01-14-2008, 06:02 PM
I tried my hand at flyfishing while camping in Elkmont as a boy. I always believed there was a "catch" to it and tried hard but never could quiet get it down pat. Years passed and I only picked up my yard sale flyrod when the trout were in the "breaks" on Chilhowee and I was bored with catching then with rapals. One day my dad out of the blue says he's taking up the sport and asked me to join him. We took the class together and what I thought was a difficult sport to learn became so clear. It wasn't not rocket science as I first thought. Over the summer I fished as much as I possibly could and my confidence level rose. I would read the fishing report and go at the worst hours of the worst days just so I could I could catch the hardest fish. I was enjoying myself and the time spent in the park. As fall came a new chapter in my life arose that I wasn't expecting and my trips became few but one day while fishing it dawned on me I wasn't worried about my lifes problems while watching that fly. I had noticed the feeling before but never this clear. The roar of the water and the smell of the forest. All my senses were working over drive. My body and mind had been numb for some time until that day. Just the other day I entered the park to fish a while. I knew the fishing was terrible but it didn't matter none. I broke ice just to get in the water. My guides stayed frozen and I could feel the cold water threw my waders. I had one taker but my not gave way. All this would have aggrivated most people but not me, not on that day. Flyfishing is my theropy.... my escape.