Thursday morning while pumping a painfully slow tank of gas, I was reminded of Robert Hayden's poem "Those Winter Sundays." And though today there would be no austere and lonely office, there would be the blueblack cold. With that cold, however, there came a promise of blue skies and unseasonably warm afternoon weather. Oh, and some fishing, too.
I love crossing the the Tennessee/North Carolina mountains during sunrise. When you crest the border, you can see for miles... and in those miles is a nothingness that brings a healthy amount of comfort to we few anglers who strive to maintain a thriving trout population, but also our mountain heritage.
After the obligatory cup of coffee, John and Austin met me at the Coffee House in Morganton, and off to Wilson Creek we went. Now, I'm not a naysayer, but there are certain conditions that limit the possibilities for chubby trout. One, anchor ice, and two, frigid water. I sighed a little to myself, but put on my positive hat, geared up, and away we went. Within minutes my feet were numb, a new sensation for one that used to wet wade in October waters in the Smokies. To say the least it was cold, and blood pressure pills don't help that.
Austin, John and I fished relatively close. Giving one another wide enough berth to fish comfortably. Before I knew it, John had collected two fish in a sweet run, Austin had one on his new pattern Wonder Woman, and I pulled in one as well. With the exception of a beautiful Brookie, that would be the extent of Fish On. But not the last of the fun.
I had one of the best fishing trips I've had in many years. It was full of laughs, trading flies, lying, making fun, and tag teaming some hogs that would have nothing to do with anything we had. John and Austin are fine anglers, but there also great guys to have a homebrew with. I know I'll make that trip again, hopefully soon... and hopefully my felt won't freeze to the ground!
Keep it rural,