It took a while. In fact, it took several years. But this week, I finally let go of cave diving.
I hadn’t been cave diving in a while, after enjoying it for nearly 100 cave dives. But diving in an overhead environment requires honed skills, not occasional dips into underwater caves. Unless you do it often, it’s really not safe. So, I finally listed a set of double steel tanks on a social media scuba page and sold them within an hour or so which led to selling my regulators, deco regulator and my reels. They went quickly after so many years of pondering the question: Should I let go?
Today, after dropping off the set of tanks to a buyer in Hickory, I drove on to Winston-Salem to see my friends Van and Patti. Van was my Intro, Apprentice, and Full Cave instructor as well as a dear friend through the years…but I hadn’t seen either of them in a while. He had contacted me about someone giving him fly rods that he was bringing to me to donate to Wading Women, a fly fishing program I’m planning for women that want to be empowered through wading and fly fishing. It’s rather odd that my friend, my instructor, was there in person after I released my last piece of cave diving gear, waiting with fly fishing gear for the program.
And on the way home, I stopped in Asheville to visit my friends Laleah and Bill. Bill had already gifted me with some really nice fly fishing gear he was no longer using. Today, he passed along salt water fly fishing gear, as I’m starting to plan some trips to salt flats, back bays, and other coastal places. The gear is amazing. And I am so grateful.
Today felt like such a powerful day of letting go and opening to whatever is coming next. And it must involve fly fishing. I was gifted with 9 older model fiberglass fly rods and reels that are epically retro as well as 7 very nice salt water rods and more reels that I can sort in my travel-fatigued brain tonight. So I’m in a place of ‘what just happened?’ I’m almost in shock that the act of letting go of something I loved so much opens the door to new adventures in teaching fly fishing and deepening my experience by playing in salt water with fly rods.
Here’s the other thing….every single time my mind starts coming up with doubts or negative self-talk about the idea of Wading Women, I get signs that I’m on the right path. Today, it feels as if Wading Women reached out and grabbed my shirt collar and said, “Hey, do you still doubt that this is the right direction? Do you? Are you paying attention?”
Yes!! I’m paying attention. I won’t fear letting go and letting doors close. New doors are opening and they are opening in a BIG way!
Van was there at the beginning of my cave diving journey and today, he was there at the end of it. But, he came confirming the next step. How cool is that? It’s probably been 15 years since I’ve seen Van and Patti, but it was so sweet to connect with them again. And to visit with Bill and Laleah on my way home to my mountain paradise.
What an amazing day of friends, closing doors, opening doors, and the way forward being shown to me so very clearly. I am deeply grateful.
Sometimes it takes letting go to clear the way for something new and wonderful to be birthed.
All week the forecast grew more and more ominous for Friday. Rain, over an inch, was called for when we made the decision to go for it. It was a guided trip I scheduled months ago to celebrate my birthday. That much rain is no joke in a mountain stream, but sometimes forecasts aren’t right. And sometimes the desire to wade is so strong, it’s difficult to think of anything else to properly celebrate one’s birthday.
When I awakened early on my birthday morning, it was pouring rain. I had packed all my gear the night before as well as a set of dry clothes. Even with wading pants and a decent rain jacket, the chances of getting wet were pretty high. By the time I finished breakfast and fed the dogs and cats, it was time to load the car and ask the dogs to assume their porch beds.
The drive through the national park was very rainy until I crested the gap. After leaving North Carolina and entering Tennessee, the rain lightened. By the time I reached Little River Outfitters, where I was meeting David Knapp of Troutzone Anglers, it was only sprinkling.
We used the large front porch at LRO to put on our waders and wading boots as the parking lot where we were headed would be muddy and more rain was forecast. Better to stay dry as long as possible in 55 degree weather.
The creek we were headed for is in my favorite place on the planet. Sadly, I rarely go there any more because traffic, on the 11 mile one-way loop road, is so insane and slow it’s just not worth the stress. But the rain helped us and kept the tourists to a minimum early in the day. Only one truck stopped in the middle of the road and parked to watch some unknown something. Finally, a tooted horn persuaded them to get out of the way and let the line of traffic behind him progress (sigh).
We made it to the parking lot just as it began to rain heavier. A few flashes of lightning delayed our hiking for about 20 minutes but we sat in the car and talked about guiding and casting instruction and my way forward as a women’s guide.
The sky lightened so we exited the car and got our gear. It was still sprinkling but sometimes the best fly fishing is with overcast skies and a bit of rain.
The creek bottom was difficult to wade. It’s a series of rock shelves, all very slick….snot slick… with small patches of sandy gravel in between with some areas of small, snot-slick rocks. Added to that equation was water discoloration from rain runoff. With a gray sky and no sunlight, the milky glare added to the challenge of seeing the bottom. It was definitely a see-with-your-feet sort of day.
The rainbow trout were incredibly open to dancing with me as David pointed out areas to cast to the creek. He said because it’s a spring creek the nutrient level is high for fish so there is plenty of food for them to thrive.
It was so satisfying to be in my favorite place in Nature on my birthday, in a new-to-me creek, catching and releasing beautiful fish with a guide who is as respectful and appreciative of Nature as I am. I was soaking in the beauty, lost for a moment in gratitude, when a huge mayfly flew past. Huge as in massive.
David captured this image of a Green Drake
It’s not unusual for mayflies to hatch in the spring. But for this species to do it on this particular creek on my birthday was quite a treat. David’s an accomplished guide with many years experience and he’d never seen the green drake show on this creek that began to unfold all around us.
I captured this image of a Green Drake drying those brand new wings on a mossy rock…safer than the water’s surface.
I became so distracted by the hatching and flying mayflies, I lost fish and didn’t care. We exclaimed in awe about this natural wonder many times and when five of these huge insects were fluttering around us at once it was like green drake heaven.
I don’t know if people who aren’t fly fishers get excited about beautiful insects. We’re not only fish nerds, we’re insect nerds…and happy about it. These flying creatures spend up to two years of their lives under water as nymphs. Then they hatch, when conditions are perfect, and emerge from the water. If they are lucky to escape trout, birds, and bats, they mate, lay eggs and die in a few days.
David took this image of a Green Drake nymph casing on my finger…they were floating past us.
The Eastern Green Drake (Ephemera guttulata) nymphs are large and live in the sandy mud of still or flowing waters. They have moveable gills on the abdomen. They spend up to two years in this stage of life. When they began emerging, gases and air collect under their exoskeleton and they are pulled to the water’s surface. When they start molting their exoskeleton splits along the back and they work to pull themselves out. Their wings can finally spread as they float on the water’s surface, allowing their wings to dry and the veins on their wings to fill with fluid. They have no mouth in this stage of life, so they don’t eat.
Another shot by David of the casing
The green drake will molt once more and emerge smaller, more slender with transparent wings and it is during this stage that they mate. After mating during flight, the females lay eggs on the water’s surface and die. Males fly off to the shore where they also die.
Nice shot by David of a newly hatched Green Drake. It looks like it’s lifting up gratitude for surviving a float in trout-infested waters
When I think of this one, small part of Nature and how so much goes on in the lives of these beautiful insects that are food for trout, birds, and bats, I’m rather awe-struck. To witness this event is very meaningful and hopeful as we live in a time where humans have greatly upset the balance of Nature with use of chemicals and toxins that interfere with insects natural reproduction…and without insects, that basic foundation of food for so many lives, humans wouldn’t survive. I’m thinking of bees and other pollinators especially.
I asked David to take a photo of me in my happy place.
Standing in the waters along the creek bank, witnessing the green drakes hatch felt like a glimpse into how Nature should be…healthy, thriving and the interconnectedness of it all working together to create rich, abundant life for all species.
David photographing a Green Drake on a leaf…notice his smile.
I often experience awe and wonder when I’m fly fishing. If I go for a few days without wading and finding the sweetness of life in a mountain stream, I feel off balance. But today, the morning after a day spent with the green drakes and rainbows and everything that creek ecosystem offered, I feel full, sated. My body feels as if it drank sweet nectar and is still in that dreamy place of feeling delight after a most-magnificent meal—perhaps like a trout stuffed with juicy green drakes. I wish I could spend every day exploring and observing the secrets of Nature as they are revealed through colorful fish, rushing water, and species like green drakes.
Green Drake Heaven
I finish this writing at 6.30am, April 8th…the morning after this epic day. As I walked into the kitchen to prepare a cup of cappuccino, I glanced at the clock on the stove. A wave of sadness moved through me as I realized that 24 hours ago I was loading my car to head across the rainy, foggy gap to begin the adventure that I already treasure. But mostly, I feel deep gratitude to live in an amazing place, to have a guide friend that is as appreciative of these places as I am and is mentoring me to become a fly fishing guide, and that I am alive to witness such beauty.
A note about choosing a fly fishing guide: I have such deep reverence for all life and respect every creature I am lucky enough to interact with. Yesterday, I realized that one reason my love of fly fishing has grown so much is I have a guide and mentor that deeply respects Nature and treats trout with care while handling them by keeping them wet, releasing them carefully and not even touching them if it’s not necessary. Had I had the misfortune of connecting with guides that do the grip-and-grin cowboy fly fishing, I probably would have given up long ago. I am so grateful to have a mentor that models respect and reverence.
It became more just wading up the small creek rather than constantly seeking another small pool to cast into. Occasionally, I’d unhook the nymph and let it and the dry fly move through the air, but really I was just enjoying the profound beauty of the mist, the light rain, rushing water, and moss-covered rocks.
The air was 57 degrees and the water was 50 degrees. As I waded up the creek, the typical fog–that so often thrills me in the Smokies–started to form over the water. The softness of air enveloped me with light moisture as it kissed my face and hands. Everything else was under waterproof cover.
I saw only one trout and it was a brookie that danced with me until I freed it to carry on in the watery realms. But today, it was simply a bonus to connect with a fish for a few moments. Otherwise I was absorbing the beauty into my cells, feeling the peace of mind that comes from being in the present moment.
It always amazes me what two hours wading a mountain stream does for me, to me. Hours later, I’m still feeling the creek water move through my body, the mist caress and envelope me as it did the rocks and trees. And I’m already excited about returning, to the creek…to myself.
The pressure of flowing water pushed against my legs as recent rains moved from higher elevations down through the creek to larger rivers. I stood in the 46 degree water, in waders, watching the fly slowly recirculate in the eddy, enjoying the embrace of the creek.
It had been a month since my last fly fishing outing and I was in serious withdrawal. Winter fishing in the Smokies doesn’t produce nearly the opportunities to dance with trout as other seasons; but, just to be in their element, in their temple, brings me into alignment.
With faster-flowing currents, cold water, and cold air, the usual focus is sharpened even more. Extra care of foot placement, balance, and choosing a way through small rapids must be taken to avoid an unpleasant baptism in the cathedral’s chilly font.
Of course, I love the water and rocks, trees and mountains….and trout. The physicality and challenge of staying upright on super-slick rocks in fast-moving flow is fun and satisfies the adventurer in me. But perhaps the greatest benefit is the absolute focus called for while winter wading.
It was such a relief to find myself once again immersed in the ‘zone.’ In this flow state I am totally connected to the present moment yet relaxed and at one with movement of fly rod, line, body, and water. There’s no need to think when I drop into this place. Everything becomes a dance of casting, stripping line, watching the fly drift, and repeating.
It’s nice to be able to merge meditation, movement, and Nature into something that occasionally brings shiny new friends into my life for a few moments, until they swim on their way.
I’ve been searching for a way to describe what I feel when wading small, pristine, remote creeks while fly fishing. As a writer, it’s been especially frustrating not to be able to find words that adequately express my experiences.
Last weekend, I came to understand that the English language would, if I were to attempt explanation, put boundaries or limits around my experience and the Mystery would be lost. I surrendered the idea of labeling my profound experiences of renewal and peace. I accepted that they would simply remain unexpressed through language and in a feeling state within me.
Just after giving up and accepting that there were not adequate words to fully convey what I was feeling, I was reminded of the Cherokee word Tohi. A beautiful smile erupted from within as I sat and listened to Dr. Tom Belt, a Cherokee elder, describe the meaning of the word.
Tohi is the Cherokee word for wellness, the ideal state of being. It’s a word full of meaning…peace, harmony, balance. Lisa Lefler, in her book Under the Rattlesnake: Cherokee Health and Resiliency, wrote: “Tohi is a fully confident sense of a smooth life, peaceful existence, unhurried pace, easy flow of time. The natural state of the world is to be neutral, balanced, with a similarly gently flowing pattern…All aspects—physical, mental emotional, and spiritual—figure into the Cherokee concept of good health.”
So, there is a word—one word—that fully describes my experience in the sacred creeks of this place. It’s in a language that is based on verbs instead of nouns to communicate. It doesn’t label life but rather describes the connections and expresses an active way of being in the world.
Tohi—one word tells the story about what is taking place within me as I wade, fly fish, and open myself to the beauty around me. It doesn’t take away the Mystery to use this word, rather it deepens the Mystery and draws me ever-closer to It.
