The Chattooga River, January 2008

I’m not sure which compelled me to pack up the truck and head to the Chattooga River, the Gierach book I'm reading or the fact that rain drenched-out my chore of burning the final wood pile in my parents back yard. Probably both. Gierach's chapter on bad-weather fishing and my desire to avoid another day of sore muscles (from hauling wood around) made the choice easy. The only problem with the Gierach side of this equation: I’m not fishing the Frying Pan. In fact, just spotting a trout would have made my day.

To be sure, my day was made. I caught one.

I parked aside the iron bridge crossing the Chattooga and made my way down the south side of the waterfall. The Chattooga is a perfect example of Carolina mountain trout rivers. Lined with rhododendron bushes and mountain laurels, the half sand, half rock floored river is continually interrupted by smoothed or misshaped boulders. The consequent pocket water is trailed by car-length pools. Trout find themselves hiding in peculiar places, spooked by the slightest movements seen through crystal clear water.

In the first pool created by the waterfall, I saw a flash for my wooly bugger. Between that flash and the only trout I caught later, my fly boxes were the only things I retrieved. I went back and forth between streamers and nymphs, hoping to coax one, heck any, trout out of their holding spot. Since no fish willingly showed its face below the bridge, I moved above the waterfall for my final hour-and-a-half on the river.

The brown I caught took me by surprise. He (and yes, it was a Jack) appeared out of the back of a pool and hit my black bugger tentatively. The cold winter water dampened his fight, and I landed him quickly. That was it. No fireworks for my first trout of the year. I was left with the invading fog’s beauty and the smell of burning tobacco in my pipe. Still, one trout was enough for me. I didn't have to excuse my wet clothes and moments of chills with a "It was great just to be on the river."

But, it was great just to be on the river. The rain has continued since I left the Chattooga. I suppose I'll be able to push off the wood burning another day, but will the streams be blown out by the runoff? I can always fall back of reading more Gierach. I hope not. He's a good writer. It's just that publishers haven't created virtual reality books yet.