Thread: Fork Fest 13
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Old 04-20-2013, 02:11 AM
rbaileydav rbaileydav is offline
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Join Date: Mar 2009
Location: Marietta GA
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Before long we had camp set up and ship shape, even my friend Jermz’s MacGyver home built hammock set up was in place and picture perfect.

[img]http://i86.photobucket.com/albums/k99/rbaileydav/The%20Fork/camp_zps9d9d88be.png[/img]

I had chugged enough fresh squeezed water down that my limbs were starting to come back to life, which meant my mind turned from survival to its next level of the “Maslow’s hierarchy of needs” … … fishing. It was obvious from the valley floor that we were at least two weeks and maybe even three weeks from true spring for this high in the back country, oh well guess we all screw up sometime. The stream was a bruising and brawling specimen of a wide shouldered bar bully size, pushing everything out of its path as it bulldogged its way down the mountain.

[img]http://i86.photobucket.com/albums/k99/rbaileydav/The%20Fork/DSCF0332_zps17073c02.jpg[/img]

It was clear and icy cold which meant not only was holding water hard to find, but the fish would be sedentary and spooky … … a great combination for PETA representatives everywhere, if there ever was one. But this place was way, way, way too beautiful to do more than just acknowledge those thoughts and still smile to yourself at the beauty and feel of your heart beat in a staccato in time to the river at your feet. Rods were strung and bravado filled boasts of fish dinners to come were launched as we sent one brave group up the feeder creek to the falls and on even braver group downstream to battle house sized boulder filled rapids of a river bed as of yet unmarked by even the faintest fisherman’s trail, and finally the third intrepid group … … the ones who had had paid the high end debt for a half century of living … … the easiest upstream section, which even though it was easier, it is still as of yet still untainted by a fisherman’s bankside trail. But even us old farts found the water and made our first casts into what many would call perfection.

[img]http://i86.photobucket.com/albums/k99/rbaileydav/The%20Fork/firsthole_zps389c8dd3.png[/img]

Well with water like that you can imagine where my thoughts were, and they certainly weren’t with the fishing, which I would love to tell you meant I missed a slashing strike of a 12 inch native brookie on the first cast but the truth is never so poetic. Instead when reaching for the line I fumbled my clumsy mitts into the custom “Lacey made Adams Reel” that graced my “RND” bamboo rod (so named for my late father’s initials inscribed in silver into the burled reel seat) which knocked it out of the slide ring reel seat and sent it crashing into the foaming white water at my feet. Well as any of you who read any of my more recent long winded narratives may know, in September I lost a very nice Hardy Sunbeam in exactly the same manner, so I naturally almost dived in to try and save that reel. But the bite of the 40 degree water caused me to pull back in thermal shock and the reel spun out of sight, lost in a wave of white water.

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