Hiwassee River

Here’s a story I wrote after a trip from two summers ago. I found this in the depths of my computer. Hope it inspires you to get out and fish this summer. I’m itching to be out on the river myself. Hope the rain clears up soon.

The morning is silent. Deep in sleep, I’m jolted awake by my alarm clock. Technology, the very thing I am trying to escape. Four am, and it’s pitch black outside. I slowly make my way out of bed and stumble into the kitchen, where I heat some water and grind & brew my morning coffee. The aroma is rich, as a french-press makes the espresso roast even bolder. Carrying my cup, I quickly dress into my canvas cargo shorts, a dark safari shirt with the sleeves rolled up and my nubuck hiking shoes. The Jeep waits for me outside, packed the night before with my fly rod & camping gear. My Llewelin setter wakes up as I exit through the garage. Attentive to his master, he follows me to the gate, and waits to see me off.

As I drive up the gravel driveway, windows down, the dew adds a crispness to the cool air. My wheels make a smooth whir, with an occasional clack in the wheel well, as the rocks from the driveway shoot out from the momentum I’m gaining. My Jeep Cherokee is loaded down with stuff. My headlights cut through the fog, as I make my way to the interstate. Only an hour before I’ll be there… The anticipation is killing me. The city lights pass me by, gas stations and parking lots all empty. No one is up at this hour of the morning. Finally, the freeway that will lead me to the wild. Cruising along with the cold air and the warm coffee, my only company is a Johnny Cash album and the truckers on the road.

My exit comes upon me fast, and I slowly make my way onto an old country road, winding through the foothills of the Cherokee National Forest in eastern Tennessee. A few miles further and I look to my left. Through the trees I can see the reflection of the slowly rising sun making it’s way across the water. I’m there. Five minutes to gear up, and I’m ready to get in the water. As i make my way to the edge of the Hiwassee River, the dawn makes the mist rising off the water glow. Birds are singing and the animals begin to scurry around, as morning is now officially here.

My breath is taken away as I quietly plunge myself into 58 degree water. I’m wet-wading today, as it will reach 90 degrees today. Only a few hours of chill, and then I’ll be comfortable, half in cold water, the other half roasting in the sun. It’s a strange balance, but one that you can only experience walking into frigid water in the early hours of the morning, anticipating the warm sun of the afternoon.

I slowly make my way to my favorite fishing hole, where a 20 inch rainbow trout has evaded capture for the past month. My game plan has slowly evolved, and this beautiful rainbow has company this morning. Seven other 10 – 15 inch rainbow sit beside him on the bottom of a 4 foot deep hole. The current is not very strong here, but there are several different drifts that can quickly take your fly away the wrong direction and spook the trout in the process. My first cast that hits the water is a small nymph sinking behind a floating wooly bugger. The big guy doesn’t even take notice, though my cast placed it in a drift that took it within inches of my prey. What seemed like forever, and only a rise from one of the smaller rainbow. I stop and just watch & listen. The sounds of the trout starting to hit the top of the water all around excites me & I my observation. Patiently, I’m looking for the hatch. A gnat, a mosquito, a moth… nothing in frequency, but I notice they are taking them off the top of the water only 30 feet above me, in the riffles.

I pull out my fly box, this time I attach a #14 elk hair caddis. A few fake casts, and I set it down right above the little bit of white water. As it floats back down towards me I study the water. It looks like they are taking a smaller fly than that & I pull it back in… changing the fly to an even smaller #18 mosquito dry fly. The line slowly floats in the air above my head, my arms pumping the rod and gently letting the line settle across the water. Wait… is it… a bump, so there’s interest… I send the line flying again & bring it right back where I placed it last time. The current brings the fly down the riffles & Bam! 20 feet away the fly disappears in a spray. I give the line a quick tug to set the hook. A rainbow shoots out of the water, fighting as he climbs 2 feet in the air, and lands with a splash. Not the big one, but still about 13 – 14 inches. He gives a wild and desperate attempt to flee, but I steadily pull him in. Bringing him closer, he barely struggles. His previous burst of energy has him tired. I quickly take my forceps from my vest and pull the fly from his mouth. I hold him a moment and admire the bright red stripe running down his side. As he goes back under water, he barely moves. My hands gently hold him facing upstream & soon the water flows through his gills. He makes a feeble tail stroke, and then in a surge of power, he darts off into the cool, clear water.

I don’t miss my computer at all. In fact, I think that at this moment I hate everything about technology. How is it that I can wait for hours to deceive a fish into eating a man-made lure, but somehow I’m perturbed by the bad driver in front of me that may add an additional 30 seconds to my time in traffic. The mountains & the river bring out the best in me. Patient, calm, observant, and free, I roam the mighty Hiwassee in search of the majestic rainbow trout.

Chris Loizeaux