Well…as one would expect, we found ourselves waking to a clear, cool morning and the realization that it was the last full day we would have in that cabin, those woods, those mountains, for some time.
A morning visit to one other family member on my wife’s side, then a long gap before a final visit she had planned with her sister were all that had been completely decided. In the corner of the cabin, though, another need quietly waited.
Yes, I carry a lot of gear on and in my vest. Yes, it is fairly heavy. Yes, I refuse to pare it down, at all. Almost everything I carry I have used, at least once, in the past, if not quite regularly. The very (very) few things that do not meet this threshold are…well…gadgets that I will someday get a kick out of saying “I ran into this one problem, standing in the middle of a river, and actually had this (insert photo here) on my vest, to solve it!”
Okay, that’s the dream. Don’t steal it from me.
Morning visit done, I loaded up the gear and we headed out toward the area of Helen, GA, as it sits on some of the upper waters of the Chattahoochee. I didn’t intend to fish the river, itself, but rather was counting on finding some smaller tributaries as options where native Rainbows would be living, the fishing pressure less, and the stocked trout not as likely to be around.
I get the whole stocking thing, mind you. I applaud the states that do it well and properly, and appreciate efforts to maintain trout populations in their natural habitat.
For those that have never visited, Helen, GA, is modeled after a German Village, with what looks to be a good variety of shops, restaurants, etc. If you are interested in more, take a peek HERE.
Having been to two other towns that make the same effort (Leavenworth, WA and Frankenmuth, MI), I can say that I am conflicted as to which is the best, in my opinion. Leavenworth and Helen, in my mind, are fighting for #1. Leavenworth has the taller, Alpine-looking mountains, but Helen seems to have broader options for things to do and the theme is carried throughout very nicely.
Either way, they clearly hold #1 and #2 in my rankings.
Frankenmuth comes in at a distant #4.
Anyway, the best way for me to frame where I ended up finally wetting my fly line would be to back up, actually.
As one heads south on Highway 17/75, coming away from Hiyawasee, you will eventually come to a pull-off, on the left-hand side of the road, with a map and information for the “Russel-Brasstown Scenic Byway.” It’s not long before a leftward swing in the road, where the Spoilcane Creek you will have been following runs into the Chattahoochee and give up it’s waters to that larger flow, takes you on toward Helen.
Across the highway from that signage, there is a bulging extension of the pavement, some large rocks, and worn paths leading into the treeline.
In there…
Yeah…deep breath, feel the stress start to fall away, and listen to the breeze in the leaves.
The road is fairly close, but not too heavily traveled (at least not midday on a Monday), so you really get long periods where you can forget it exists.
I set up the folding rocking chair, so my lovely wife could also relax and enjoy the spot, then geared up and went for a wade.
The downstream view looked promising…
…but I didn’t see reasonable pathways through the trees and brush, to make the walk down the road, cross through, and work my way back up. On this small of a stream, I knew that walking down at the edge would likely put the trout down for longer than I wanted to wait, before stepping in.
So, I went as far as I could, without standing over the edge of the gently gurgling waters, then veered right and stepped into the flow. As soon as I got into a good spot, and the coolness of the stream started to make it’s way though the boots and waders, I leaned forward and let my fingers drag slowly in the current.
All remaining concerns washed away at the touch of those nicely crisp, cool waters, and I likely had a childishly giddy smile on my face…
Looking upstream, the pockets appeared nicely placed and spread out so that I could roll cast to many, or shift myself to the left and horizontally cast to the others.
It look less than a dozen casts before I connected with the first Trout!
Okay…maybe Troutlet is more accurate. My #16 Parachute Adams was perhaps half the size of it’s entire head, but it was refusing to let go, despite the fly being barbless!
In the casts that followed, the fly was either taken by other small, young, overly-energetic volunteers, or at least swatted at, probably once ever third drift. What a great stream this was already turning out to be!
As I moved upstream, I focused on a set of seamlines that were flowing over various rocks, each bending toward that bunch of over-hanging tree roots on the right, knowing that this would be an ideal place for trout to hold.
It was the 4th or 5th cast into that when the fly really got hit.
The little fish had played with it a couple of times, but as I worked the fly closer to the right side, letting it drift progressively farther over what I suspected was deeper and deeper waters, it was snatched from the surface with a splash, tugged on hard, then spat out in short order.
In the midst of that, though, I caught a side flash that told me a good 8-9″ fish was lurking in that spot!
I would play tag with that fish for a while, it swatting my fly a handful of times and even taking, then spitting it on two more occasions, before it finally caught on and left the fly drifting quietly through.
Still, I love it when trout take flies that I’ve tied, and this was one I had done years ago.
Moving upstream, the troutlets continued to give that fly a rough time, but as I noticed a pair of larger pockets up ahead, and with that good sized trout from the last one fresh in my memory, I decided to go bigger and swapped out that #16 P. Adams for a #12 Stimulator.
I do like to tie this pretty bushy, and had thought, at first, that it would be too big for this little creek, but quickly found that even the energetic young trout would eagerly try biting at this one, once it was presented to them!
Loads of fun, playing with them as I worked my way upstream. But, you see that large rock on the right, seemingly directly under the tree that leans left, over the water? Beyond that, because of it and the other rocks that lead to the left, there is a great little pocket of water.
When the Stimmy drifted through it, the second time, it was quickly snatched from the surface and the line pulled taught. After a bit of redirection, to keep the fish from wrapping my tippet around one of the rocks, I managed to draw in this beauty…
A lovely trout, in an excellent spot. What else could one hope for?
My measure net had come loose, and needed to be re-attached later, so apologies for the hand grab. Yes, I wet my hand first and let it go as quickly as I could after retrieving the fly (completely swallowed) and grabbing that pic.
A bit more play with the little trout followed, but at that point it was a banner day, regardless of what else happened!
I didn’t fish all that long (okay, I lose track of time when I’m fishing. Like, completely), but it was an excellent return to the water for me. Yes, I forgot to take the water temp (cold, but how cold?), and the net thing happened, but, really, those are insignificant, when one gets to spend time in such a beautiful place and slip into that zen-like state that fly fishing encourages.
Yes, there will be a post for Day 4, but it’s from the trip back, and I think I would prefer to leave the fly fishing to stand on it’s own.
I know you’ll understand.
Until then…
Tight lines…