The weekend before the 4th, I headed to North Carolina and the Tuckasegee for a smallmouth float. We started at 7:30 a.m., drove to one put-in, but the river was nothing but mud. We tried another put-in \u2014 not much better. So we drove an hour and a half back to get on the stream.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the spot, Jeremy \u2014 a guide I\u2019ve known for years \u2014 asked, \u201cYou want to take a nice little path or slide down a hill?\u201d Naturally, I chose to slide. But when I saw the 30-foot vertical drop, slick with moss, no footholds, nothing to grab onto, I hesitated. \u201cAre we coming back up this way?\u201d I asked. \u201cNope,\u201d Jeremy said. \u201cWhere we get out upstream, there are stairs.\u201d Down we went.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My casting was off, but the afternoon was beautiful. Downstream, mist danced over the water and rocks. I love that timeless view downriver. As we worked upstream, a massive pile of trees blocked our path. We couldn\u2019t go around \u2014 a huge, active hornet\u2019s nest hung over the river \u2014 so we climbed over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
As we changed flies, fat raindrops began to fall. We both said, \u201cIt\u2019ll pass.\u201d Then the sky opened up and dumped buckets on us. Still, we agreed, \u201cIt\u2019ll pass.\u201d Suddenly the sky lit up like fireworks, followed by a loud crack. \u201cTime. To. Get. Out. Of. Here!\u201d We scrambled back over the trees and up the now-slippery hill. I pulled myself up along rocks and mountain laurel until, nearing the top, Jeremy was able to get ahead and haul me up the rest of the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
At the truck, we were laughing, soaked, out of breath \u2014 exhilarated. On the drive home, retelling the story, I realized: even though I didn\u2019t catch a fish, fly fishing had once again given me another unforgettable story to add to my life\u2019s archives. Most days start and end pretty normally. But a day with a fly rod in hand is the beginning of a mystical, magical journey \u2014 where beauty and adventure always await.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Here fishy, fishy, fishy!<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hope to see you at the picnic!!!!
Kim Emery
President<\/p>\n\n\n\n
“Often I have been exhausted on trout streams, uncomfortable, wet, cold, briar scarred, sunburned, mosquito bitten, but never, with a fly rod in my hand have I been less than in a place that was less than beautiful.” The weekend before the 4th, I headed to North Carolina and the Tuckasegee for a smallmouth float. We started at 7:30 a.m., drove to one put-in, but the river was nothing but mud. We tried another put-in \u2014 not much … Continue reading
-Charles Kuralt
Newsletter<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"