Brownsville, North Carolina

[Lone Wulff]

I’m almost embarrassed to admit it, but it has been almost two months since I last stepped into the water. I can’t remember the last time I went that long without wetting a line. Work has been really busy and it’s been impossible to get away. I guess I can’t complain though - at least I have a job. Summer is gone now, the kids are back in school, and now, fall is upon me. A slight reprieve in the work situation couldn’t have come at a better time. It allowed me to take a day off midweek and head to my favorite brown trout stream.

The trail eventually meets the stream and follows it for a short ways. It ends abruptly at a large pool. I usually take the time to fish it before bushwhacking farther downstream. I tied on a woolly bugger and tossed it into the main current where it tumbled into the pool. A couple of strips and wham! The first cast landed me an eight inch brown.


I fished the rest of the pool without getting another strike. I repacked my rod and beat my way downstream through the rhododendrons. An hour and a half later I dropped back into the creek at a large pool at the base of a waterfall. Due to the depth of the water, I decided to try a tactic I am not very good at; straight line nymphing. I missed a couple of strikes early on before finally hooking up. The nymph was drifting along the face of a boulder in three feet of water when I saw a shadow flicker. I lifted my rod and was solidly connected. The 10 inch brown fought valiantly but, victory was mine.


Heading back upstream the water consisted of shallower runs, smaller pools, and pocket water so I switched to a dry-dropper combination. I had solid action throughout the day. Although I didn’t catch any real pigs, the overall size was pretty good. A few were in the 6 to 7 inch range, and a couple more were about 8 inches. However, most were from 9 to 11 inches – pretty good average size.


















I eventually came to a favorite stretch of water. It consists of a series of stair step plunge pools.


The first pool was in the shadows. It gave up one brown. The second pool was in bright sunlight. This allowed me to see clearly into the water as I stood in the shadows.


I cast near a boulder in the center of the pool. I stood there and watched as a 12 incher travelled several feet from the edge of the pool grabbed the dry. It immediately rejected it before I could set the hook. In the process I dinged the fish with the dropper. Second chances are pretty rare with wild fish around here. There wouldn’t be one with that one. A few moments later, I cast towards the top of the pool. A twin of the first fish swam out from beneath the whitewater at the head of the run and chased my flies as they drifted towards me. It took the dry, but it was facing directly at me when I overzealously set the hook. I yanked the fly out of its mouth before it turned or closed its mouth. There would be no rare second chance with this one either. I blew it big time in this pool. I was bummed.

A short while later I arrived at a small plunge pool. I pulled a small brown from the bottom of the run where the current piled against a rock before continuing downstream. Usually, the commotion from the fight in a pool this small puts the rest of them down. I then cast my flies to the calm water on the far side of the pool beneath an overhanging rock.


Suddenly, I saw a large flash beneath the surface and my dry jumped backwards. I quickly set the hook but felt no resistance. Missed! I don’t know if took the dropper or swam into the tippet between the two flies. Either way, I thought I blew my chance at another nice one. I took a couple of quick casts into the main current to allow the fish time to re-station itself and prepare (hopefully) for another ambush. Then, I cast again to the calm water along the downstream edge of the rock.

As much as I nymph fish, I never really developed that sixth sense that many good nymph fishermen do. The dry quietly floated on the smooth surface. There was no flash, no movement. But, for some reason, and I don’t know why, I knew I should lift my rod. When I did, something pulled back. I had that rare second chance. It was the nicest fish so far. It was pushing 12 inches and had some decent mass to it too. Suddenly, I wasn’t so bummed about the two I had missed a short while ago.


Awhile later, I came to another favorite pool on this stream. I caught some nice fish out it in the past. I lost some even nicer ones. It can also be quite fickle - I’ve also had days when it didn’t even give up a strike.


The water in here is dark, deep, and mysterious with plenty of places for fish to hold.


Surprisingly, the first fish came to the dry over the deep water. It put up a phenomenal fight before coming to hand. This picture doesn’t do it justice. Although it is lean, it was about 11 inches long.


Here is the same fish, recovering, post battle. Thank you for the memory mister brown.


After several more minutes of fishing the dry/dropper without a strike I decided to go deeper. I tied on a fly I call the dredger nymph. It has everything to make it sink: a wire body, lead underbody, and a tungsten bead. It floats about as good as a cannonball. I quickly picked up a small brown a few feet down before going deeper.

I was fishing an 8 foot leader. The weighted nymph easily pulled the floating line down with it. I cast throughout the pool and straight line nymphed about 13 feet down for several minutes without detecting a strike. I wondered how many takes I was missing. I was about ready to give up when something took the nymph on the run. The take was obvious. After another good battle another 11 inch brown came to hand.


Remember those two nice fish I missed earlier? I no longer care. They are now just a distant memory.
Heading upstream I left the dredger nymph on and strait lined another decent brown from a small plunge pool.


The obstacle course heading upstream.




A charcoal colored brown. It isn’t big, but I like the color and I like where it lives. If I were a brown trout I’d probably live there too.




Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end.


It was getting late and it was time to start the hike out. I usually pull out at the same spot on most occasions. The reason is it is not possible to wade though this particular area due to the depth of the water and steep walls surrounding it. I have to climb up a 30 foot near vertical bank to go around. It seems to be a good place to just pack up the rod and head out. I hate climbing up this bank. There are lots of holes in the ground amidst the exposed roots. I don’t know if they are caused by rodents, snakes, or erosion. Either way, it creeps me out as I grasp at whatever I can to prevent myself from tumbling back down.

I grabbed a long stick and rattled it against trees and roots as I worked my way up. As I neared the top I threw it away. Using two hands to grab things makes the climb a little easier. Besides, I’ve never seen any snakes through here anyways. I’m probably just paranoid. Well, as I crested the top on my hands and knees, about four or five feet ahead I saw this guy.




I quickly found another stick since I would have to climb over and under logs and brush piles during the rest of the hike out. I was on heightened alert.