The upper Nantahala River - Standing Indian Campground

 It was time.  Time to get back on the river.  Time to get away from books and computer, bills and finances.  Time to put on the wading boots and feel the crisp water rushing past my pale shins.

I packed up the man-van and decided to head up to the Nantahala River.  I hadn't yet decided where, but I first wanted to check out a section by Rainbow Springs that years ago was open to the public.

I drove out of Franklin on 64 towards Hayesville, headed up the mountain pass, and made a right turn on Rainbow Springs Rd./FR 437.  From the looks of my decade-old NC atlas, the public section was to start somewhere around the confluence of Bryson Branch and get juicy at the confluence of Buck Creek.  I noticed that since I bought the atlas, someone had bought up all the property on either side of the river and posted no trespassing signs.  My only chance would be that one of the landowners would allow me to wade on his property.  No dice.  Sometimes I wish there were an Occupy Trout Rivers movement.  It might fizzle like its real-life counterpart, but at least it would give me a viable way of responding to selfish rich people. [I'll take this post down when I become a selfish rich person.]

So, I turned the man-van around and made my way up-river on FR 67 to the Standing Indian Campground.  It lies near the Appalachian Trail, so there is a mix of RV and hiker folks wandering around the cultivated paths and paved roads.  It also offers a great inroad to the river.  As the upper Nantahala passes through the campground, it encounters the modernization of man: a bridge and manicured bank, camp sites running along the river, etc.  But, once I parked my van in the day-parking lot (a $2 fee), walked down and over the river, and headed downstream a few hundred yards, the river become somewhat secluded.  Certainly the well-worn path allows easy access to the river, but I only ran across one other gentleman fishing that day.

The river was as pristine and pretty as you'll find in the App Mountains.  The fish (mostly rainbows) appear to range 8-10 inches, but I'd be interested to see what inhabits the pools near spawning season.  The wading was slick, but it was such a relaxing time, I couldn't complain.  I'll definitely be back...

The Nantahala River, January 2008

There is a difference between being politically active and being a political junkie. If I stayed inside for one more minute watching the 2008 primary coverage, I'd have bordered on junkie... maybe even fanatic. Not good. Not good at all. So, I packed up the gear and drove down the mountain.

After hitting the thrift stores in Franklin, I made my way up to the Nantahala for an afternoon of fishing. It was cold. I mean rod-eyelids-iced-over, frozen-stiff-net, numb-feet cold. And with that cold, I thought I wouldn’t see much action of the river.

Initially, I didn’t. That prompted me to do the unthinkable. I set up a nymph rigging. I can’t remember the last time I seriously nymph fished a river—too much hassle, too many knots. I prided myself on the simple life: dries and streamers. But, I did it… and, the change of underwater scenery gave me the needed "bounce" (if cable news shows can use "bounce" for the primaries, I can apply it to fly-fishing). Well, the switch to nymphing wasn’t initially effective, but after I hooked a tree limb, lost my original dropper setup, and switched to an olive beadhead, the trout got hungry.

The first fish I caught was a small rainbow. The pessimist that I am, I thought that was it. That babe-of-a-fish was only the beginning. Five ‘bows and a brown later, I made my way out of the river before darkness fully set in.

The last hole I fished provided the most action. Three landed, and one missed. Yet, it was the last fish, as light disappeared, that made the day. The rainbow measured, well, measured big, and its girth was unexpected for the size of the river and the time of year.

So ended day two of my last four days of NC fishing.

A week in North Carolina

I spent a week in North Carolina. Although I wet my fly line three times, all I came away with were pictures.

Here is a picture of an old, closed fly shop next to the Tuck on route 107.

Here's my brother on the Tuck:

Here's the Nantahala River:

Here are the cuts received from some swimming lessons I took on the Nantahala: