When my son was 4 or 5 I wrote a short story about my experiences flyfishing in the Smokies and the influence of my grandfather at whose feet I was tutored. I have been following his lead now for 47 years and can still feel his presence on those rare days when I find my self alone on one of our favorite creeks. I fished with this man until he was 82 years young. Early on I connected with this wonderful place both physically and spiritually and came to realized that just the act of being in this spot renourished my soul on more than just a fishing level. My relatives were around and in the moutains before it became a park. My first trout on a fly was brought to hand from the waters of Porter's Creek. As fate would have it I later found out that Porter was my grandfather's mother's maiden name and my son now carries that name with him while he plies these same waters in search of trout. I have survived that early stage of measuring success by the number of fish in a creel at the end of the day and now look forward to the experience of just being in the river and remembering the times that have flowed through my life like the water that I fish. My son is now 15 and has shown some of the same attachments to trout fishing that I have experienced in my life. While he was not fortunate enough to have known my grandfather before he died he has been able to get to know him by my stories and experiences on these same waters. Many times now I find myself enjoying watching my son fish as much as I do fishing myself.