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FishNHunt
03-12-2011, 09:50 PM
Hardly a week goes by when my dad and I don’t mention fly fishing to each other. For a long time my dad didn’t know what a message board was or that it existed on this web site. He kept telling me about Byron’s fishing report and I would ask if he had read the message board and “No” was usually the response. Finally and how he found it is beyond me he came across the message board. (The Message Board thingy at the top of the front page wasn’t a dead give away.) He started reading my posts and now I have provoked him into “contributing” to this fine message board.
I would like to bore everyone with my start in fly fishing if no one minds. When I was a kid my family camped at Elkmont. My parents loved it there with the peace and quiet and the relief from the hot sweltering summer heat. My sister and I loved it because we could ride our bikes, tube, and swim. I had girlfriends for a week at a time and caught ever creature that lived in and around the river. Usually bringing my finds back to the camper for closer inspections resulted in mom telling me to “go turn that poor thing loose”. As I grew even older I found myself still trying to find that girlfriend for the week but, oddly enough that passed and I couldn’t be pried from the river. I fished with every legal lure that could be bought, found, or stolen from dads tackle box. I found that I could catch more trout in my green minnow net than with a rod. My dad being the great dad that he is taught me that cheating wasn’t an option. As far as I know I never sunk to the level of cheating to catch a trout with the aid of corn or bread. I had all but, given up on catching a trout and resuming my “hunt” for the weekly girlfriend when dad loaded the family into the suburban and we headed to the old “Wynn’s” in Sevierville. My constant aggravation of wanting a fly rod had obviously gotten the best of dad and he was going to shut me up.
When we got to “Wynn’s” I searched for the perfect fly rod. Remember this was prior to Little River Outfitters. The selection was slim so Iwent to the counter to ask for some assistance since dad knew about as much about fly fishing as me. The man behind the counter was not helpful what so ever and just plain rude to me. I’ll never forget how mad that my dad got. He had mom take me and sister to the front and I could hear my dad all the way at the back giving the man down the road. When we returned the man bent over backwards to put me in a fly rod but, the one thing that he gave me that established my belief that trout in the park could actually be caught on a hook was a not to impressive looking spaghetti noodle looking green “worm”. I took my yellow fly rod and cheap reel back to the camper along with a hand full of flies and this crappy looking thing excuse of a “lure”. The first day I spent whipping this new fly rod around was full of frustration and before long the trees along the river were the littered with my dry flies. When I opened the box the last time to find it empty I happened to notice the green spaghetti noodle in the bottom of my vest pocket. I’m sure my confidence level was zero with this concoction but, being young and inexperienced and with nothing to lose I threaded the noodle on a number 6 hook and bit the 1/8 ounce lead head tight to the line. I made several drifts and the line grew tight and I don’t know who was more shocked, me or the trout.
The week continued and before long I was catching so many fish that I grew worried I was using an illegal lure. I caught my first brown trout which I had no clue as to what it was. In every stretch of water I put the green weenie a trout would devour it but, there was one trout that eluded my hand. About 100 yards above the bridge in the middle of the river lays a big boulder and behind it is a large deep pool. In this pool I had hooked into a fine trout only to have him pull free. I rushed back to the camper and told dad about the experience and exactly where I had hooked him. I had risen early every morning and fished late every day but, for some reason I slept late the next day. Dad slipped off with my fly rod and green weenie and found the rock that I had told him held the big trout. I wasn’t there to witness it but, he caught and landed the big brown trout that had eluded me the day prior. As far as I know this would be the first time that he ever picked up a fly rod and reel. When he returned he told me about catching the big brown and I’m sure he said something to the effect of “There’s nothing to this fly fishing”.
He fished with my fly rod a couple of times that I remember when we went back to Elkmont but, only years later would he become the fanatic that he is today. I have wondered if that big brown from Elkmont planted the fly fishing bug in his mind years ago.

ChemEAngler
03-12-2011, 10:33 PM
Very nice story, thanks for sharing.

JoeFred
03-12-2011, 10:51 PM
FishNHunt, great story, great sounding dad. I especially like his sending you to the front of Wynn's so he could appropriately tend to matters. He deserved to get your big brown.

Might I suggest you e-mail Byron the story. He'd love it. He might even arrange to get you a spot on the TroutFest program.:biggrin:

JF