Simone Lipscomb Archives - Page 14 of 104 -

Builder of Dreams

By Simone Lipscomb | August 2, 2022

Bull elk…wapiti from last autumn at the Cherokee Mothertown

In the gray light, before sunrise yesterday, I drove past the Cherokee Mothertown. On the sacred mound were two bull elks, sleeping…dreaming their wild elk dreams. Even though I didn’t stop and walk there, the image of those magnificent beings stayed with me all day.

They remained with me as I walked along the nearby creek and as I worked on tasks and had a meeting online. The misty gray dream-like beings held me in their reality all day.

This photo is pretty ugh….but it was nearly dark, across the creek, with an iPhone.

This morning, as I walked along the creek in the dim light, I saw a large critter in the middle of the creek. It appeared to be a furry bulldozer. At first I thought it was an otter, but it was too big. Upon closer examination, a beautiful beaver emerged from the whitewater.

I’m like a kid when animals show up in my life, but even my excitement didn’t scare the steadfast beaver as it swam and waded and pushed its way upstream. It never wavered from the journey.

Another low-light, iPhone image that makes me cringe (quality)

How amazing to be so focused and sure of yourself to push on, no matter what.

Given the two mornings of amazing encounters, I decided to look up the spiritual meaning in my Ted Andrews book. My mouth fell open as I read both the beaver and elk passages.

Bull elk image I took last autumn during rut.

The elk remind me that I’m about to hit my stride and that at the beginning of a new project, to expect a period of growth of four to five years but I’ll have the strength for this new project. Then beaver, builder of dreams, reminds me to act on my dreams and make them a reality…it’s time for action.

Image by David Knapp, of Troutzone Anglers of Simone.

There’s no doubt…I needed to hear this. I’ve been playing with a new dream, one I want to build on for the next….yes, you got it… four or five years. I just spent a month off from my job…a forced layoff so the state university I work for doesn’t have to pay me benefits. I like the work and plan on staying there for the next five years. But it’s not a career or a vocation.

I’m pretty big into doing what you love and living your dreams. I’ve done that for many years. But now, as I’m in the pre-retirement years, I’m enjoying giving back to the Cherokee tribe through the grants I help administer. I have zero complaints about the work…but it’s not the end-all gift I wish to leave the world sort of work.

So, in this forced layoff, I spent time thinking about what I’d like to do when I’m ready to ‘retire.’ Of course I’ll work, but what do I want to do?

One of my favorite places to cast and wade

I reflected on the past year and three months…I’ve never grown so much and developed such trust in myself. Why? Fly fishing. Exploring. Wading. Going into the back country of the national park and connecting deeply with water, rocks, otters, trout, trees…it has changed my life. I’d love to share that with people…specifically with women who want to grow.

Another place that has filled me with wonder.

As Lynette Monterio Musten wrote, “Never in my life had I thought I was capable of this; of being alone, of feeling safe, with myself, of being quiet.” This reflects my experience perfectly and I want to offer this to other women who want to learn how to do this.

I connected with a couple of guide schools and found what they are offering isn’t what I’m wanting to do. I don’t want to be a guide for grip-and-grin tourists. I want to work with women who want to develop their enjoyment of life through interacting with Nature. Guide schools I’ve explored are linear in their approach and that’s what most people are wanting, but I am creating a holistic approach to fly fishing.

My profile photo on FaceBook for the past couple of months….elk are a definite power animal for me.

In my dream, I integrate yoga, wading, fishing, casting, education (about insects, trout and the environment) and self-care skills. Rather than mold my dreams to other people’s trainings, I am creating a program of training that will support my dream. There are guides that are willing to help me learn and develop as a fly fisher, with my specific intentions, so I’ll be working with them. I’m already a yoga instructor, have worked with people in Nature as a naturalist, ropes course facilitator, scuba instructor, and trip leader. It’s a matter of developing my fly fishing skills, working more with guides, and continuing to do what I love…fly fish in the back country.

Photo by David Knapp, Troutzone Anglers, of Simone…David is helping Simone design her way forward as a guide

These two wildlife encounters feel really supportive of my dream. The elk remind me to be in sacred space and feel the strength of the Ancestors as they walk with me and strengthen my dreams. The beaver reminds me to believe in my dreams and work on them, build them to make them a reality.

Nature has always been my best teacher and early mornings, like these past two, remind me why I get up early and go walk the trails before most people are stirring. The magic of dawn and of Elk and Beaver Medicine give me focus and strength to support my dreams by taking the steps necessary to make them a reality.

The guidance I keep receiving, when I journey inwards, is Step-by-Step is how this is accomplished. Gratitude fills me as I thank the Ancestors, the Elk and Beaver for bringing me this teaching. And now, I feel a bit of excitement as I take the beginning steps…of building my dream.

Home Waters

By Simone Lipscomb | July 26, 2022

In the gray light of dawn, mist was rising from the surface of the Oconaluftee River. I looked ahead and saw two white-tail does and a tiny fawn splashing in the water. They spied me and stopped. Even though I froze, they were no longer comfortable in their play and went on guard, as any smart deer would do.

They reminded me of another area I walk. There is a doe I often find frolicking in the water on a bend in the creek where she plays. I always look for her, a water sister.

This morning, after observing the fawn and does playing, I walked on. Within a few minutes I saw an elk cow and calf in the river. Light was shimmering on the water’s surface, leaves were backlit and framing the scene in glowing green hues. All of these gentle creatures, going to water to find relaxation, peace, nurturing.

I struggle for words to express how being in water heals me. I find deep kinship with the deer and elk as they stand in the flow and attend to the present moment—breathing, sensing, being. Like the Cervids, I wander into water—I collect water to filter for drinking, but sometimes I just stand and breathe and feel the cool water rushing against my skin. Like them, I am home in these waters.

I was born on a small bay in coastal Alabama and grew up there with a childhood full of brackish-water adventures. As an adult, I found scuba diving and cave diving immensely pleasurable. But fly fishing has brought me to my home waters.

Traditionally, home waters is a term used to describe an area of sea around one’s own country. In fly fishing, we talk of home waters as being the waters near where we live and fish. After spending many days wading in all weather and seasons, I have come to understand that home waters are the waters I carry within my body. And those waters are never separate from the rivers and creeks around me.

Another Way Around

By Simone Lipscomb | July 18, 2022

The large stack of logs looks the same as it did the last two times I stood here but that pool above it is calling me. Their position in the river, with large rocks, rushing water, and overhanging branches, makes it appear impossible to navigate. But the water is just 25 yards above this mess….and I really want to cast the fly I tied yesterday into that pool. But….can I do it?

I walk to the upstream side and the moss-covered rocks offer a steep approach. Nope. I walk back downstream and look again. Maybe I can wade around the logs, downstream, and navigate the swift water near the far bank. I stand here….comtemplating, studying….and then the thought comes: Get down on the level of the water and see what it looks like. Maybe the different perspective will help me decide.

From water-level, it looks so different, so doable.

Carefully, I make my way down the slippery bank, again grateful for my wading staff. Once I am downstream from the log jam and see the water on the far side, I realize that it’s definitely doable.

The first cascading pool comes quickly and I cast a fly. BAM! Dance and release. I wade a bit further upstream and cast into a delicious pool from the lower pool. BAM and it tossed the fly. Then immediately another hit and connection as the rainbow dances over the ledge and into the pool where I’m standing. Carefully, the fly is removed and off she swims, with a beautiful, feisty attitude.

I wade on, stopping before the bottom of each beautiful pool. The dancing is fine. One especially clever rainbow dives under a limb caught under a rock. It’s a deep little pool but I can’t leave a fish on a fly and line, tangled under the limb. I ease into the butt-deep pool and reach under clear water and pull the limb up. The fish removed the fly and left the fly hooked on the limb. I laugh out loud and blow on the fly to dry it before I step up the rocky ledge to move upstream.

Beautiful pools as far as I can see offer more opportunities to dance but I’m in a good place to stop and bushwhack through woods to the trail. I walk up the trail another mile but mostly just to enjoy the morning, the green and reflect on the wisdom offered by Nature.

What if I hadn’t taken the time to really look at the apparent blocked way? What if I had given up without trying? How sad to contemplate missing all that beauty, interaction with trout, and the rocks and water that made me work hard to achieve the goal of visiting these amazing pools where cold water nurtures my master teachers as they swim with wild abandon.

When faced with obstacles in our lives, do we give up and turn around or do we take the time to explore and wonder? The choice is ours to search and find another way around.

Wading in Wonder

By Simone Lipscomb | July 15, 2022

This little creek was waiting for me…for months.

Heavy fog envelopes my home and everything near the Tuckaseegee River. But that river isn’t the one calling me in the gray, pre-dawn light. A small prong in the national park has been calling me for months now. Two days ago it was roaring with heavy rain that fell in a flash flood event so I couldn’t visit it. Today, I think it will be sweet.

I feed the critters and myself in record time and load the gear. Fog clears as I put the Tuckaseegee behind me and steer towards the national park. It’s too early for tourists so the small town I drive through is quiet The energy of the park feels still, with elk grazing serenely in the mountain meadow.

On I drive, passing beautiful pull-outs along the river. And finally, I arrive at a small parking area where I’ll begin my wade up. I check the water temperature…sixty degrees. Air is 58 degrees. I think I’m in heaven even though the first step into the rushing, clear water sends shocks up my body. But wet wading connects me more completely with water. No separation.

I check the Gaia app and get my bearings as to where the little prong is located along the trail. And finally, I head up to meet this little body of water.

I bushwhack a bit, asking permission from the creepy crawlers and creatures of the place to allow me passage. As I step out of the dense foliage on to the moss-covered, rocky bank, I am immediately transported into a place of bliss within myself, in harmony with all life. I am embraced with welcoming beauty that brings spontaneous laughter from my depths. Soul laughter

In a creek this small, fly fishing is challenging; so is navigating rocks and rushing water and steep, rhododendron-covered banks. A first visit always brings a sharper edge of adventure and wonder. Part of the appeal is working the puzzle of wading upstream—navigating rocks, eddies, small rapids.

There’s a nice, quiet spot of water….I do a vertical cast and BAM! A rainbow dances with me for a few moments until I gently release it back into the rushing water. Such a mighty sister!

Up and up I wade, marveling with the mystery of this place; grateful it is protected protection.

Wading a small creek and working hard physically to navigate its structure brings me closer to it. It becomes a visceral opening–me to it, it to me. There is no conquering, only unity of movement. Respect.

Sparkling rainbow graces me again as I cast into another calm hole. Sweet teacher, spirit friend…thank you for helping me learn more about your home, my home. My soul-skin, now consciously expands to include all of this magnificence.

After a couple hours, I’ve greeted a couple more rainbows and am in a good place to hike back down the trail. As I wander back to the car, I feel the soft, green moss on gray boulders moving through me. Likewise, clear, clean water moves through me even as I sit here, hours later, reflecting on this life I am so grateful to inhabit.

Great Spirit, light of creation that unites us all, thank you for life that expresses in such amazing beauty—flowing water, flashing fins, flowering shrubs, singing heart. Tears flow with love for all creation, as the creek flows onward from the heart of the mountain, to the river, to the sea.

Big Adventure, Small Creek

By Simone Lipscomb | July 13, 2022

Mists of the morning filtered light rays as we entered the creek. The sight and sound of clear, rushing water was the focus of our attention, but every tree, moss covered rock or flower added to the beauty. But perhaps even more beautiful than all of that, was the colorful glistening shimmer of pink, silver and dark green of rainbow trout or the bright orange-red fins and dots of native brook trout.

When leaving the pullout parking area on this busy mountain road, it’s like walking into another dimension. Heavy foliage hides the road, the sound of rushing water filters out traffic noise. It’s like walking through a doorway into another world…of Nature, of magic.

Higher elevations call when the July fry begins in the mountains. This summer seems hotter than usual here in the Smoky Mountains. Melting hot. Stay-in-air-conditioning hot. Icky hot.

In fly fishing catch-and-release for trout, warmer water is not good. Trout are a cold water species and they thrive in water temperature is between 55 and 65. If a fisher catches and releases a trout in water much above 65 degrees, their recovery time increases and their chance of survival decreases. This also depends on how long they are on line and how quickly a fisher is able to release the fish. Quick landing, quick release, cool water are important pieces of catch-and-release practice for trout.

I had been looking forward to a guided trip with David Knapp, owner of Trout Zone Anglers, for many months. I chose July because I’m off the entire month from my usual job and thought I’d be doing lots of fly fishing this month. The heat and thunder storms have made that challenging, but on our day of fishing, we had higher elevation temperatures and no lightning. And trout. And beauty. And rocks. And clear water.

David scouting for trout. Photo by Simone Lipscomb

I thought I had fished a small creek before but I found out that small is relative. And what I had thought wasn’t fishable without great difficulty, while looking at the water along Highway 441 through the Great Smoky Mountains National Park, I discovered was indeed fishable and fun and beautiful.

Like many places in the Smokies, entry and egress points are scattered along the roadway. In between those points are dense rhododendron thickets, nearly impossible to push through, along steep banks, nearly impossible to climb. So going with a guide who knows the area or scouting and marking places on a GPS app is important to safety and peace of mind. In fishing a completely different type of water, it’s important to go with someone who knows the area and can guide through it, not only for safety but for instruction on learning to fish this very different environment.

When one thinks of fly fishing, those big loops might come to mind…the graceful back cast and forward cast where the dry fly lands like a kiss on the water’s surface. Forget all that in a creek that might be 15 feet wide with heavy vegetation on both sides and overhead. New skills are needed. Thankfully, David is a wonderful teacher so I learned two new casts and techniques that broadened my skill set. From reading the water, to a modified bow-and-arrow cast, I came away with new tools, but more importantly I came away with memories of cascading water, flowers, trout and wading cool water in one of the most beautiful places on the planet.

On a small, mountain stream at high elevation, the mundane fades away and the mystical realm of mists, rocks, rushing water take over the senses. Trout become the teachers and jesters, the humbling masters. We’re lucky just to have a few hours to be in their presence.

____

Featured image of Simone by David Knapp. Check out Trout Zone Anglers for more information on booking David and the guides that work with him. The level of learning and fun is a perfect balance.