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.
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.
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.
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.
The force of the rushing water was pushing against my legs. I stood in the creek and allowed my body to feel the strength of the flow, the pressure somehow comforting instead of frightening. I’ve had a ‘thing’ with fast-moving water for many years. It’s a control thing…you know…I can’t stop the flow of water pushing me, pushing anything in its path. I don’t know when it started but it really amped up when I was learning to cave dive in the high-flow caves of north Florida.
I wish I could admit to liking that flow but really the only time I did was when the dive was turned and the flow carried me back, effortlessly back to calmer waters, a safety stop and then the surface.
My former spouse signed me up for a swiftwater rescue training he was assisting with several years ago. I learned a lot but still found the flow intimidating. The swims we did were just above a nasty little rapid and every time we crossed I feared being swept off my feet and going through that washing machine of foamy water. Helmet, dry suit and PFD were all secure but it still scared me. And then I hurt myself by leaping into the water and knocking the living life out of my femur…I thought I had broken my leg it hurt so bad but it benched me and who could argue with that?
Swift water…running water…rushing water…white water. White from the turbulence of air mixed with water as it slams into rocks. You cannot fight it. You just can’t. I guess it’s like life. You can’t fight the flow of life.
So learning to fly fish here in the Smoky Mountains is giving me opportunity to really embrace the flow and stand in it and with it and even sit in it.
Waders make wading in these cold streams comfortable but they also create a lot of drag and resistance. A wading staff makes it so much easier. Having something to lean on that supports me as I step over and around slippery rocks is vital. Every time I pick up my foot in knee-deep water the current tries to take it. But I’ve gotten used to the sensation.
Yesterday found me at ease in the flow…comfortable and making friends with the water that was rushing past. Last week that same creek took my wading staff but also returned it after I spent two hours fishing and learning to trust the creek, trust myself. After fishing I walked downstream and it was waiting for me, pushed up against the shore.
I’ve called these trout my Jedi masters as they teach me about their wisdom, the water, the insects but mostly about myself.
As that flow pushed against me yesterday I stood in open acceptance of it. I found stillness within and went into a meditative state of Oneness with the water, trees, trout, rocks, chilly air. Everything else faded as I walked deeper into the creek, the forest and my own depths.
Learning what we have control of and what we don’t have control of is part of the process of healing as a human being. Learning to accept the things I cannot change, change the things I can and the wisdom to know the difference….the Serenity Prayer. I cannot change the flow of the river but I can learn how to navigate it and little-by-little befriend that precious, life-giving flow.
While fly fishing yesterday I had one hard strike that made me squeal but not one other nibble…so of course I’ll return again and again to learn from those Jedi Trout. I’m so grateful they called me to the water. I’m making progress fly fishing and in navigating our beautiful creeks and rivers…today while using my housing I actually sat down in the flow and held my housing in a little rapid. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so peaceful. The flowing water showed me just how beautiful it really is…when I stop trying to fight it.
Just a shout out to Miss Mayfly Waders…they are amazing and come in sizes to fit different women’s body types. I am so happy to have them in my adventure kit.
