Buddhists say that expectation leads to disappointment. Or was it Yoda who said that? Anyway, I tend to agree. For weeks I have been reading the river reports. They reported excellent fishing. But, I’m no rookie when it comes to fishing the Smokies in the Spring. There are so many variables to consider from water temperature to flow rates. And then there is the Detroit hatch to contend with. That’s when automobiles arrive in droves at the first hint of good weather. Good holes along the road…..forget about em’. The nice lady at the fly shop told me I should try out the “Baptizing Hole”. I’ve fished there before. It’s a quarter mile upstream from a picnic area so I should have seen it coming. Sure enough when I got there some chubby teenagers were baptizing rocks in the deep pool. Time for plan B. Plan B consisted of taking a short hike. You’d be surprised how many people never venture more than 100 yards from their vehicle when they visit a National Park. The secret to seclusion is to put on your hiking boots. You might wonder why this wasn’t plan A? Well, the lower sections were warmer and that’s where the good hatches were taking place…..but good hatches or not most trout dont like rocks pitched in their living room. So, upstream I went and found a decent hole with typical Smoky Mountain characteristics…..no room for a back cast, fast pocket water, and the slickest rocks east of the Mississippi. I tucked myself into a shadow among the boulders along the shore. There were no hatches, but there were lots of black stoneflies crawling among the rocks around me. I remembered someone telling me that if you see stoneflies crawling on shore you’ve missed the hatch. It was a good time to test that theory. But first I wanted to try some dries. I started with a Quill Gordon (per fishing report)…which brought up two small ones but I missed them both…then nothing. Time to rest the pool. After a short time I tied on a smaller Blue Quill….had two fish follow, refuse and return to their hiding spot. Rest the pool. Tied on a Thunderhead with a small black stone dropper. Had several more follows. Missed one or two strikes on the dropper….too much line out. Looked at my watch…three hours had passed. Kayleen was going to pick me up at the trailhead in ten minutes…damn! When I got back to the cabin my friend asked me if I got skunked? I said “no”. He then asked how many I caught? I said, “none, but my day was better than what “skunked” implied. I loved every minute of my time on the river.” Buddha would say that now it’s time to enjoy a cold beer. Tomorrow I will enjoy hike though the woods. In a week I will enjoy fishing out of my kayak. In a month I’ll enjoy casting deer hair poppers to Smallies. God willing of course.
The Heron 