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

Second Verse, Same as the First ... ?

How many of us in the South are still whining about the weather? Hands up. I count... all of us. Well, all of us anglers, anyway. I see you pool puppies and lake wakers are still somewhat happy.

The CFS are up slightly due to some unexpected (and who knows where from) rain in the mountains yesterday, but the temps are soaring. Hovering around 75 degrees in the lower els, the water is perilously close to fish kill temps.

North Carolina streams that boast large fish rely on more stocking that Tennessee waters. Not that I'd harp, I wish Tennessee's management was similar. But stocked fish turn to floaters more quickly than their heartier native cousins. And that's what we've been hearing a lot about -- floaters in the Davidson and other surrounding streams. It's only a matter of time until the natives go belly-up as well, thanks to what's going to be the hottest Summer on record for the past... who knows how long.

I haven't been fishing much. I don't like to stress fish, or myself for that matter, in this hot weather. But if you do go...

7x even 8x would be preferable. Be stealthy, wear muted colors, and fish the fast water with the longest casts as possible. Fly selection won't matter much, stressed fish aren't as picky. But if I were you, I'd stay home and let them recover. I mean, I have to recover too. Man, we need a week of rain and 10 degree drops.

Have a great one!