"Grinnin' like a mule eatin' saw briars."

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

Busted flat in Cherokee, lookin' at the rain ... Or, goodbye, Tooby Tuesday

Apologies to Mr. Kristofferson and the Stones.

Early to bed, early to rise. Or not. Late to bed and groggy on the road, but as long as I make it Bryson City by 7AM, I should be fine.

And I did, but what was the beginnings of a fruitful day of fishing turned into a busted trip (who hasn't had one) and a few dollars less than I had when I cussed the tourist traffic. Seriously folks, you can drive faster than 15mph, even on curves.

Made it to Deep Creek only to find I didn't bring my camera, which is usually preamble to fine fishing reports -- if that was only always the case. Regardless, I was pleased to see only two cars in the lot and no fisherman in sight. I've always wanted to fish for the wary browns in the lower sections of Deep Creek, so I began. At 7:30AM, on a Tuesday. I missed the first strike of the day -- a slow roll of disinterest -- and while I was busy chiding myself, I caught something orange out of the corner of my eye. And I'll be damned. Tubers. This early. 7:30AM on a Tuesday. After a short 3 mile hike, well above where tubers are allowed, guess what I saw? That's right. More tubers. Dismayed and watching the skies slowly fade to gray, I decided the hell with it, let's go to Ravens Fork, the Cherokee Tribal waters now a trophy section. But I'd need some flies appropriate for these monster stockers, and a tribal license.

Smoky Mountain Fly Fishing, located for years in the heart of downtown Cherokee, is closed. What? The sign politely told me I could proceed another 18 miles into Sylva for Hunter's new fly shop. No thanks. Now I'm not even angry, I'm laughing. The first sign of insanity. And just when I decided I'd just drive there, the skies opened up. Well... there's always the casino.

40 bucks, a new friend, and a complimentary drink later, I left for home. It was actually a pretty fun day. I wouldn't say I'd do it again, but at least I wasn't at work.

Anyway, moral to the story? No, this isn't your zen station salad. Just fish when you can, play when you should, and don't complain about the rain. Fish love it. And so do casinos.

Oh, and what's with all the Chinese comments on my blog? I can't read that stuff, you communists. So stop it.

Keep it rural,
Griz

4 comments:

heyBJK said...

This made me laugh, Jim! Been in similar situations with the tubers, and the closed shops, and the weather.

Shoreman said...

Hello from Northern California Trout. Got your link from Mike over on Troutrageous and thought I'd stop in. Like your writing and will be back as you post.

Mark

Coloradocasters said...

"Fish when you can"...yes indeed! Great post, man. Just came across your blog and really enjoying the material.

James C. said...

Thanks, y'all! Look forward to reading all your writings.. and I really appreciate the kind words. If we can't fish together, we can always laugh at each other!

Cheers