[Lone Wulff]

It’s a small stream. Although it does have some large plunge pools, it only averages 10 to 12 feet wide. One could easily wade it all day without going more than knee deep. I rigged up with a typical dry/dropper combo to start. I caught a couple of decent fish early on, but overall, conditions were tough. It was the dog days of summer with bright, sunny skies. Numerous short, conflicting currents made it difficult to get a drag free drift. Often times the current would grab my line almost immediately and submerge the dry. This, in turn, spooked the run as the flies unnaturally sped against the current. In addition, the sun’s glare contrasted against the dark shadows created by overhanging trees made it hard to consistently spot my fly as it floated through the turbulence. Moving closer and high sticking only put me in plain site of my quarry and caused them to scatter. Even when I was able to get a good drift I had a hard time keeping the dry fly afloat. It seemed to be drowning more than usual. The thought crossed my mind on several occasions (briefly of course) to pack it in and head home or to try another destination. I switched out the dry several times trying to find the right combination of size, buoyancy and visibility to meet the conditions. I was able to land several in the 8 to 10 inch range, but I had to work for every fish I caught.






I also caught a higher number of dinks (less than four inches) than usual. Over the past two years I caught very few fish that were less than six inches, but today was different. I don’t know if it was because they were the only ones fooled by my terrible drifts (a bad thing), or the result of the first successful post drought spawn in which a new generation was showing its presence (a good thing).

I did catch one small fish that does not qualify for dink status. Regardless of its size, it is always a pleasure to catch.



Slam!

By mid afternoon, the hottest part of the day, most of the action was coming on top. In fact, I had only one LDR on the dropper during the past couple of hours. By this time I was tired of fighting the drift and drowned dries so I removed the dropper altogether. By late afternoon I had caught approximately 15 fish. As I neared the location where I intended to turn around I hooked into a decent trout. While fighting it I thought to myself “This is the fish of the day – the one I don’t want to get away.” It turned out to be a hefty brown about 13 inches long. It was one of the nicer wild trout I had caught in North Carolina. Under the conditions it was going to be one of the more memorable ones too. I was glad I persisted and didn’t call it quits when I was tempted to.




The next pool was rather featureless and after a few quick casts I moved to the final fishable run before turning around. It is a rather majestic looking spot. There is a large, moderately sloped rock wall about 60 feet long. The stream narrows and tumbles eight to ten feet over the upstream end. At the bottom of the plunge it immediately curves and snakes along the base of the rock formation. The stream narrows to about three feet wide in this area. It’s approximately 6 or 7 feet deep and black. It looks like a mote surrounding a fortress.

I waded into the mote as far as I could go. The current was relatively uniform and it was easy to get a drag free drift. The light was absolutely perfect to witness what was about to transpire. On the third cast my fly drifted on the inside of a bend at the base of the fortress. From the outside of the bend an olive and crimson submarine rose from the depths. I yelled “Oh Yeah!” when I saw it. For two reasons: One; because I never imagined even seeing a wild fish this size here. And two; It was clearly telegraphing its intent. It was still two or three feet away, but it was committed. Confidently but casually it finned its way towards my fly. It was in no hurry. There was no competition. It had eaten it all. And now it was about to eat my #12 Yellow Humpy.

The fish was angled down stream when it inhaled my fly. I paused slightly for the head turn and then I set the hook. The fish’s demeanor changed immediately. It splashed the surface then dove for the depths. It headed back to its lair – a burrowed out area beneath a section of the outside wall that jutted into the current. At first I thought it had wedged itself beneath the wall and the battle was short lived. However, steady sideways pressure got it moving again. I was relieved – for now. The mote was narrow, so every time I pulled it from the downstream end of the overhang it would make a short run upstream, turn, and head back underneath from the upstream side. This happened several times. When beneath the structure I could feel the dreaded “tink” “tink” “tink” as my tippet rubbed against the rock surface during the headshake. Continued pressure shortened the length of each run and its ability to retreat beneath the cutout. Slowly but surely I was winning the battle.

I don’t carry a net when fishing blue lines. Today I wish I had one. I was surrounded by steeply sloped rock walls. There was no shallow water or low banks where I could lead my quarry. My best chance was a spot about 10 feet down stream. One section of rock extended about three feet above the water. It had a slanted crease halfway up that was filled with moss. Not really a shelf, but it would have to do. It was a long shot and I didn’t have any better options. I elegantly stumbled downstream to prepare for my attempt to land the fish.

So far, I had been able to keep the line taught through the whole battle. The fish was still feisty. When landing it I reeled in as much line as I dared and tilted the rod back. As the fish came towards me, somehow with one hand I scooped it up and landed it in the crease. During this maneuver, the fly pulled out of the fish’s mouth. Whew! That was close. I was able to subdue it, took some pictures, and then quickly measured it against my forearm. It extended from the back of my elbow to about an inch beyond my wedding ring. It was my personal blue line best for sure. I would measure that distance when I got home. After placing it back in the water and a quick revival it was gone. I was ecstatic, but spent.

The Blue Line ‘Bow






As I was preparing to head home I took one last look at the mote and the rock fortress and started wondering what was beyond. What treasures were they protecting? I now had to know so I scaled the wall. I fished the first couple of pools beyond. I think I missed a couple of strikes, maybe more. I’m not really sure. My head was still in a self induced fog. I was numb. I was just too focused on reliving the recent past and not paying attention to the present. I looked around the next bend and it was a sight to behold - six or eight gradually ascending plunge pools heading up the valley. After experiencing the events over the last half hour I thought maybe I had died and gone to heaven. Now I was thinking that maybe I hadn’t, but I was looking at the stairway leading there. I hate turning my back on plunge pools, but I had to do it. Anything else would be anticlimactic at this point. I’ll come back up here when the weather cools a little bit and see what those pools will give up. Stay tuned.

I contemplated the day’s events on the long walk back to the truck – the difficult conditions that culminated with two nice fish that didn’t get away. I was quite pleased. I just hope I wasn’t skipping on the way out. When I arrived home I measured the indicated distance on my arm. It was a hair shy of 17 inches. I measured it again the next morning. And several more times throughout the day as I tried to legitimize seventeen inches. Finally my wife said to me, “It’s not going to get any bigger.” I responded with “I know. But it’s so close. And it wasn’t lying flat either. It may be seventeen inches. So can I round up and call it 20?”

She took my tape measure away.

[overbrook]

very nice! great pictures too

[gmreeves]

Sounds like a wonderful day that will be with you for a long time. Each time you are having a tough fishing day, you can look back and find the strength to keep on going. You never know what lies in the next pool.

[fishhunterphil]

That was one of the most epic fishing reports I have ever read, what way to tell the story of your day, and the pictures were extraordinary. What an awesome 'bow! Congrats

[OldDominionAngler]

That's a great fish.

[Riparian]

Lots of bigger fish seem to be turning up in the wild waters this year. Im glad you got one of them, that is a fine fish. I wonder if there is something different about this year with the recent rains after the drought or if the "old farts" on here already know this is possible and have seen it before in years past. I wonder this because I learned to fly fish in the midst of the 8 year drought we suffered through and this is really my first season fly fishing in normal flow conditions.

[ColdOnTheShoulder]

Awesome report. That's an incredible wild fish.

Originally Posted by Riparian

Lots of bigger fish seem to be turning up in the wild waters this year. Im glad you got one of them, that is a fine fish. I wonder if there is something different about this year with the recent rains after the drought or if the "old farts" on here already know this is possible and have seen it before in years past.

I've noticed more size to the brookies up here as well. This spring/ early summer (when we had better water levels) I caught more sizeable brookies than I had in the past total.

[Hatchet Knot]

Great Fish and Great Reporting. Makes me happy, proud, and jealous all at the same time.

[rockroller]

Speechless.

[headgear]

GREAT post.
GREAT story telling.
GREAT photos.
GREAT fish!
GREAT fishing.
GREAT memories.

Thanks for sharing your experience.