tr--or, how age and infirmity make cowards of us all...

so, last sunday was the first day of "our" long-lived spring trip to the
smokies, that some of the old timers will recall involves fly fishing
efforts by (after some 40 years together) myself, my cousin darrius, and
krazy konnie, on several beautiful streams in the far west of the old north
state: big snowbird, hazel, and the nantahala river, are our favorite
haunts.

we usually stay in one of the cabins at almond marina, hard by the shores of
fontana lake, on the point where the little tennessee and the nantahala come
together.to form the chief content for the impoundment. for about four
days, whisky is drunk, lies are told, music is played, and women remembered.
fishing has traditionally been incidental to the primary goal of satisfying
the depth and breadth of our individual ego trips.

this year was the same, only more so. we celebrated kk's 76th birthday on
tuesday, darrius (hereinafter, "dash") is about to become a medicare
recipient, and i am 69 and developing a quite impressive case of peripheal
neuropathy. i have found the use of a used golf cart to be necessary to
continue my full scale hunting and fishing escapades in rowan county, with
the random picnic thrown in. i really can't walk more than about 200 yds.
in short, we are a small group of has been athletes trying desperately to
follow mr. mcneill's admonishment about not "going gently into that good
night", or whatever he said. thus the refusal to let go of the excesses of
our youth and middle age.

at any rate (if anyone is still reading), this has translated into drastic
modifications of our flyfishing activity, qualitatively and quantatatively.
now, dash still fishes mostly dry flies of the traditional sort, and can
probably still wade a reasonable stretch of water. but kk and i have gone
over to the dark side with no regrets, without hesitation, and probably
with no other choice. we have pulled out the plastic and lead shamelessly.
the "fly" (i can hear rw actually gagging) of choice, for me, is a "pee-wee"
brand of plastic worm, about 2.5 inches long, the color of fresh bubblegum,
and pre-fixed to a pair of size 10 hooks, front and back. care must be
taken to add or remove the correct amount of lead weight--one small bb is
usually about right in the typical runs on our favorite water, the
nantahala.

laugh, spread your contempt as you will, call me a charlatan, a poseur, a
fake. my response is simply this: **** you and the horse you rode in on.
you will all reach this dark and desperate place. it is a matter of
survival: to fish or not to fish. the damn things are lethal on the
starving trout of the north carolina mountains, and the average size catch
goes a good 2" larger than our former fish. i can fight like hell to get
into a position from which i can scour the lower half of the water column
down, say, fifty feet of a run and get the unforgettable feeling of hooking
up with a foot long trout in that fast, clear, beautiful water for maybe a
few years longer. the trade-off is worth it, for me. it's the only game in
town.

anyway, our mountains and the streams that they cradle still display as much
natural beauty as a man might need, and the fishing makes the drinking a
finer thing to do.

all the best to all my old friends, from

your friend in the old north state
wayno