The Trout Zone

Tuesday, December 30, 2025

Ruined

There are certain things that will ruin you as an angler. Of course, by ruin I mean spoil you so thoroughly that you don't want to do anything else. Catching big fish can do this, of course. Finding the perfect rod or rods for a particular application can do this. Recently, a new to me old rod brought on this phenomena. Then, even more recently, a bamboo rod did the same.

It all started when my friend Chuck very generously offered me a bamboo rod. In fact, he offered me my choice between some different rods. After lots of casting, I surprised myself with the rod that fit me perfectly. It was an 8.5' Beasley rod for a 5 weight line. The rod has a lot of power. I enjoy casting, and really enjoy at least having the option of making long casts, and this rod can absolutely punch it out there. However, like most bamboo I've cast, it also has the ability to protect fine tippets, something that is important to me since I often fish 6x and small midges.

Of course, the final determination on any rod is actually catching fish on it. Thus it was that I found myself headed for the river with the boat behind my truck shortly after a gorgeous sunrise. My dad had agreed to join me on this trip which was a treat in itself. We hadn't fished together for years, so it was past time to get a trip on the water with him. The main goal of the trip was to get my dad out and catching a few fish. The bamboo rod was just an after thought. I figured I could anchor up and catch a few to see what I thought of the rod as a fishing tool. It had already been cast enough that I knew I liked how it cast.

We did things a little different on this trip. Since part of the trip was time with my dad, I picked him up at his house. Instead of running our own shuttle which is what we normally do on this water, I was planning to just use the motor to make a long run up the river and then float back down.

When we got to the takeout, the water was fairly high. Flows were up which would allow us to motor upstream through water that otherwise would be too shallow to navigate through with the boat and motor. After dumping the boat in the water and getting my dad situated in the front seat, I fired up the motor and we began a long run upstream. With my little 6 hp motor, it took us more than an hour but eventually we made it all the way up to the next boat ramp. Since it was cold out early, that wasn't all bad. It meant we could stay hunkered down in our warm jackets and let the sun warm things up a little more.

Once we started fishing, I gave my dad a quick refresher primer to get him catching fish quickly. It worked because he started catching fish right away!

Soon we were drifting back downstream on the falling water. The generators had cut off and the fish started feeding heavily. We caught a few and missed a few. Eventually, my dad hooked a fish and it was pulling hard enough that we couldn't just drag it in without risking a break off. I anchored on a shoal and coached him through the fight. Soon, the fish came to the net, but not before I noticed something just behind us, maybe 60 feet upstream. A nice fish had rose to a midge or something similar.

My dad was kind enough to quit fishing while I backed the boat up, anchored in position, and pulled out that beautiful bamboo rod. It was rigged with a Chubby Chernobyl with a Frenchie underneath maybe two and a half to three feet deep. I dropped the rig in just upstream of the active fish and kept adjusting my presentation through mends and line management. Eventually, a few casts later, I got the drift just right and the dry fly dipped as the fish ate the nymph.

The fish was an average stocker rainbow trout, maybe 11 inches in length. Nothing to write home about, but my first fish on this bamboo rod which was neat. We took a picture or two, but I was hustling to get the fish back in the water. You see, while I was fighting it, a big dark shadow chased that fish almost into the net. I'm not sure what the larger fish was planning, but it was very aggressive. I got a fairly good look and could tell it was a big rainbow trout. Of course, my first thought was to put the bamboo away and pull out a 6 weight and rig a streamer. In fact, I was very close to doing that before I had second thoughts. I had a very clear idea of where that fish had come from, and there really wasn't any reason it shouldn't eat the same nymph the first fish had eaten.

I lined up a cast, made a reach as the line fly on its way to the target, then added another mend or two into the drift. The second time I did the same thing, and the fly drifted aways before dipping convincingly. As soon as I set the hook, I knew I had hooked up with a rocket. The fish was powerful and surged this way and that before deciding that the best strategy was to head downstream as quickly as possible. I had put an old Orvis Battenkill reel on the bamboo rod and that reel was screaming. It probably needed some grease, and it didn't sound like it would survive the encounter. My heart sank as I watched the fly line disappearing and the backing start heading downriver as well.

At that point, I asked my dad for help. We needed to follow, and while he wasn't going to row us after the fish, he could certainly at least pull the anchor rope up for me. He kindly started pulling in the anchor and soon we were at least drifting down after the fish. A little downstream, we lowered the anchor back down as the fish came running back at us. Then, it made another hard run and we bumped down a little further again. Finally, after more runs than I could count, it finally got close to the boat and I told my dad exactly what was about to happen. I needed some help on the net and didn't want things to be ruined at this point.

When we got the fish in the boat, my dad took some pictures for me. This was certainly one of the most memorable fish of the year for me, a true fish of the year candidate even though it only taped out at a touch over 18". It was one of the strongest 18" fish I've ever encountered and a true treat on the bamboo rod. I firmly believe that I likely would have lost that fish on most other rods. The bamboo did an incredible job of protecting the fine tippet and by some miracle the fly held. I've noticed that some (but definitely not all) graphite rods are really bad to bounce or vibrate while fighting a fish, but the natural bamboo material was very quiet throughout the fight.

The rest of the float was anticlimactic. I was worn out. My arm was tired for a while. My dad fished a little more and caught a few more fish including one really nice one, but our day was definitely winding down. I even cast again when a sight fishing opportunity presented itself, catching another rainbow or two on a tiny midge. Still, nothing fishing wise would beat that big rainbow and the workout it gave me. I was now ruined and could envision myself collecting more bamboo rods than I know what to do with. I don't know if that will happen, but I do know that I'll be fishing that Beasley rod again...

Monday, December 22, 2025

Cold Hikes

Winter is what I like to call "hiking season" because I can't stand the heat and humidity of the southeast. I'd rather be a little on the cool side of comfortable rather than too hot. There are days that push this preference to the limit, however.

Recently, I've been trying to both jog or run and also get as many hikes in as possible. That doesn't always mean I'm getting out a ton, but I'm doing what I can considering I have a full time job as a fly fishing guide and a family that needs plenty of my time as well. A big chunk of my motivation is simply staying in shape, but more specifically, I'm also having visions of backpacking trips to the Wind River range again in pursuit of golden trout. To enjoy a trip like that requires excellent conditioning. Unfortunately, I'm now entering the stage of life where I can't get into peak backpacking shape in 2-4 weeks of jogging.

Thus it was that I recently found myself trying to decide between a quick jog around the neighborhood or a hike up a nearby mountain. Both would work great for getting my heart rate elevated. The seriously cold air convinced me a hike was smarter. I find it difficult to jog when it is below freezing. Gasping subfreezing air is just not fun. Hiking is another story since I can vary my activity level just a little up or down to maintain my breathing.

The day before, we had enjoyed a family hike. This was a short walk, a little over 2 miles, and was perfect for everyone. I could carry our youngest in the kid carrier (effectively making my workout more intense which I need), while our oldest can walk the whole way so Mama doesn't have too hard a hike. We find some beautiful scenes, including a waterfall that had a lot more water in it than last time we had visited.

The next day, I was looking for more exercise, so I headed out with temperatures in the teens and falling. When I got to the trailhead and got out of my car, I briefly wondered what I had gotten myself into. The trail immediately ascends seemingly straight up the mountain. That helped initially, since it got my heart rate up and enough blood pumping to warm me up a little. Once the trail leveled out a little at the top of the first big rise, I knew this was going to be an interesting hike.

My chosen trail was a portion of the Cumberland Trail up Brady Mountain starting at the highway 68 trailhead. This particular trailhead isn't too far from home, so I can get there quickly. It also features significant (for my area) elevation that is great for someone specifically looking for a good cardio workout. That quick elevation gain gets you to the ridge line of Brady Mountain. On a cold post frontal day, that means a northwest breeze, or in the case of my particular day, gusty winds. Wind chills were almost certainly well down in the single digits and my face was quickly getting chilled. Holding my hands up to shield my face during the worst gusts helped, and I continued ascending the mountain.

I had seen a glimmer of white near the crest as I was driving to the trailhead. These mountains on the Cumberland Plateau (and also in the Smokies) will frequently get heavy rime ice buildup in the winter. I've enjoyed hiking in this magical scene once or twice, but it had been a while.

Sure enough, as I got close to the top for my hike which was a false summit that leads to one of the best overlooks you've ever seen, I started seeing ice buildup on the trees and bushes. It was far from the best I have ever seen, but not bad for a quick hike when I didn't have much in the way of expectations beyond just enjoying nature and getting fresh air.

The wind was intense until I hit the big flat on top. Once I got away from that western edge of the mountain, the wind relaxed significantly. In fact, it was so warm at the Brady Bluff overlook of Grassy Cove that I could have relaxed, ate lunch, and otherwise enjoyed my time. Alas, I hadn't brought lunch on this hike (it was a workout hike after all), so I sipped some water quickly, took a couple of very imperfect cellphone panoramas of the view, and headed back.

The wind was even worse if that is possible. Heading down the mountain, I was moving directly into the teeth of the raging wind. On the way up (heading south), I had been shielding the right side of my face. Now I shielded the right side of my face and started to jog. I was getting cold and needed both to warm up and also to get down in elevation and out of the wind. I had long since stopped kicking myself for forgetting my neck gaiter which is AWESOME in the wind. Originally purchased for skiing in Colorado where temps are often in the single digits, it has come in handy for cold weather fishing here in Tennessee and also cold weather hiking.

The jogging helped a little with warming me up, but the real trick for warming up was just getting down the hill in a hurry and into my nice warm car. Once I cranked the heat up, I was thankful that I had gotten up the mountain on such a blustery day. Scenes I got to enjoy are something most people will never get to see. Next time we get a good chance for rime ice, I'll be back up there looking again. Next time I'll have my neck gaiter and maybe an extra jacket just in case....

Sunday, December 14, 2025

December Newsletter

If you haven't received our latest newsletter or are not subscribed, here is a link to check it out. There are some fun goodies in this one including some good musky stuff.

https://mailchi.mp/27ebf2f34ccd/news-from-trout-zone-anglers-december-2025

Thursday, December 11, 2025

Into the Wild Beyond: Day Three

By the end of our fishing on day two of our big adventure, we had a decision to make. Continue to fish the stream that we had caught an inordinate number of fish on that day or go back to the stream that we had fished for an hour or two the first evening. Deciding where to fish can be a difficult decision, but it didn't take us long to decide to return to the first stream for a full day this time.

The next morning, we woke up and went about our morning routine. Mine included granola from Good to Go, which was quickly becoming a favorite. I'm into "healthy" whatever that means, and the granola was full of seeds, dried wild blueberries, and other goodies, making it power packed with nutrients. My usual backpacking breakfast was oatmeal, and this was a nice change of pace from that game plan.

Eventually, as with most mornings on a fishing trip, we both found ourselves moving faster and faster as we knocked out all of the small camp tasks and got ourselves ready for the fishing. Both of us wanted to get in a good long day of fishing with time to cover lots of ground. My goal for the day was simple: I just wanted to see some new-to-me water.

We headed quickly upstream, jumping past water that we had fished on our first evening in camp. It wasn't that we didn't think we could catch fish again in that section (we could have), but instead it was a deliberate effort towards our goal of covering as much water as possible. Having only made it a short distance above camp on our first evening, it didn't take long to get to our starting point.

Getting started on the first pool of the day

The morning started a little slow. We were catching fish, but in these types of backcountry locations, you expect fish to practically jump out of the water into your hands, and it wasn't quite that easy. Of course, fishing can ebb and flow over the course of a day. Weather, stream flows, hatches, moon phase, and many other factors can all contribute to fish being active or not. Eventually, things started picking up and we were catching fish, or at least getting hits, in enough spots to keep us laser focused.

Backcountry brook trout in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Returning to a piece of water after years away is always fun. Seeing favorite pools, new log jams, and how the stream has changed is always interesting. These changes are exacerbated by time away, when lots of little changes have added up to some big changes. Most of the stream was about like I remembered it, but there were some differences as well. New channels were cut, leaving some spots almost dry while others carried water like never before. Fish were about where you would expect, but just enough came out of strange spots to keep us covering all of the water thoroughly.

The biggest surprise that we had already noticed on our first evening of fishing was the lack of rainbow trout. It wasn't that we didn't catch any, because we did, but overall, the numbers of rainbow trout versus brookies was stacked strongly in favor of the brook trout. I only caught a handful of rainbows on the entire trip. My buddy Elam caught a few more than I did, but still not many. That was super encouraging even if it was only a short term trend that will likely be reversed after just one or two years of good spawning conditions for the invasive rainbow trout. Hopefully the brook trout have a highly successful spawn this fall and get another boost in their numbers before the rainbows really start to ramp back up next year.

The day was pleasant, with just enough fall colors to add extra beauty to the scene constantly unfolding around us. The transition happened above a long flat that I had fished several times before. The stream hit another very steep section. I had been to the top of the big pool that was at the base of the steep section, but not beyond. I was now entering new-to-me territory.

We continued up through the steep terrain, and I noticed that fish were not as plentiful. We were still catching plenty, but overall numbers seemed a little lower than below. This particular section of stream turns into an extended section of high gradient bedrock with very little spawning habitat. I suspect that the lower fish numbers was a by-product of the lack of good spawning habitat, relying on fish moving in from above or below. Based on our topo maps and some other research, there were plenty of flatter sections above again. However, I wouldn't make it that far on this day.

I was starting to get tired and it was getting late in the day. Knowing I had the long return hike downstream had me feeling cautious. My buddy Elam was still full of energy (oh to be young again!), but I was starting to realize I needed to be careful. This came to a head when I slipped while climbing a steep bank to get around a boulder and deep pool. Slipping, I busted my knuckles pretty bad and started bleeding. I've got to the point that I know when to let well enough alone, and just a short distance beyond, I told Elam that he was welcome to keep fishing as long as he wanted, but I was going to call it for the day. I settled in to relax stream side while he headed up a little further. I know my own limitations these days, and when I start making mistakes, that is my warning. The next mistake could be costly as far as we were from civilization or even good trail access.

The stream was absolutely gorgeous in this stretch. I stopped just below a major plunge over a massive bedrock headwall. It looked like things might level back off up around the corner, but I wasn't certain of that. Later, when Elam came nimbly rock hopping back down the stream, he confirmed that it did indeed level back off into another long stretch of lower gradient water. This stream is very interesting because it is a mix of long low gradient sections interspersed with very high gradient sections that would be incredible to see at high flows. The bedrock was polished smooth and gave us a faint idea of what kind of forces work on this terrain on a regular basis throughout the year.

On this last day, our overall numbers were again excellent by the end of the day. Not as insane as the prior day, but the average size was pretty good. We never did catch any giants, probably not even breaking 10 inches on the brook trout, but coming close a few times. The water is beautiful, however, and the size of the habitat suggests that larger brook trout in the 11-12 inch range are certainly possible. I'll be back again, to scout even further upstream, constantly pushing into new and unexplored (by me) terrain. That's what it's all about for me where I'm at in my fly fishing journey.

As we headed back down the stream, we hit some of the spots we either skipped or didn't fish hard enough on the way up. At one spot, a massive log jam was even more impressive from the top side, and we stopped long enough for some pictures as Elam had to climb to the top. However, the light was starting to lessen, and I wanted to get back in time to eat before dark. We hit a couple more pools and then headed on back to camp. The next day was our last, and I wanted to get up and on the trail to hike back to civilization fairly early. The last weather forecast I had seen suggested rain might be moving in, and I hoped we could beat it back.

That night in camp, our conversation turned to the majesty of this hidden gem. Elam agreed that it was indeed one of the best streams he had fished in the Smokies, largely because the catching was only a piece of the equation. Instead, the constant reminders of the sheer power of nature around us were humbling and awe inspiring and encouraged us to return again and again to this magical place. At the end of the day, I could write the same thing about any number of backcountry streams, for the magic is in the solitude resulting from the long walk in. Only a few fortunate people will ever see most of these places, and the ones who do come will have earned the right to be there. Earning the right also enhances a person's appreciation of these wild places. It is a sacred responsibility to know about these places, one that no one should take lightly. We are simply visitors trying to blend in as best we can and leave it the same as or better than we found it. In this day of the internet ruining fishing spots like never before, there are still places that shouldn't be spoken of by name, and this is one of them.

Tuesday, November 25, 2025

New Old Rods

Human nature causes us to look on the past with nostalgia. That can be dangerous, of course. One of my history professors in college liked to remind us that "there was no such thing as the good old days because the life expectancy back then was in the 30 year range." That's fair enough, but was there a golden age for fly rods? Ask ten different fly anglers and you'll get ten different answers on that. A newbie fly angler who just upgraded to the most expensive rod from the likes of Scott, Orvis, G Loomis, Winston, or any of the other popular rod manufacturers will tell you that this indeed is the best fly rod ever made. Manufacturers regularly bill their newest as the best ever. That's at least partially forgivable since they are in the business of selling products that require at least some level of marketing. That said, if the rods are really all that, won't they sell themselves? That's a question for a different day. What I'm really interested in is my personal all time favorite rod series.

My Favorite Rods

While some of the newest and best rods are truly incredible, my favorites, other than whatever rod is in my hand catching fish at any given time, are the original graphite Superfine rods from Orvis. They are hands down some of the most fun to fish. Thankfully they don't have the terrible "label" on the rod blank just above the handle of the newer Orvis rods (which also go a long ways towards keeping me from buying any current Orvis rod). I would probably buy several of the new ones if it wasn't for that goofy label as they are otherwise incredible rods. The blanks are unsanded (one of my favorite features), and they have the small Superfine grips that don't fatigue my hand while casting. Oh, and they flex. They are incredible soft, loading deeply into the blank for some of the most fun you can have fishing small streams. They are also in fairly high demand, meaning you can expect to pay at minimum close to original retail for one and often even more.

My first "nice" fly rod was a Superfine "Tight Loop" (an 8' 4 weight rod), and I have since found a couple more of these original Superfine graphite rods in other models. Most recently, I was on the prowl for a "One Ounce." This rod is a 6' 6" 2 weight that weighs one ounce. It sounded too good to be true. On paper, it was the perfect brook trout rod and also great for delicate dry fly presentations to any small or medium sized trout.

Finding My Next Superfine

After watching for one on again and off again for several years, I finally got a heads up from my buddy Trevor who buys and sells rods regularly. He is great at tracking down hard to find rods and he had found one at a reasonable price point. I could have had one before this point, but wasn't willing to spend way more than original retail to get it. The rod looked good in pictures and when it was delivered, I took it out and examined it. Everything was in good shape, I just needed a good excuse to fish it.

Fast forward a few months and it was time for my annual fall camping trip. This year, it was the camping trip that almost didn't happen. Then, one day, I had a conversation with my buddy John that got me excited to go and thankfully I still had some days free. We made a plan and before I knew it, the time had arrived.

Fishing My New Old Superfine Rod

Almost as an afterthought, I threw the One Ounce in my truck when I was packing for the camping trip. I figured maybe there would be some dry fly opportunities. When the day of departure arrived, we nearly skipped going. The forecast was for the first major cold front of the season to bring snow and very cold temperatures to the Smokies and broader southeastern US. Still, it looked like we might get some decent fishing on our first afternoon and perhaps the next day as well.

I got a slightly later start than intended, but eventually was on the road and headed for the mountains. Of course, a stop at Little River Outfitters in Townsend was needed. I usually think of something I need, but at minimum I like to stop and say hi to the guys at the shop. On this trip, I was after a new line for a reel I had sitting around that would work on my new Superfine. After that stop, we headed over the top of Newfound Gap and down the other side to Smokemont Campground. I've been doing a fall camping trip there for years and always enjoy the crisp cool mornings and good late autumn fishing. Dry fly opportunities are often excellent around this time of year, with low flows common. Anglers should be very cautious of brook and brown trout spawning and avoid walking through redds and spawning areas.

When we arrived at the campground, the sun was shining and while the wind was starting to pick up with the front coming in, we knew that this would be the warmest water of our whole trip. In other words, we needed to get out there and fish hard. Since I wanted to make sure and fish the new-to-me old rod, I put it carefully together and pulled out a small Parachute Adams. Surely there would be at least one or two fish rising.

We walked over to the stream and started working up a nice low gradient section. Not too long into our session, I spied a smallish trout holding in a nice slick that was rising fairly steadily. Exactly the kind of fish I was looking for. It took a couple of casts to get the fly in the right spot due to the strong wind, but the fish ate as soon as I got a good drift. I whiffed. Seriously. Not once, but twice.

Still, the fish was rising. I figured out it was more likely to eat if I cast farther above it instead of close, so I started casting 4 or 5 feet above the fish to set up a good drift. On my second or third cast up there, a fish I never saw came up and inhaled the fly. Thankfully, even though I was focused on my initial target, I was paying enough attention to set the hook and a lively fight ensued. Turns out I caught the larger of the two fish in that run which suited me just fine. My first trout on the "One Ounce" was a very respectable brown trout and on a dry fly no less.

The rest of the day was anticlimactic. I did catch another fish or two, still all on dry flies. One rainbow in particular was fun. I missed it on my first drift through a strong back eddy below a boulder. The fish was facing directly towards me when it ate, and I simply pulled the fly completely out of its mouth.

Thankfully, it didn't feel the hook, and on the next drift it ate again. I waited a little longer to set the hook to let the fish turn, and immediately felt the 2 weight rod bend deeply as the lively rainbow ran hard into the current. After a fun fight, an average Smoky Mountain rainbow trout came to hand.

The next day saw some incredible dry fly fishing on Deep Creek, but the weather was much colder. In fact, things were getting nasty enough and cold enough that we decided the smart idea probably involved heading home earlier than intended. Low temperatures our second night were forecast to be in the low to mid teens. Sleeping would have been fine, but getting up the next morning and crawling out of a warm sleeping bag would have been miserable.

I made it home in time to enjoy our first snowfall of the season on the Cumberland Plateau and appreciated my nice warm bed more than usual. The first expedition with my new old rod was a success. Now I just need to find a good time to go brook trout fishing with it...

Find more information on a Smokies fly fishing guide HERE.

Monday, November 17, 2025

Into the Wild Beyond: Day Two

Waking up next to a tumbling mountain trout stream has to be the best way to enter a new day. The glow of dawn had me awake and shortly after, climbing out of my tent. The cool mountain air was invigorating with just a hint of the cold months lurking over the horizon. Not so cold you needed a jacket, but cool enough to make you briefly second guess your plans to wet wade.

Read Day One HERE

Pale jewelweed near a trout stream in the Great Smoky Mountains

I had a nice relaxing morning with some reading, a leisurely breakfast, and of course enjoying the scenery which never gets old. There were plenty of wildflowers around camp to enjoy, not to mention the stream itself. At some point, though, I made a subtle mental shift from enjoying the place I was in to getting excited about encountering more of the finned inhabitants of the waterways around camp. My rod was put back together (I no longer leave it assembled in camp, feel free to ask if you have questions on why) and I tied on a dry fly. Putting on the wet wading boots was the last task that I kept waiting until we were both ready to hit the water. That is probably one of my least favorite jobs on a fishing trip. Wet wading gear, damp from the previous day's fishing, is never fun to put on.

Once we were ready to fish, we decided to do a short trail walk to a section of stream that is always fun to fish, full of plunge pools and waterfalls. You have to be extremely careful as there are lots of places where a slip could have serious consequences. I've found myself moving slower and more deliberately through the water these days. Sadly, I'm not getting any younger. I think my buddy Elam had a hard time relating the few times I commented about getting old.

We jumped in at a favorite waterfall scene. This spot never gets old and we both caught several brookies before we even got to the base of the first falls. Surprisingly, the plunge pool at the base of the actual falls didn't fish as well as the pools and pockets further down. We didn't pause for too long other than for a few pictures and were soon climbing the exposed ledge around the side of the falls, hoping to not fall back down.

Native Great Smoky Mountain National Park brook trout

This stream is one of my favorites for brook trout because of both the numbers and size of its resident fish. On one trip, my buddy Greg and I caught ten brook trout nine inches or better. For the Smokies, that is phenomenal. On our trip, we never broke ten inches, but the numbers were absurd. I think we got Elam a new personal best in terms of fish caught in a day on a Smokies trip. My own personal best numbers day came from this same area. It just doesn't get fished enough to make the fish hard to catch. There are lots of places in the Smokies that fall into that category still, thankfully I might add. You just have to work to get to them.

We were working pretty hard just to fish this one. Numerous huge boulders, giant ledges, and yes, lots of waterfalls all made our way harder but also contributed to keeping fishing pressure to a minimum. The big shocker happened around midday. We were struggling through yet another steep section. At times it felt that even a mountain goat would struggle to negotiate the rough terrain. Then, I saw a small clue stream side. Some small branches that had been gnawed on. Upon closer inspection, I found more evidence that yes, beavers had somehow invaded even this incredibly rough drainage. I'm forever amazed at where these animals can and do go. Check out the fresh cuttings we found!

After wondering in awe at this little sideshow, we got back to fishing. The fish were coming with regularity. Put the fly in the right spot, catch a fish. Rinse and repeat. One of the treats on these trips is enjoying different color schemes on these jewels. Some fish are dark, some are light, some have been jaws while others are more delicate. Each fish is unique and some are truly stunning

In addition to catching plenty of trout, we were also enjoying the creekside flora. Numerous wildflowers were still blooming at this late date as evidenced by the profusion on our hike in. Streamside, there were a few goodies. One of the most prolific was the white snakeroot. One of the last wildflowers to bloom each year, it was a sure sign that the growing season was winding down. Next up? Spring wildflowers in a few months.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park white snakeroot

One of the reasons I enjoy brook trout fishing in the late summer or early fall is that at least some of the fish have colored up for the fall dance. While the spawn doesn't usually start until October, the fish are already looking good by sometime in August or September. One of the most beautiful fish we found on this trip came partway through this first full day of fishing. It had the fiery orange belly that makes those fall fish so special.

Despite the often small size of this brook trout stream, it does have a few surprises. Like any good stream, the occasional "big" pool is always a treat to stumble across. I haven't gotten around to naming any of my favorite pools on this stream yet, but I've fished it enough now that I probably ought to. One in particular is always excellent. It has produced as many as ten fish on some trips and usually offers that many chances at minimum. We caught and missed quite a few out of it on this trip although probably not quite ten. Other pools that usually fish very well were surprisingly slow. One in particular stands out. I've seen nine inch and larger fish come from this pool and it is usually good for at least three or four fish and often several more. On this trip, however, we got maybe one or two and possibly missed one, but overall we just weren't seeing fish in this pool. Those are the types of ebbs and flows that make more sense if you are on the same piece of water frequently, but when you only come once a year if you're lucky, those types of pools always create reason to wonder what is going on.

As the day wore down, I started letting Elam fish most of the best water. It was getting late and I was starting to wind down for the day. I did manage a couple of late fish that also happened to be picture fish. One was special because of the distinct blue halos on its flanks. The other fish had the blue halos but also better amounts of orange. Best of all, that second fish ate a dry fly.

This section of creek always seems to end abruptly. One minute you're working through some skinny pocket water, and the next it is time to climb out and hit the trail. Most streams I fish are broken into sections based on how the stream flows in relation to a nearby trail or manway. This stream had some fairly obvious in and out spots. If you picked the wrong spot, the resident stinging nettle would protect the brook trout from any hasty invasion.

Great Smoky Mountains National Park Stinging nettle

We carefully navigated our way out of the stream bed, avoiding the nettle. On our hike back, we began debating what to do the next day. One more full day of fishing loomed ahead. We were both excited and also torn. Normally, I would fish the next section of stream that we had been working up, getting in at the same spot we exited on this day. However, after catching a couple of big brook trout a little closer to camp, the chance to catch larger native brook trout had us at a serious crossroads. Which stream would we fish the next day?

Find information on guided fly fishing trips in the Smokies HERE.

Sunday, November 02, 2025

Monthly Newsletter

If you subscribe to my monthly newsletter for Trout Zone Anglers (my guide service), you should have already received this. If not, here is the November newsletter. Want to see other articles or information in the newsletter? Let me know what you would like to see included, and I'll see what I can do.

News from Trout Zone Anglers: November 2025

Friday, October 31, 2025

Fleeting Fall Colors

Every year, I look forward with anticipation to the fall colors. Every year, the colors do not last long enough. That is probably part of the allure. Such fleeting enjoyment adds to the mystique and leaves me grasping at the slightest hints of autumn. In some years, I find the first beautifully colored leaf in June, sometimes in July, very rarely as late as August. Of course, those aren't true fall colors, but leaves that happened to dry up and die prematurely for this reason or that. Still, they help build the anticipation and excitement for the main event to come.

This year, we headed up to a favorite hike where we hit the colors just right once upon a time. Ever since, we've tried to replicate that one magical day and apparently, it is harder to do than it seemed the first time. It was a great hike, don't get me wrong, but the colors were past peak on the brightest candidates (maples, etc) and barely even started on others (oaks, etc).

A few days ago, we hit a new to us trail that we've been meaning to hike for a while. It was short enough for the whole family and had the possibility of some nice colors. Turns out that we really enjoyed the hike and will be back, and the colors were good but not great. That seems to be the theme this year.

Some of it comes down to lighting. If you see the colors in the right light, they can really pop. Often that means a rainy day. We drove through Fall Creek Falls recently, and found some really nice color. Maybe not the best I've ever seen in Tennessee, but very nice.

Of course, my job gives me a better opportunity than most to enjoy the colors. Just yesterday, I was taking in the colors on the Clinch while my client battled gorgeous wild rainbow trout. Being a Smokies fly fishing guide is one of my favorite things imaginable, largely because, well, I get to spend a lot of time in the Great Smoky Mountains. Every October, I book an inordinate number of trips up there. While my work as a fly fishing guide has really morphed into more of a float guide, I still do a decent number of wade trips. I go where the trips book and, while more or less booked as much as I want, still can't get too picky on where those trips book. I feel fortunate to spend the highest percentage of any month in the Smokies during color season. Some years are better than others, but every year provides its own magical moments.

Upper Little River fly fishing in the Great Smoky Mountains

West Prong Little Pigeon River fly fishing in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

Now, as we morph into the winter months, I'm looking forward to a lot more hiking than I get accomplished in the warmer months and a little more personal fishing as well. Still, if I could stretch the fall season out a little longer, I'd do it in a heartbeat, especially if I could preserve those gorgeous fall colors a little longer.