treeline. The river narrowed considerably too, which made a crossing here a poor decision. In stead of bushwacking through the dense stand of rhododendron I just turned and headed downstream. I like to fish downstream a good bit of the time anyway, so not a problem. I worked the water pretty good for about forty minutes. Riffles were not offering up anything. The eddies held nothing interest in biting. The slow deep drifts into the bottom didn't stir any action either. Pocket water nestled in the shallow rocks were zilch also. Nothing was happening. Even then I was smiling because as I looked around, I was reminded that I was not in the office on this Monday. I was in a tucked away hidden corner of Utopia.
The sun had fallen behind the hills of Clingman's Dome. The temperature had dropped eight degrees in minutes and the fantastic fifty five degree afternoon was losing the battle with the twenty eight degree night that was coming. It was time to get off the water.
I made my last few casts into the swift flow of the 'Luftee and once again saw nothing stirring. The gig was up. Time to pack it in. Time to go. My one last cast was complete.
With my line flowing downstream from me, I began collapsing my rod. The twelve foot Iwana was shrinking in my hands has it had done a thousand times before, nothing new here. Then I fixed my fingers to begin the wrap for the furled line to grip my cork handle. With everything in place I started my spiral turns of kevlar like I have done a thousand times before, nothing new here. This is where it changes up a bit. The line snags something and some tension forms. I gave it a light tug and the line came forward, but with slack it carried away again. What was going on? I got back into making my line turns on the cork assuming that I had picked up a stick and that was what was causing some resistance. Then at about six feet away I saw a splash. The jerky action of my wrist movements had caused the perfect dance for that beadhead to draw out a fish. I continued to “reel” in the fish one turn at a time until I got it to hand. Now here I am holding a fish on my last cast of the day. A sweet Smoky Mountain brown trout. That was a great way to end the day.
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