, I look for likely trout hangouts; however, mostly it’s about getting quiet.

At one point, far up the fork, I was walking and somehow caught my fly (which was secured to the rod…ummm, not) with my foot. It came off the line and I knelt down and spent over 15 minutes looking for the tiny nymph fly—not one designed to float but one to sink and look like insect larvae going with the flow of the creek. I looked at my boot but it wasn’t there. I kept feeling it was on me but didn’t see it and so gazed into the very shallow water for a long time. Suddenly, I saw movement and as I kept my focus on the tiny pool, a baby trout—not even an inch long—swam among the small pebbles. He or she didn’t seem to mind my fingers feeling for the fly. It was so sweet to connect with this infant who had yet to become pouty and moody like the wild trout I have met thus far.

Like the one who jumped and flipped a tail at me as I cast a bit further upstream. Really…make fun of me? Just because I stepped on a fly and lost it? I laughed as I moved upstream, glancing up to see people with umbrellas walking in the campground. I had no idea it was raining. I was too into the baby and the fly that got away and the smarty trout that was trying to show me where to cast.

A few hours passed and I was getting hungry and a bit tired. Walking in rushing water over slippery rocks isn’t the same as walking on dry anything. Plus, as soon as I put my waders on I had to pee…never fails. It seemed a good time to end my morning in the cathedral of Nature when I reached the gate at the end of the campground. But that one sweet spot called so I went a bit further into that one magical place where I caught the big trout a couple weeks ago. Thought I’d visit her again…yeah, well, she didn’t care a bit that I was there. But it was still nice to visit and recall how she scared me when she hit the nymph fly. 

I walked back through the campground smelling wood fires, coffee, bacon…that never gets old just as moving through the pristine waters of the national park. 

I got back to the car and started removing gear. I checked my boots to make sure the fly wasn’t embedded in them. Nope. Oh, well. But after taking off the waders I checked that left leg and shazam! There was the little fly. It caught me well and survived wading through rushing water and kneeling down to play with the baby trout and a bit of bushwacking. I laughed out loud and probably caused a few campers to gaze up from their rainy-day reading.

Every time I fly fish I understand more about why I’m doing it…today it was about connecting with a baby trout, listening to bird song, gazing at mountain laurel gracefully arching over the creek, feeling soft, green, mossy rocks and finding the wild turkey on the bridge.
Walking Satellites

Walking Satellites

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Many years ago, Rickie Lee Jones did a song called Satellites. “So you keep talking in many languages, telling us the way you feel, don’t stop confiding in the road you’re on, don’t quit, you’re walking satellites. Walking satellites, she laughs satellites, a room filled with satellites, ah, walking satellites….Friends must stay together, code the world with the fugitive light.”

As I was walking today, I tested my ability to beam to a satellite. My friends– also avid fly fishers, hikers and general nature-loving outdoor enthusiasts who are also middle aged–and I have been exploring the use of satellite messengers when outside of cellular range…which is most everywhere here in the Smoky Mountains…Nantahala Gorge and other playgrounds in which we romp. She goes out a lot by herself, just as I do. And he has been really supportive of both of us getting connected to the starry sky.

After I did a lot of research, read articles, looked at monthly fees, and watched videos comparing top models, I had decided to not do it. It’s a bit of an investment plus who needs another monthly fee? And who would I put as my emergency contact? I have no family here and live rather isolated so…I mean, there are far worse ways to go out besides being in a beautiful place and dropping this mortal coil.

But one day I was fly fishing and was wading up a creek. It was amazing and beautiful and then I came to a rapid and deep pool and there were just a few options–scoot across a very slanted rock that would result in a dunking in waders in water over my head (not ever safe) if I slipped, go around under rhododendron (anyone familiar with this option understands the local’s term: rhododendron hell. Of course I could turn around but I couldn’t go up the bank because it had gone from a few feet to a very steep embankment. As I stood there calling on all my ‘smarts,’ I decided I needed to re-think the satellite messenger idea. And oddly enough, my friend got her boot stuck in the same creek area and that’s what prompted her to move forward with it. I also had another friend remind me that I might help someone else who is injured and needs help in a remote area. (For those curious individuals, I opted for the rhododendron hell and did okay).

We both ended up purchasing the Garmin inReach Mini. Today I tried it on a hike by sending pre-set messages to my friends to see how the unit worked. I don’t plan on using it for regular communications but it’s good to know how it works given the deep tree cover, gorges and other challenges a user of SM might experience. And I wanted to know now…in a non-emergency situation…rather than when I really need it to work for me or someone else.

For those interested in how the device functioned, read on.

I chose three locations to use the Garmin. It is unrelated to cell service and uses exclusively the iridium satellite network which provides worldwide coverage. The first area was down in a sort of bowl or small gorge at Indian Creek Falls in the Deep Creek area of Great Smoky Mountains National Park. There was open sky at an angle from me but after five minutes it had not sent the message. I walked up above the bowl of the falls area under a very small opening in the tree canopy and it sent and was received.

This was the original position in the waterfall area where I tried to send the message. There was open sky but not directly above me.

The above map is from the app on my iPhone that works with the SM unit. I did a screen shot of each location to get coordinates of exactly where the message sent and also did photos of the places to show open sky and general topography.

Moving up, out of the bowl, only 78 feet higher in elevation, and finding a small area of opening directly overhead created a better result in sending the message.

In the three preset messages, you can create whatever text you wish to use and choose your contacts in advance by setting this up on your computer desktop and then syncing the device to the app. When you send these preset messages you don’t have to chose a contact because it is preset. The cool thing with the Garmin is these preset messages are free and don’t count against your monthly plan allotment.

I thought seeing the open area in the tree canopy would be sufficient. But the SM needs a perpendicular path to be most effective in sending the message.

The second place I chose was a much smaller open area in the tree canopy. I stood on a bridge that had an opening; again, at a 45 degree angle to the unit. It didn’t send after 8 minutes so I walked a very short few steps and stood on the rock beach and as soon as I got to a more perpendicular angle to the mini, the message sent.

By moving a few feet from the bridge to the little beach, the message sent.
This is the open canopy area. I turned my phone to point directly overhead to see how much space the SM needed to send a message. Not much really…it sent the fastest of the three messages. This is message #3 site.

The final area I chose to test the SM was on a ridge that had tree cover but an even smaller open canopy. It sent the fastest. I think this was due to the direct, perpendicular position of the unit with the canopy opening. That was rather easy to figure out from the first two attempts.

The map that is linked to the preset message can be zoomed in by the friends you send it to.

All three messages were received. The SM used 5% of its battery sending those with the biggest drain coming from the two attempts when it took longer to find the satellite connection. There’s no doubt that being out of a gorge is helpful as is having a direct, overhead area of open sky; but, it doesn’t have to be a large opening (this surprised me). Garmin is very specific about these two issues with sending satellite messages and I was surprised it worked as well as it did given the thick canopy of green that we are so lucky to have here in the Smoky Mountains.

This is what the text looks like that is sent. Recipients can click on the link to see a map that can be zoomed closer. Plus it gives the coordinates just in case further contact isn’t forthcoming. These can be used by rescue personnel. However, Garmin is very clear that SOS messages are not to be sent to contacts with the preset messages. The SOS dedicated button on the SM unit is dedicated for emergency/rescues.

Overall, I’m very pleased with the inReach Mini and will continue to educate myself on its use. Garmin provides great support and even offers online classes on how to use it for emergencies. There are also many videos on YouTube that are helpful. I hope I never have to use it for myself or anyone else; but, if emergency rescue is needed I am glad I have a little tool that might make the difference for someone.

Although contemplating this brought up issues of being alone or without family here, I realized I do have many people who love and support me right here who wouldn’t be okay with me leaving this Earth plane because I didn’t have a way to call for assistance when I am out roaming the back country. “Walking satellites…Friends must stay together, code the world with the fugitive light.” I am grateful for my friends…we really are walking satellites for each other.
The Jedi is a Rainbow

The Jedi is a Rainbow

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Saturday night there was a big insect hatch at the creek so Sunday the fish were stuffed and completely uninterested in eating. Sort of like eating the entire pizza myself and then not eating the next day…not that I’d ever do that. Today felt like a day they might be hungry so I worked on an online yoga class this morning and went out this afternoon to try my luck at wading in the creek and meeting the Jedi Master Trout in my favorite creek.

The water level looked a bit lower as I drove along the Oconoluftee River…was glad to see that as the creek I fish in feeds into the ‘Luftee so I was hoping the flow would be down a bit in my little bit of heaven. 

It was in the mid 60’s and overcast. As I gazed into the creek and then to my fly box, I listened to the prompt that would guide me about choosing a fly. If I was a trout today, what would I be eating? Sparkly, yummy nymphs. So…I chose a lightning bug nymph. 

Once my gear was set up, I put on the waders and boots, adjusted my hip pack and unfolded my wading staff…probably the most helpful gear I have. I strolled up stream along the road and then stepped down to the creek when the bank became less steep. 

Something about that first step into clear, flowing water…everything else melted away and I was completely present with the creek, rocks, trees, insects…and hopefully the fish. Fly fishing in the Great Smoky Mountain National Park reminds me of cave diving in that it’s a bit gear intensive but thankfully I’m not hauling around two steel scuba cylinders. And like cave diving, the focus must be 100%.  If your mind wanders you can fall and lose gear or hurt yourself. There is an unmistakable call to be completely in the moment. 

It didn’t take long to catch a brown trout. The little six or seven inch fish was beautiful but quite unruly. I dipped my hand into the water to steady it so I could remove the barbless hook and release the fish. The fish decided to flip out, literally, and in so doing untied my awesomely unimproved improved clinch knot. So maybe that sparkly tiny little lightning bug fly will find its way out of the trout’s lip. Otherwise she or he has a piercing with a small bit of bling.

I’m not quite comfortable changing flys in the creek yet so I waded out and knelt in a dry creek bed and once again looked into the magic box…what would I like to eat if I was a trout? Oh, a little copper john fly. I mean little. This time I made sure I got the improved part of the clinch knot and walked back to the water.

A few casts and I had another little trout and it was really little and danced and spit the fly out and flashed me a naughty little sign with its tail as it sped back into the cold water. I stood there happy as I could be. The water pushed against my legs, the green leaves of spring created a tunnel and the rocks gave patterns and flow to the cold creek. Totally present. Nothing else existed…just Nature and me and there wasn’t even separation between us. It was just beauty coexisting with all life.

Eventually the sound of rushing water called me upstream and so I carefully waded. One thing I am learning is that wading in this fast-moving water is an art, a carefully choregraphed dance with the elements.

There was a nice series of areas with flat, smooth water where I knew trout were hanging out. I felt it. In the distance I saw a large rock and deep pool and so I gradually worked my way toward that sweet spot. It had a little rapid above so the water was well-oxygenated, the big rocks and deep pool offered protection and it was freaking beautiful. What trout wouldn’t live there?

As I carefully approached, I checked for overhead trees and gazed into that clear, deep, cold water…You are coming to me. I spoke those words, prepared for a rolling cast…another one…one more a bit closer to the rock and BAM! I mean BAMBAMBAM! This was a big trout. My Jedi trout had arrived.

The fish fought and leaped out of the water and I was squealing with delight and wondering how the heck I would land this monster. I mean…compared to the seven inch one…this guy had major muscle and knew what to do. These are wild trout, not hatchery raised here. I kept hearing the guide I went fishing with a few weeks ago in my head….Keep your rod tip up…swing it around to you. I got him (or her) into the shallow area around my feet and he took off again but stayed in a little pool. I bent down and kept him in the water as I gently held him…he needed a bit more than a gentle grip, but I finally got him to calm down, took a quick photo of him in the water and threw my phone on the shore. Then I removed the hook from his upper lip and relaxed my grip a bit but kept him there for a moment to recover from the fight and hook removal. Then he was ready to swim off and did so with a relaxed little shuffle back to his lair, to the pool and cold, deep water.

I estimated him to be at least 12 inches in length and quite a beautiful rainbow trout. He initiated me into what it means to fly fish…to stalk, to be patient, to react quickly, to handle a fish with care and keep it in the water while removing the hook (did I mention it was barbless? All my hooks are barbless). It was like the teacher showed up and I was ready…a humble student with an open mind. I always begin the excursion with this little request…teach me today wise trout. Help me learn about this magnificent place.

After that I felt ready to go home. Nothing else could top that experience. I looked at my watch…over two hours had passed but I had no idea…such was the state of bliss in which I found myself. 

I secured my line and gear and headed for the trail up from the rocky shore. As I stepped up, a white-tailed deer stood within twenty feet of me—watching, wondering, eating. I slowly unzipped the chest pocket on my waders and removed my phone. I took a few photographs and waited for her to decide what she wanted to do. It felt like I was in a magical realm that was rich with possibility. I half expected a bear to waltz out or Yeti to invite me for cocktails. It was a bit surreal.

I knew from the beginning that fly fishing was more—much more—than the fish. I’m finding it one of the most enriching experiences of my life…and I’ve had some amazing experiences diving in caves, the ocean, with whales and dolphins and manatees. This is something I can do where I live and it takes me into the most amazing place of peace and satisfaction with life. I feel myself sinking deeper into the rhythm of Nature each time I go. Every time I wade that creek, our friendship deepens. 

Besides the amazing beauty, a mystery was revealed today—my Jedi Trout Master is a Rainbow. I will always remember that pouty mouth, the tiny copper-john fly shining on his upper lip and the moment he became calm in my hand and allowed me to carefully remove the hook and set him free. Wild, wonderful Rainbow Jedi…thank you, teacher.