Well, it is about that time again.  I am getting ready for an annual trip to the Cataloochee Valley to hunt brook trout.  It has been apart of my life for 30 years to take a trip to the Appalachain mountains to revitalize myself.  More often than not, this trip is taken with family, which makes it even more special.  Recently, I was able to celebrate a milestone by traveling to the mountains with a buddy.  We came to slay some troots, and generally just unwind.  Relaxing wasn't exactly on the menu.  We left Birmingham at about 9pm, and with a 5hr trip and a time change, we arrived at our little cabin at around 2am.  Throw the stuff on the floor, and crash for a few hours, and up to fish.  We started out at little river, near Townsend, Tennessee.

 

 

The trout aren't what one would describe using words like "humongous".  That did not detract from the pure joy of fly fishing a mountain stream.  Once a person gets bitten by the fishing bug (no pun intended), it becomes an omnipresent reality that when he sees water, he will look for fish.  This has never been exemplified by my fishing companion, whose wife honestly fears for her life when they cross a bridge when he is driving.  He will look over totally focused looking for water, and upon discovery of said moisture, the piscatorial quarry.  This becomes problematic. 

"Aubrey" ever vigilant

I myself was raised fishing all kinds of water, and have been blessed to live near mountains and the gulf coast.  I have fished the ocean, big lakes, even a couple of times in the rockies, but the Appalachian mountains always call me back home.  The crisp air, the smell of Rhododendron, Frasier Fir, and Hemlock, the complete immersion in a wilderness away from cellphones or even electricity, is a curative for the soul.  I wouldn't trade it for anything.  And the color of those fish is something out of this world!

 

 

Bow season is opening here and Alabama, and the myriad preparations for opening day on Saturday loom large.  I am excited, enthusiastic, and a bit nervous as always. There will be more about that later.  But even as I stalk through the woods, excitement about the upcoming fishing trip, the cold weather, and the complete sense of ease will try to pry its way into my consciousness.  But first I must see if I can take a deer so as to procure some venison for the freezer, as well as some hair for tying flies. Then I can tie for my trout foray, In early November.

 

I just hope the smell of Rhodo and Frasier Fir from the recesses of my mind don't mix with the smell of Pine and White Oak in South Alabama this weekend.