What's in a name?

I'm not saying I'm the best, or even close, but it's nice to be regarded as a go-to in local fly fishing circles when someone wants to know the local conditions, how to catch a particular fish, what to use, what method to employ, or what's best to avoid. And it's reassuring, to say the least, when your peers roll their eyes when they hear your name, or that you've been catching when they have not. Yes, it's all nice. But there's more to what makes me me than, "Hey, Griz, where you been fishing?"

In their most elegant form, fly fisherman are all, no matter the hard-haggard years on the stream, a novice. Learning constantly what makes the day, what breaks the day, and no matter how much they think they know, they're only right about half of the time. The other half they lie about. And it's just that attitude that drives me bananas. We all know several fisherman that spend two months pay on gear, stand in one spot, and go home telling tall tales of wit and whimsy. In essence, they talk the talk. My papaw, whose old Abercrombie & Fitch cane rod caught more mountain trout than a Winston boron could dream of, said it takes all kinds. And it does. But this isn't a treatise on bad fisherman, or good. Let me get to the meat.

I do more than fish. I like movies, TV shows, ginseng hunting, falling asleep in a hunting blind, hiking in the snow, eating cold pizza, dining out at fancy restaurants (that's a challenge and a drive from the hills), reminiscing over old baseball cards, watching my friends kids play, being lazy, and being an auctioneer. Basically, all I'm saying boils down to this: I'm not a competitive fisherman, I don't trump anyone, and I sure don't care where your honey hole is, what you think you can do, how many pictures you take of your trophies, etc. I just want to fish in peace. No photos, no people, no sharing & caring. Just me, my rod, and a sack of beef jerky. What you do and enjoy, that's great! Keep it up. But don't bore me with continually asking me "how's the fishing?" Now, that doesn't mean that when I'm sitting around with you I won't talk fishing, I will. And I'll love it. I just don't want that to be the crux of our relationship, if we're friends.

By the way, fishing is a bit slow right now, but if I were to be on the water I'd use large nymphs or streamers in the morning. By midday I'd switch to large yellow/orange dries, or an Adams. Stay warm, as water temps have dipped to the mid 50s.


Keep it rural,
Griz

Jumpin' Jehosaphat

Not much to report, as the second verse is indeed same as the first. The water in East Tennessee is still skinny, but benefited slightly from some light rain that bumped up the CFS by a whopping 20 feet.  But, 54 is better than 34, and I'm pleased to see it tick upward.

Fishing isn't that bad, for all the low water talk. Big fellas are spookier than usual, but trout from 7-10 inches are feeding pretty regularly on dries and nymphs.

Fishing with Smoky Mountain Troutfitters owner and head guide Sean McKay was interesting. We decided to hike into a relatively unknown stream, all of our research (reading a thirty-year-old trail book, bravado provided by Guinness) suggested that this hike was "easy" on the scale from easy - to - strenuous. Mistake number one was believing anything written about the Smoky Mountains, number two was, as usual, extremely low water. The trail was easy for sure, if you're one of the few that can take the Alum Cave to Le Conte in three hours. For a fat guy, hauling up and down one mountain, only to see another peak ahead, was a bit shocking. Of course when we finally found our prize, it was perilously empty. We hiked out and landed at Tremont, fishing below the institute. Fishing was fine, but jello legs weren't. On the way out we noticed a bruiser, a stocked fish for sure, pushing the 25inch mark. We weren't even willing to climb down to chase... that's how tired we were.

Yesterday evening, I jumped Newfound Gap to visit with John Dollar and his son Aaron. We shared some stories into the night with some particularly vivid imagery thrown in like only Mr. Dollar can. Great folks, good times. John said they saw some fish but it was slow. It has been, but it will pick up and I can't wait to get over to WNC for a weekend at Wilson or the Davidson. Wish I could've stayed the night -- especially after nearly running into coyotes all over 441 on the way home at midnight.

Hope you like the links, I just figured that out and thought I'd abuse it. Stay wet, folks, and tight lines!

Griz