TR: Uncle Dick and Upper Creek

Before I get on with the actual TR, a bit more background about my fine
uncle Dick.

Dick Mursch was born to be a christian in a predominately christian
nation--somewhere in Michigan. Having attained the age of 18-21, Dick joined
the US Air Force in 1947 or so. Dick was stationed somewhere in Alaska,
fighting grizzly bears, between 1949 and 1950 something. While there Dick
continued to follow his passion for hunting and fly fishing. He took up fly
tying, when he wasn't busy diggin' himself out from the holes in which the
grizzlies had buried him. Dick flew missions, along side George Gherke, in
Korea. Escaped from Turkey, in the dead of night, after an incident I'm not
at liberty to repeat. Dick and my aunt Sara (mother's sister) met in
Thailand or Viet Nam, while he was flying combat missions and she was a
flight nurse. Dick has survived Sara's vegetarian ways for god knows how
long, subsisting mainly on putrid lake bass and some decent sal****er
species. Dick thinks he might have picked up a fly rod, again, in the late
'70s or early 80s, but he can't recall for certain, when he and Sara moved
from San Antonio, TX to the Globe community where they purchased a
campgrounds. Today the campgrounds is a gay and lesbian retreat (for those
interested in vacationing in the beautiful Globe community). Dick has been
a logger, gunsmith, art and frame shop owner and who know what else.
Currently, Dick is a retired, somewhat, as he is endlessly active in the
Lions Club, Habitat For Humanity, and any and every humanitarian
organization that Sara picks out for them.

We agreed to leave at 6:30AM Sunday morn. I arrived at 6:18AM Sunday morn.
Dick was still in his skivvies and shaving cream? He said he wanted to look
nice for the fish. We were out the door at 6:30AM. It was overcast and
threatening rain, as we winded our way through the back roads of Caldwell
and Burke Counties. We weren't that concerned about rain, as we were going
to be wet wadin'. However, a major downpour would have put a damper on the
days plans. Dick wasn't familiar with Upper Creek, but was very familiar
with the surroundin' mountains and Pisgah National Forest which he had
logged in the in the 80s.

We crossed over Wilson Creek on our way and looked intently to see if it was
swollen from the rains that had fallen the evenin' before. Wilson was
flowing swiftly, and a bit murky, but definitely looked fishable. We
crossed over Upper Creek, at the foot of the mountain, by Optimist
Campground and RV Park--Greg Laffoon's place http://www.optimisticrv.com/ .
Upper, too, was runnin' swift and murky. We had NO FEAR though!

We arrived at the concrete bridge on Upper and it seemed to be less murky
than down stream, but still flowing strongly. We were almost to the end of
the road and the parkin' area where the culvert drain washed out in the
floods of 2004, when we were stopped by a downed tree in the road. I found
a suitable place to pull off the road and park. As we geared up, I filled
my trusty backpack with kippered fish, vienne sausages, crackers, candy
bars, and 4 bottles of water, along with the usual stuffs. I knew that we
would spend at least 4 to 6 hours on the stream and I knew that Dick would
want to keep some trout to take home for a dinner. So, I brought along a
half-gallon water cooler and frozen bottle of water, to keep any fish we
caught, and decided to keep, from going south. I found out later in the
trip that a half-gallon water cooler with a frozen bottle of water in side
will knock you senseless, when you bend over to take a trout off the hook
and the cooler flops over the top of the backpack that it is attached to and
hits you in the side of the face!

As I mentioned in a previous post, I had purchased a pair of wading boots
for Dick. Well asked Dick had he sprayed the soles with Pam before he left
the house. He looked at me, as if I had lost my mind. I asked him, had he
not read the info that came with the boots? He said he hadn't. So I said,
"Dick the boots are virtually useless, if you don't activate the soles with
Pam!" He says, "****!" I began to laugh and he said something vaguely
insulting toward me? Having hiked up the trail for 20 or so minutes, we
arrived at the put-in. We had two three weights rigged up. I had planned
to use my favorite Green River 6 foot rod, while I had figured on Dick
fishin' with a Diamondback 7 footer. However, Dick seemed to be having
trouble controllin' line with the Diamondback, so I suggested that he try
out the Green River rod. Dick appeared to be able cast the shorter rod a
bit better. Later I figured out the main problem. I tie up my own leaders,
from a formula provided by one of Orvis' leader pamphlets. I almost always
fish dryz and I like to fish long leaders--12 or 13 feet with tippet. As
long as we fished dryz, we did fine. Unfortunately, dryz weren't doing the
trick. So we added another two feet or so of dropper. While I did cut the
leaders back, I didn't cut them back far enough to accommodate the added
weight of the dropper nymph.

I tied a gold ribbed nymph (couldn't tell anyone the name of this particular
nymph, but I will know it again when I see it, as Dick caught trout one
after the other!) on to a parachute Adams for Dick. I tied on a rather
large Prince nymph for myself. Needless to say, my choice sucked! Dick
would spend fifteen to twenty minutes on each pool, while I fished ahead
with no results. Occasionally, I'd have to make my way back downstream to
remove one of Dicks flyz from a tree. Dick would smile and bound! up to the
next pool that I had just fished through and proceed to catch two or three
fish from it. Dick's control of his line wasn't the best, but it was mostly
my fault, due to the extra long leaders I had us fishin'. Castin' a dropper
rig is tough enough, but it is made especially difficult, when you haven't
fly fished in over 45 years and your leader and tippet are a ****in' mile
and a half long! Dick, the ever patient individual that he is, fished pool
after pool with out a complaint--of course he was catchin' trout.

I did have to retie his leader on several occasions and untangle some
massive rats nests--again due to my lapse of thinkin'. Dick did become
frustrated that he was gettin' hung-up in the trees and submersed rocks more
so than myself and that I hadn't tangled my line while he was doing it much
too frequently--or so he thought. I reassured he that it was the nature of
the dropper to cause tangles and that the leaders length was making casting
more unwieldy than would have been if the leader tied for the purpose we
applying. As I said, I did cut them back some, but I didn't want to retie
them completely, as we were gettin' periods of sunshine and I was hoping
that we could dry fly fish any minute. I had removed my dropper rig on
several time, but to no avail. I would eventually, tie on another dropper
and attempt to catch up to Dick's fish count. Again, to no avail! I had
also hoped that the waters would begin to clear up, but that never came
either. Although the current did slow a bit, but that wasn't my problem. I
wasn't catchin' trout! That was my problem.

Here I had brought my 77 or so year old uncle out to fish, on my favorite
stream and he was out fishin' me, and out wadin' me! The man was a
billygoat. He bounded from rock to rock, effortlessly. He trudged across
main currents, as if they didn't exist. Of course, later in the day, I find
out that he runs 3 or 4 time a week, in addition to his swim routine! I
looked for a big "S" on his chest and a red cape, but apparently he had left
his outfit at home. We fished a total of ten hours, and that doesn't
include the hike in or the hike out. Speakin' of the hike out. We came
upon a very large pool, about 25 yards down from the take-out trail. Dick
got his line snagged in a tree and I had to break of the nymph to retrieve
the line. He told me to fish the hole, so I cast my line. I had finally
tied on a nymph dropper the same as the one Dick had been fishing all day.
I hooked into a nice trout. Brought it to hand and it was about a 12"
rainbow. I handed Dick the rod and told him to catch my trout's brother or
sister. And he did! He brings in a 13" rainbow!

There was only one scare on the trip. Dick got his foot hung-up in a rock
and went down. I heard a terrible crackin' sound. One very much like a rod
snappin' in two! I looked back to see Dick on his side in the middle of the
stream. My precious Green River rod lay beside him. Thank Allah the rod
was spared any damage! I did notice--later in the day--blood on Dick's
shirt and that Dick had gash his elbow in several places. When I mentioned
it to him, he merely shrugged his shoulders and looked at me as if I were
some sort of freak.

We called it a day and began to head for the trail out. It began to rain,
big DROPS! I began to rain lots of BIG DROPS! We had to climb up a ridge
for about 50 yards that is a 45 to 50 degree gradient. I took both of the
rods, as I wanted Dick to be able to use both of his hands. I have climbed
out from Upper here countless time, and I know how difficult it can be.
Dick practically ran up the ridge! As I struggled to make it up the ridge,
Dick waited for me at the top, ready to climb up and over Raven's Ridge, or
at least that was the direction he was headed when I stopped him and told
him that we would be heading back DOWN the mountain to the car. As we made
our way on the very narrow trail, the rains became relentless. Not only did
it rain cats and dogs, it began to unleash saber-toothed tigers and
Mastodons. I took us 30 minutes to hike out to the car and I know I saw
trout in the pools that collected in the trail.

Op --Jeff Miller knows this section of Upper well and can attest to the
terrain--

"Mr. Opus McDopus" wrote ...

Snip fine TR

Op,

Sounds like a truly great day. Hard to tell from the TR who enjoyed it
more -- your uncle or yourself. Either way, thanks for sharing.

Dan