TR: _pper _reek

What with workin' so diligently on the two flies I owe Dave M., regular
work, grass mowin', Spring cleanin', feed trough buildin', dog walkin' and
miscellaneous what not, I haven't been fishin' in a while. So, Saturday I
decided that it was about time for me to hit my favorite, but un-named
stream. I knew it was gonna be hot and bright out, but I hoped to catch a
few fish.

What I hadn't figure on was the Memorial weekend campers! As Sunday is my
goto fishin' day, I figured that I would have the stream all to myself.
About 2 miles off 181 hwy, on the forestry road, I came upon my first
campsite just on the other side of the concrete bridge over U__er Cr__k.
The site was packed! I turned left toward the main campin' area and every
single campsite was overflowin' with tents and vehicles. I finally reached
the end of the road, where the culvert was washed out in the floods of 2004,
and to date still hasn't been repaired. I was able to squeeze my little
Toyota in between a coupla pickups.

After gearin' up, I traipsed through the middle of a campsite setup in the
middle of the trail? The little feeder stream was strewn with plastic cars,
tractors, and dump trucks. The folk were nice enough and had apparently put
their youngsters to work trying to re-install the culvert drain that the
forestry service can't seem to fix? They said that they hadn't done any
fishin', but had seen a few fishermen over the weekend. They did say that
no one had been through before me this mornin' though. Happily, I proceeded
toward the end of the trail and my put-in point. I trudged the twenty
minutes or so that it takes to get to the put-in and was soakin' wet with
sweat. It was already in the 80s, I suppose. After a brief rest I began to
cast my line.

Oh yeah! Before I stepped into the water, I thought I saw something break
the surface in front of me. Kind of serpentine like? I appeared to be very
dark, almost black in color? I think it may have been a river otter, but I
didn't see it again. I cast my trusty Adams traditional tied fly a few
times to no strikes. As I worked my way to the head of the pool, I began to
get some rises. I cast the fly up against a large rock at the head of the
pool and took a nice brown, of about 10 inches. I worked my way around the
rock and cast to the next pool. FISH ON! I couldn't believe it. They were
hittin' dry flies every time they hit the water. I caught fish or missed a
strike in virtually every pool, riffle or slough that I cast to!

I fish till I came upon this fella hikin' downstream. He had come up from
Charlotte and past thru all the campsites before light, so the hadn't seen
him. I offered him a bottle of water, which he gladly took--he had brought
his lunch but had left his water in his truck, havin' been unnervered by all
the campers. We sat and talked for about an hour. He was most worried
about his brand new pickup truck park on the side of the road. I had caught
upward of a million fish in the two and a half hours I had fished, so I
decided to head back down stream and home. However, I couldn't resist
makin' a cast or two before we left from where we were sittin'. I missed
four strikes before I finally hooked a 9 inch brown.

I stopped in at Greg's campgrounds, at the bottom of the mountain to say
high. As luck would have it, Greg was cookin' up a Memorial feast for a few
friends. I assisted in the preparations and devoured as much pork rib and
butt as I could possibly manage. I drank about a gallon of fresh squeezed
lemonade and finished things off with a large piece of strawberry short cake
and whipped cream!

Op

Mr. Opus McDopus wrote:


I assisted in the preparations and devoured as much pork rib and
butt as I could possibly manage.

....what, no banjo music? g