The Trout Zone: 2025

Friday, October 31, 2025

Fleeting Fall Colors

Every year, I look forward with anticipation to the fall colors. Every year, the colors do not last long enough. That is probably part of the allure. Such fleeting enjoyment adds to the mystique and leaves me grasping at the slightest hints of autumn. In some years, I find the first beautifully colored leaf in June, sometimes in July, very rarely as late as August. Of course, those aren't true fall colors, but leaves that happened to dry up and die prematurely for this reason or that. Still, they help build the anticipation and excitement for the main event to come.

This year, we headed up to a favorite hike where we hit the colors just right once upon a time. Ever since, we've tried to replicate that one magical day and apparently, it is harder to do than it seemed the first time. It was a great hike, don't get me wrong, but the colors were past peak on the brightest candidates (maples, etc) and barely even started on others (oaks, etc).

A few days ago, we hit a new to us trail that we've been meaning to hike for a while. It was short enough for the whole family and had the possibility of some nice colors. Turns out that we really enjoyed the hike and will be back, and the colors were good but not great. That seems to be the theme this year.

Some of it comes down to lighting. If you see the colors in the right light, they can really pop. Often that means a rainy day. We drove through Fall Creek Falls recently, and found some really nice color. Maybe not the best I've ever seen in Tennessee, but very nice.

Of course, my job gives me a better opportunity than most to enjoy the colors. Just yesterday, I was taking in the colors on the Clinch while my client battled gorgeous wild rainbow trout. Being a Smokies fly fishing guide is one of my favorite things imaginable, largely because, well, I get to spend a lot of time in the Great Smoky Mountains. Every October, I book an inordinate number of trips up there. While my work as a fly fishing guide has really morphed into more of a float guide, I still do a decent number of wade trips. I go where the trips book and, while more or less booked as much as I want, still can't get too picky on where those trips book. I feel fortunate to spend the highest percentage of any month in the Smokies during color season. Some years are better than others, but every year provides its own magical moments.

Upper Little River fly fishing in the Great Smoky Mountains

West Prong Little Pigeon River fly fishing in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Now, as we morph into the winter months, I'm looking forward to a lot more hiking than I get accomplished in the warmer months and a little more personal fishing as well. Still, if I could stretch the fall season out a little longer, I'd do it in a heartbeat, especially if I could preserve those gorgeous fall colors a little longer.

Black Mountain Cumberland Trail fall colors

Tuesday, October 28, 2025

Into The Wild Beyond: Day One

Fishing accessible water is always great for a quick fix, but more and more I find myself striving for new to me water. That usually involves some hiking, at least locally. I've exhausted the vast majority of accessible roadside water in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. As a Great Smoky Mountains fly fishing guide, that kind of water is my bread and butter, and some days I enjoy fishing it for myself. However, there is also something to be said for seeing more remote water, preferably that I haven't fished before. That's why my fly fishing adventures are revolving around backpacking more than ever these days.

Life has been busy, however. I actually hadn't been backpacking since my epic golden trout adventure in the Wind River range. If you missed all of those, here is a link to each article.

Planning A New Trip

Since that epic trip, my adventures have been great including a phenomenal trip to the White River in Arkansas, but my backpacking took a back seat to more important family concerns. This year, with both little ones and Mama doing well, I decided it was time to get back into the wild beyond of the Great Smoky Mountains again. I've had a couple of camping trips, but while they are a blast, car camping just isn't the same as backpacking.

It took me some time, but I finally ~~conned~~ convinced my buddy Elam, the fly fishing manager at Backberry Farm, to join me on the grueling trek deep into the backcountry. Most of my other friends looked at the elevation profile of my chosen trail and the distance from trailhead to the campsite, and decided no way. Elam hadn't been backpacking before, a point that shocked not only me but all of my friends who know him as well. This probably contributed to him agreeing to the hike. Regardless, the plans were made and campsite booked. Soon, the day of departure arrived and we were driving to the trailhead to begin our adventure.

The Hike In

My backpack felt heavier than I remembered on my Wyoming trip, probably because I had to carry wading gear instead of just fishing from the banks on high country lakes. Maybe it was because I'm getting soft in my old age. I had started some intentional exercise back up, and this made a tremendous difference for me on the hike. Still, there is no way to prepare yourself physically to lug 40 pounds up the side of a mountain other than just doing it.

The hike over the mountains was brutal. Per the usual, I did better than I expected and also worse than I expected. The steep uphill grade was tough, but a profusion of wildflowers made the trek more manageable. In addition to the normal water breaks, we also stopped from time to time to enjoy the wildflowers. Late season asters, gentians, goldenrod, lobelia, and other goodies made the time move slightly faster than what felt like a glacial pace anytime I focused on the heavy pack on my back.

Late season pollinator enjoying the blue lobelia

After several miles, we finally hit the crest and started down the other side. The plants and wildflowers changed dramatically as the far side of the ridge didn't have the same light angle and levels. There were still plenty of interesting things, but it wasn't until we got down close to camp that we started finding good numbers of wildflowers again.

Target Stream Acquired

One of the big moments on any backpacking trip is the first clue that you're getting close to your home for the next few days. On this trip, that first hint was the sound of our target stream cascading through the bottom of the gorge below the trail. The first whisper of sound actually came to us shortly after cresting the ridge. That sound got more and more obvious as we approached the campsite.

Upon arriving at the campsite, located close to the stream, we started setting up camp. The forecast indicated that rain was possible just about any time during our trip, and while overall chances weren't crazy high, we didn't want to set up in a downpour. That task accomplished, we both started eying the stream. I had snacked on my lunch on the hike in, so I was ready to wet a line before thinking about supper.

With multiple good fishing options close to camp, the first evening was dedicated to the obvious water closest to camp. That is how I often go about my backpacking trips, and this was not going to be an exception. We had apparently set up camp just in the nick of time. A light shower started up at the same time we began casting our dry/dropper rigs. Before long, we were enjoying our first trout and char of the trip.

Interestingly, the char took the front seat and this from a section of stream that had historically contained a lot of rainbow trout. More on that in a future post covering a day later in the trip, but needless to say we were both excited to see such good numbers of brook trout early in the trip.

We continued working upstream, catching fish in more places than not. The light shower and evening light even produced some magic over the water. I looked downstream over my shoulder and immediately had to turn around and just enjoy the show that nature was putting on.

Not much further, we had to climb around a boulder and ran into some local wildlife in the course of doing so. I was hoping that this wasn't a harbinger of things to come.

Big Brook Trout

Two highlights occurred that first evening and both involved larger brook trout. The first was one of my first fish. I had cast a dry/dropper rig with a green weenie up into a faster riffle with a small pocket. When the dry fly dropped, I didn't expect much of a fish, but immediately realized it was a pretty nice trout. You can imagine my surprise when I got its head up and saw a colored up brook trout instead of the chunky rainbow trout I expected. My buddy Elam ran over with the net, and I was soon enjoying my first 9"+ brookie of the trip. After a couple of pictures, I watched it slide back into the current to be caught another day.

A ways further up the stream, I climbed over a huge boulder, and then up onto another one. I could see a giant pot on the other side if I just barely peaked over the top. I dropped my flies in and a big ol' brook trout smoked the dry fly. This was another exciting fight, except I knew a lot sooner that I was dealing with a brookie. I think Elam could tell I was excited because he had the net there very fast.

After those two fish, I started really slowing down and trying to let Elam enjoy the best spots. My evening and even trip was already made, and I was starting to think about getting back to camp to dry off and eat supper. Even with that, we both caught a few more before calling it a day. We hadn't been seriously counting numbers, but for such a short session, we had caught a lot of fish.

Evening In Camp

After heading back to camp, we got ready for supper. Light was fading fast by the time we wrapped up eating and headed for our tents. I was happy to crawl in and enjoy my warm sleeping bag. After a long hot summer, night time at relatively high elevation in the Smokies was fairly cool. My poor aching muscles were also glad for the rest. I needed to get my energy up for a long two days of fishing ahead before I had to think about carrying that heavy pack back over the mountains. The next day would see me back on my favorite brook trout stream...

Tuesday, September 30, 2025

Remote Floats

Fishing new water is always exciting. Whether wading or floating, seeing a piece of water for the first time is a treat that shouldn't be taken lightly. After all, given enough time, an angler can exhaust most of their local options for seeing new water. It takes a while, but eventually you realize that you've seen most of the places there are to fish in your neck of the woods.

For me, there are some rivers that I've seen almost every fishable inch, and others that I can honestly say I've fished, but definitely wouldn't say I've got them dialed in yet. That only comes with repetition, more for some people than others, but still requires a decent number of fishing trips. I'm fortunate that I'm blessed with a memory for water. Take me to a stream one time, and I've got a pretty good idea about fishing it in the future.

On new to me water, the lack of any pre knowledge makes for an exciting day. The constant discovery process is invigorating. Recently, I got to do just that on two separate occasions. The more recent was a backpacking trip in the Smokies that I'll get to in another post. The other occasion was what seems ages ago, but was really not even a month and a half ago. My good friend and fellow fly fishing guide and smallmouth guru Chris Bean was up for an adventure and had the perfect boat for scouting remote smallmouth water. I had some insight on a put-in and take-out option, and a plan was hatched.

We met at the take-out, then drove up to the sketchy boat launch well upriver. The more I hang out with these smallmouth guys, the more I realize that the term "boat launch" is a pretty loose concept. Regardless, we got the raft in the water, and started working our way down the river.

Early mornings on a smallmouth stream in Tennessee

Things were slower than either of us liked, but we were catching some fish. For this trip, catching fish was really just the icing on the cake. More than anything, it was about a remote float on a new to each of us piece of water. We did both have opportunities and also both caught some nice fish. We both lost fish that would likely have been a new personal best, but things slowed down by mid morning. It all made sense when Chris took a water temp and we discovered it was in the mid 80s. Those summer heat waves are hard on anglers and fish and this day was no exception.

A fine Tennessee smallmouth bass for guide David Knapp

We should have seen it coming. The heat had been building all day. In fact, when we finally had to jump out of the boat after bumping through countless riffles without getting hung up, it was almost a relief. The water, although hot, was better than the air temperature at that point. Of course, heat leads to instability, and instability leads to thundershowers.

By the time we were clearing the last significant riffle and jumped back in the boat, the sky was turning darker. I don't mind fishing in the rain. I do it more than I really like thanks to my job as a fly fishing guide. Oddly enough I've morphed into a fair weather angler, all the more strange because I still love a good rainy day, but the one place I always draw the line is with lightning.

I was keeping a close eye on the storm via a radar app on my phone. It was clearly bearing down on us and doubtful if we were going to stay dry. It hadn't been thundering too much until it got close. Then things got interesting in a hurry. When lightning started hitting the ridge just above us, it was time to pull over. I jumped out on a huge flat rock ledge and we told stories for a while. A glance up river suggested the heaviest rain hadn't even started yet.

Eventually, the storm eased on past and the lightning moved on to our south. The thunder got softer and softer until we felt quite safe getting back out on the water. Hopeful that the cooldown would send the fish into a feeding frenzy, we started fishing hard the last bit of our day.

Chris rolled a big bass or two on a streamer, but I was starting to wind down. I've noticed that I don't fish as hard as I used to most of the time. Knowing when to quit is almost as important as going in the first place. Happy to row while Chris fished, I guided the boat slowly downstream as the rain receded into the distance. The late day feeding frenzy didn't seem likely and we both were needing to get home at a reasonable hour.

The rest of our trip was anticlimactic, running the shuttle, pulling the boat out, essential tasks like that. We were both already plotting a return, however. New water won't become old hat without at least a few visits. Both of us left wanting to return and dial things in a little better. We agreed that a little more flow would be nice, however.

Sunday, August 31, 2025

Summer Adventures Way Up High in the Smoky Mountains

Summer is my least favorite season. This is primarily due to the heat and humidity that seems a little worse every year. Maybe I'm just getting older and less tolerant of a variety of weather conditions, but either way, summer isn't my favorite. There are a few redeeming features of the season, however.

First, the long days are fantastic. More light usually equals more energy, at least for me. Need to leave home by 5:00 am for a long day of fishing or guiding? No problem. When I get home later, say 6 pm or after, there is still plenty of light to enjoy a family walk through our neighborhood after eating supper. In the middle of winter, with sunset at 4:30 pm, that just isn't an option. Oh, and the fishing adventures in summer are always a joy. Smallmouth wade trips on the Cumberland Plateau, brook trout excursions in the Great Smoky Mountains, and of course tailwater float trips for large trout.

Yes, summer isn't all bad. However, by sometime in July, I'm usually trying to figure out how to escape the heat and humidity even if for a little while. I can do one or the other, but the combination of both is just miserable. Some years, that escape comes in the form of a trip out west. In other years, my only escape is to the high elevations of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park.

This year, by mid July, I noticed that a particular week of August still had no trips booked. Normally, I would sit tight with the knowledge that eventually some work will come through. That is part of the guide business after all. This summer had been unusually hot, however, and I was ready for a break. After a quick consultation with my wife, we made camping reservations for a favorite campground way up high in the Smokies. Even in the hottest summer months, it is always nice and cool. The humidity would probably be fairly high, but that is the nature of spending time in the temperate rainforest otherwise known as the Great Smoky Mountains.

As our scheduled trip got closer and closer, the weather pattern trended wetter and wetter. It became apparent that at minimum we would see a lot of rain. Such is life in the Smokies in summer where you can expect pop up showers and storms nearly every day at the higher elevations. Thankfully, we had an awning for our picnic table and a large roomy tent that I've had seemingly forever now and is still mostly waterproof.

We arrived at the campground during a lull in the rain chances and got everything set up quickly. After eating supper, some rain showers started to move in and we quickly made tracks for the inside of the tent. The little ones were super excited to get inside the tent and play. Thus, it took longer than usual to calm down for bedtime. Eventually, we all fell asleep to occasional rain showers whispering on the top of the tent.

The next morning started out wet. We had to dry the benches and table top before preparing breakfast. Eventually we got everything dry enough to fix breakfast. By some miracle, the weather cleared a little while we ate, meaning the clouds lifted enough to see more than a few feet. The fog up high in the Smokies is some of the thickest that I've ever seen, but on this morning it lifted enough that we had a window to enjoy what the mountain offered. A nearby trail beckoned with the chance to get a short hike and some fishing in. We hit the trail and all started down the hill. I was carrying a fly rod, hoping for some native brook trout.

Quickly, we began to find interesting wildflowers. I took more pictures than I should share here, at least some of which were firsts for me or at least the first time I bothered to identify them. One of the more interesting is commonly referred to as fly poison (Amianthium muscitoxicum). It is poisonous and affects livestock that consume it to varying degrees including death if large amounts are ingested. Early pioneers would grind the bulb into a powder, mix it with sugar, and set out the potion to kill flies, hence the common name.

Fly Poison wildflower in the Great Smoky Mountains

There were plenty of other interesting wildflowers, but I had my sight set on brook trout fishing. After a few quick pictures on the way by, I kept trekking down the hill to the stream. Running through a very high elevation valley, this particular stream contains pure southern strain brook trout. When you first see the little trickle, you have doubts as to weather it will contain fish, but sure enough, there are plenty of them swimming these cold waters.

I helped one of the little ones fish and we caught a brook trout. That gave us the opportunity to practice how to hold a trout carefully and respectfully. A few pictures were taken and then we sent the beautiful fish back to its watery home. That routine became the plan for the next thirty minutes or so. Wander and explore further downstream, catching the occasional fish and teaching the little one how to gently handle and release our catch.

High elevation native brook trout in the Great Smoky Mountains

As we hiked, other interesting things stood out to us. The usual wildflowers kept me looking around, of course, but we also found neat reflections in a forest pool on the trail. The ongoing wet spell had water everything, both flowing and standing. In another spot, the muddy trail had captured the track of a good sized bear that must have wandered through that morning. Anything earlier and the rain would have washed the track away. One section of trail had some beautiful fall colors where an early turning maple had showered the ground with color.

Autumn colors in Great Smoky Mountains National Park

About this time, we realized that lunch time was sneaking up on us. The little ones in particular would need to eat soon, so we reluctantly turned around. I wanted to sample a longer piece of water than I could with them in tow, so I told Mama that I would meet them at the first crossing upstream and started creek walking fast. Several fish later, including one particularly nice one, and I was more and more amazed at how many fish this stream held. Eventually, however, the stream appeared to be running out of a solid wall of rhododendron. Instead of plowing on through, I figured that I better catch up with everyone and jumped back up on the trail.

When I found them, the kids were getting soaked in the stream having the best time of their lives. Water was splashing and flying everywhere. After a quick cleanup and partial drying, we got everyone moving up the trail again. Upon arriving back at the trailhead, Mama and the littles decided to walk the road back while I took the truck back to the campsite. Wild blackberries were abundant and they wanted a pre lunch snack. I quickly got back, parked, and headed back down the road to find them. They were just about to the campground entrance when I found them. While looking for some blackberries for myself, I found another interesting wildflower and got some pictures.

Appalachian bellflower in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

About that time, we decided to head back to camp to eat our real lunch. The wild blackberry snacks were delicious, but not particularly filling. We still had the whole afternoon ahead of us but it was threatening rain again. After lunch, the decision was made to head down the mountain. The Oconaluftee area of the Park was a good place to possibly avoid some of the showers in the higher elevations. I was contemplating some more fishing as well, although that part of the plan soon took a back seat. There were more interesting things to see for the Little Ones.

Oconaluftee River in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Upon arrival at Oconaluftee, we decided to enjoy the old farm behind the visitors center. That proved to be a big hit with the Littles, and we took some pictures to remember the afternoon by. I particularly enjoyed a squirrel that was going crazy feasting in a tree overhanging the walkway and eventually got a good picture of the critter perched upside down, chowing away.

Gray squirrel at Oconaluftee Visitor Center

Time began to get away from us, and we realized it was time to head back up the mountain. With luck, we might get some supper before the heaviest showers commenced again. On the way back, we briefly spotted a black bear that didn't hang around long enough for pictures. I did stop and get some quick shots of some orange fringed orchids that always bloom in that vicinity.

Back in camp, we got most of our evening routines done while staying reasonably dry, but it was obvious that the rain was setting in for a while. Sleeping in a tent during a good rain is one of my favorite parts of camping, providing of course that the tent doesn't leak. On this evening, we fell asleep to the gentle pitter patter of rain on the tent.

The rain fell on again and off again throughout the night and into the next morning. Finally it broke, and we got up and had breakfast. The Little Ones didn't particularly want to spend a lot of time in their car seats, but I had an idea that might just work. The fog was so thick on the mountain that everything was damp just because of the high humidity. Another drive down the mountain seemed in order. This time, we headed the other direction, towards Cataloochee Valley.

This proved to be another excellent choice. We were on the lee side of the mountains compared to the prevailing flow at the time, so Cataloochee was dry with partly cloudy skies. We saw more sun in Cataloochee than we did the entire rest of the time during our camping trip. A picnic lunch got us all energized for the afternoon. On our drive up the valley, one of the large bull elk posed for a few pictures.

Once we parked, I headed for the stream while Mama and the Little Ones grabbed a blanket and went to play and stretch their legs. I was excited to see Cataloochee Creek, one of my favorites in the Smokies. This was my first time in the Valley after Hurricane Helene, and I was very curious how the creek would look. To all appearances, it was healthy and the fish were all happy. The biggest difference was that some pools had filled in while others had deepened. I fished a favorite piece of water for probably 45 minutes. There were fish just about everywhere I expected to find them. True to recent history, I caught at least as many brook trout as anything else. I also managed one brown trout that also happened to be both my first fish landed and the least cooperative for pictures. By the time I caught back up with the family, I had my first Smokies slam of the year, all on a fun toy. The Redington Butterstick is a favorite for when I just want to have a good time. The fiberglass rod is soft but oh so much fun to fish.

After catching back up with the family, we headed on up the valley. There, we found significant road damage from Helene, but thankfully all the historic structures were still standing. The barn across the road from the Caldwell place was in fairly rough shape but still standing. I have since heard that the Park received a private donation/grant to restore some of these structures, so hopefully we'll be able to enjoy these structures for many years to come.

The wildflowers in the upper valley were particularly vibrant. Goldenrod and ironweed were drawing pollinators of all kinds. I took a few pictures that of course couldn't do the scene justice, but captured a few of the pollinators as well which was neat.

After getting back to the truck, we decided it was probably time to head back up the mountain for our final night of camping. Sure enough, as we drove that way it began threatening rain. We had one or two more rain showers before departing the next morning. However, we were fortunate that the next morning donned bright and drier than it had been during our whole time camping. Things were dry enough to sufficiently dry a fair amount of our gear and get packed at least without doing so in the pouring rain. It had been another successful and relaxing camping trip. I noticed my back was more sore than usual, reminding me that the ground is getting harder every year, but otherwise it was a great camping trip. This might even have to be added to the yearly routine for every summer moving forward. It is nice to escape the heat, even if for just a little while.

Wednesday, July 30, 2025

What It's All About

Fly fishing has been a way of life for me since I took the plunge from the relative security of teaching to being a guide. Really, it probably goes back a lot farther. I still tell people all the time about the bad student I was in college. At the beginning of each semester, I would peruse each syllabus for attendance information, then carefully plan on missing the maximum number of classes possible without getting my grade docked. This was all in the name of going fishing of course. Occasionally I would make a mistake and get sick after using up my allotted skip days, so my GPA was never as pretty as I was capable. Not bad, mind you, but not as good as it probably should have been.

One of my favorite things about fly fishing early in my career was the solitude. I fished on my own more than anything, although I had several great fishing buddies as well, some of whom I fish with to this day whenever we can make it happen. Still, even with this desire for solitude, I still enjoyed the human component. Over time, I made friends with the good folks at Little River Outfitters, eventually even working a summer there during college.

Becoming a fly fishing guide really sped up a transition in my preference for fishing with friends. Nowadays, I'm much less likely to go fishing on my own, although I still enjoy it from time to time. Fishing with clients is still enjoyable to me even after guiding for going on 12 years. In fact, I get about as much enjoyment out of watching someone else catch fish than doing it myself. All of that said, I still enjoy the process of the sport. The intersection of science and art that is fly fishing provides a creative outlet that never gets old.

Last week, I was guiding on the Clinch River one of several days. Upon launching the drift boat, I backed out into the little pool at the foot of the ramp and anchored up for a few moments while we double checked rigging and otherwise prepared for the fast approaching fishing. As a guide and amateur naturalist, I'm always taking everything in. Accordingly, I glanced over the side of the boat and noticed a small dead fish in the bottom of the boat ramp pool. Intrigued, I quickly employed my boat net to fish it out.

A nondescript dark olive and black mottled sculpin was the reward for my effort. I showed it to my clients and took the appropriate pictures. That evening, I sat down for a burst of creativity. You see, the next day I was going fishing. Not taking someone fishing, but going fishing. I made certain of my proportions, referred back to the photo for the color scheme, and otherwise was as precise as possible while also enjoying the creative artsy element of fly design at least as much if not more than the more scientific side of things. Soon, I had a very close match of the sculpin from that morning and was ready to go fishing.

The next morning, I was on the road bright and early. Upon arriving at the takeout ramp to await my friends Pat (fellow fly fishing guide at TZA) and Matt (biologist, professor, author of "Fly Fishing for Redeye Bass" and fellow fly angler), I rigged up one rod. I was going to more or less stick to streamer fishing. On a whim, I also rigged a nymph rod but ultimately only fished it for about 5 minutes on this day. My newly tied sculpin went on the streamer rod with a 250 grain Orvis depth charge line.

After my buddies arrived and we drove up to the put in, I started the day on the oars. I wasn't really interested in general fishing. No, I had some big fish to chase with my new sculpin. We worked through some sections of river and picked up a few fish on nymphs. Both Pat and Matt were doing a good job of getting drifts where we needed to. The fish were the usual quality rainbow trout that the Clinch River is known for. Healthy specimens that often average 14-16 inches on many days, we were enjoying the acrobatics they provided. Eventually, we got to a section of river that I was interested in streamer fishing and Pat graciously jumped on the oars for a while.

A few half hearted follows later, I jumped back on the oars to let Pat fish the better nymph water. There are certain sections that tend to hold larger fish, and I was most interested in streamer fishing where the big brown trout live. I have caught plenty of brown trout up to 22 or 23 inches on the Clinch, but never any giants on a streamer, and I set that goal for myself a while back. I haven't been as diligent as I should be but try to streamer fish there at least a couple of days a year.

Eventually, we got below some of the best nymph water and were fast approaching prime streamer water. Pat again switched with me and I started hunting with the newly created sculpin. Sure enough, as we dropped into the first good run, a big fish slammed the streamer as it came over a drop-off. I stripped hard and felt good resistance briefly before the line went slack. So close and yet so far. That fish would have easily gone 22 or 23 inches and perhaps larger, a good start towards my goal of a big fish on a streamer. When I think of big brown trout on streamers, I'm really looking more for a fish in the mid to high twenty inch range or better, but I won't grumble about any quality brown trout.

After that nice missed fish, I quickly nailed a smaller brown in the 14 or so inch range and soon thereafter, had another heartbreaker. We were drifting through a huge but short pool between ledges. I had cast as far as I could and was simply working the fly erratically through the depths when I spied an absolute giant swing and miss on my fly. It was the one I've been looking for, easily. After grousing about it for a minute, I got back in the game and soon got a nice rainbow. Pat kindly took a picture for me with my new fly prominently in the trout's mouth. It was small consolation for the monster that had just eluded me.

Sculpin eating rainbow trout on the Clinch River

In the end, however, that is what keeps us going back. Those missed fish are on replay in my mind and keep driving me back for another go. Later in the float, I missed 2 more very nice trout that I would like to have another shot at, but that will have to be for another day. I finished my streamer fishing with three fish to hand, one big brown missed, and another giant spotted that didn't quite eat the fly. Best of all, my new fly easy had the approval from the fish. That is the important part and what fly fishing is all about. Matching their natural food source, presenting the fly, and catching a fish. With time, the camaraderie becomes more and more important, but at the end of the day, I still want to catch a fish, maybe design a new fly, and best of all, continue to learn more and more about this wonderful sport.

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