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Old 11-22-2011, 01:19 AM
rbaileydav rbaileydav is offline
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Join Date: Mar 2009
Location: Marietta GA
Posts: 130
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This was one of those streams that held fish in every likely looking spot and a few spots that didn’t look even remotely likely. We picked our way up the canyon fishing side by side. Casting in order until you landed a fish or hung up somehow and the other guy jumped in with a laugh and an insult or congrats depending on size and color or how bad the hang up or knot was. Unfortunately for me all of Bernard’s turns ended in fish and most of mine ended in trees or knots but oh well poop happens doesn’t it. We were fishing deep runs and holes that were nestled in the rocks between waterfalls and white water plunges. Each of these deep holes held 5 or 6 brightly colored wild fish of varying sizes of 8 to 11 or so inches. The strikes were exuberant attacks of a ferocious nature on my poor helpless stimulator or PMX. Sometimes so exuberant that the poor fish would miss on the way up and break out into the sparkling sunlight for a brief second only to turn and try to grab the fly on the way down. I found myself giggling at their antics even if I missed the strike. They were gorgeous, voraciously hungry and numerous and those are some of my favorite adjectives when talking about fish.

Native rainbows




Stunning brookies






And perhaps coolest of all the final piece of my grand slam day and the biggest fish of the trip for me.



I was in such a zone it was almost a shock when we cleared the canyon and got into one of the prettiest high country meadows that I have ever fished. We split up and fished “Smokies” style building rock cairns where ever we stepped into the water so the other would know where to get out and skip up ahead building another cairn for the person behind. Except the scenery was so pretty and I was so relaxed and content that after a while I just laid down and took a quick nap lazed my way upstream not even bothering to skip up ahead of Bernard even when I saw the elaborate and creative cairns that he built for me. It was a perfect fishing afternoon, clear and sunny, with just a hint of crisp chill to the air to cool the warmth of the afternoon sun. The sky was so clear it dazzled the eyes and defied the imagination and the mind … … but it soothed the soul to say the least. I loved the sunlight beating down on the shallow meadow stream as the fish just seem to materialize as if conjured out of the stoney bottoms as they rise in darting furious slashing strikes, disappearing almost as magically when I miss the strike like I normally do. But today’s fishing was so relaxed I couldn’t even seriously make myself get to concerned or worked up about all of those missed strikes… … it was just to dang pretty.







By the time the afternoon sun began to start its downward slide I was at that marvelous point where I had caught enough fish and was as full of fish memories and scenic mental snap shots as a 300lb man after 2 thanksgiving dinners. I started my walk back to camp watching the world around me more than the trail my feet were walking, which was good for my mind and bad for my stumbling feet. I was amazed as I saw the moon in late afternoon sun appearing as if it was rising out of the top of a hill like a giant flying saucer levitating off the ground. I snapped a quick picture thinking it wouldn’t turn out but was amazed later on when it actually turned out almost as good as my memory.

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