Back to Reality!

No joke, I was so excited to hit lost cove Saturday that I tossed and turned most the night, dreaming of wild browns and rainbows. Because of the sleepless night I didn't hit the road to after 9am. By 11 I was on FR 424 (having followed my impeccable directions from 3 years ago). A persual of my fish notebook revealed entries from 10 years ago itemizing nice wild fish caught there, averaging about 4 per hour, a great catch rate for the skittish wild trout of western Carolina. The most recent entry was 3 years ago and it wasn't too good, but it was from February, so I assumed I'd have much better luck with a late April outing.

It's a long curvey road route up 181 and then the switchbacks of the forest road. I had the dunstan, Lil Ann in the backseat and I was driving Christian's car so I wouldn't trash my own. I have even pulled a blanket across the backseat so Lil Ann wouldn't perminanty foul her car. I looked back at one pittiful looking dog as we made our way down the FR. She had syliva running out of her mouth like a rabid coon and bowed her head a couple of times to wretch out the empty contents of her stomach (I had learned from a previous outing that dog food and car rides don't mix). I kept telling her to laydown and put her head down, but she just couldn't resist the intoxicating whire of trees outside her window- no matter how nausious it made her.

I was still debating wether I should hit the upper or lower section when I came to the trail head of the upper section and to my absolute shock and horror, the gate was open and FR 424a, wound it's way3-4 miles down to the stream. I imagined a slew of rusty old trucks and beer cans awaiting me at the end of the road. I have never seen that gate open and I always surmized tha the 52 minute walk to the stream always kept the upper section a little more pure, so much for any barrier to entry. So I opted to try the lower section. At the parking area were three vehicles. I dutiful perusal of the backseats didn't reveal any rod cases so I hoped against hope that they were just backpackers.

I should have taken it as an omen when no sooner could I hear the guggle of the stream than I hear people, and dogs, and people. It was like grand central station down there. Backpackers and neardowells stumbling over themselves. Man I hate fishing on Saturdays.

I strung up and walked a ways out of the traffic jam and hit a little section of shallow runs and on the second cast struck a 7" rainbo.... maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Besides I had my 90 new flys and fly boxes I had just bought so, just rummaging through those was fun. Check out that fly above, it's a high res elk hair caddis. It's got some orange stuff tied into the elk hair on top so you can see it really well, even really small ones like size 20- pretty cool.

One bright spot... we knew the dunstan could point a trout, but I also learned she can retrieve one, and what a soft mouth she has.

So we headed back out shortly after the she fetched the mini brown, and although the weather had been excellent all day long, the pending thunderstorms found us so we enjoyed a nice wet ride home... till next time.