just a story

It has been a while since I posted, so I thought I would share the following:

Several years ago, as I lay upon my couch flipping channels on the television looking for something to peak my interest, I stumbled upon a fishing program shot entirely in the Smoky Mountain National Park. By the end of the thirty minute program I had made a list of the gear I would need to pack, placed a call to Average Joe Fisherman Scott and most importantly had received permission from my wife to travel to Tennessee for a week long fishing expedition. Scott was not yet married and I am pretty sure he answered “yes” before I even had the chance to ask him if he wanted to go.

Over the next few weeks, Scott and I accomplished research work that would have made Sherlock Holmes envious. We probably knew more about the national park than the people who lived right next door to it. Books were read, maps were studied, flies and single hook spinners were purchased, more gear than we would ever use was packed; five weight fly rods, two weight fly rods, ultra-light spinning gear. The Average Joe’s were prepared for everything, or so we thought.

The thirteen hour drive to Gatlinburg went quick as Scott and I discussed important topics such as stream selection, where we would fish first, and who would out-fish who. Two hours after arriving at the Cosby Creek campground the tent was up, the Chevy Blazer unpacked, and we were stepping into our fist Blue Ridge trout stream, the Big Creek. Almost immediately we knew something was amiss. The rivers seemed to be much more slippery than what we were use to in Michigan. Over the next six hours Scott and I slipped, slid and fell into the cold mountain water. By the end of the day we were bruised, battered, wet and exhausted. My right shin was swollen to the point that it looked like I was concealing a baseball under my skin from using it to brake my fall while standing atop a large boulder trying to make a cast. It seems nowhere amongst all the research and preparation were we able to find information about the vital importance of boots with felt soles. Rubber soles are more than adequate for fishing in Michigan. They provide traction and are extremely easy to be cleaned. Heck, when I started fishing and received my first pair of Red Ball waders I am not sure felt was even an option. So it was a surprise to Scott and me that our gear was ill suited for fishing in the mountains. Being young and starting out however, neither of us could afford to run out and buy a new pair of waders. “No big deal,” we thought, “We just need to fish smarter.” Uh, no, in hindsight we needed to pony up the cash and buy boots with felt on the bottoms.

The most memorable part of the trip came on the fifth and last day of fishing. Having enough of falling and filling our waders with water, not to mention our bodies needing a break, Scott and I decided to fish Cosby Creek. It is a little stream with no big boulders or rocks and a gradual slope. Stepping into three inches of water, Scott was saying how nice it was going to be to fish a stream where he was not going to fall and get wet. His right leg promptly went out from under him. The left leg, as he shifted his weight, slid in the opposite direction. Scott ended up falling forward into the stream where his arms were not long enough to prevent the water from rushing into his waders. “Mother Trucker!” Scott yelled as he got up and threw his two weight fly rod into the water. "What the truck is going on! I mean what the TRUCK!" Ok, he didn’t really say “Mother Trucker,” but you get the point. To this day I am still surprised that one of us did not fall and need medical attention or receive a concussion.

Presently I own three sets of felt bottom boots, one with carbide studs. Lesson learned. =)

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