In terms of what fly fishing is all about, the January Chattooga SRTU trip stands out in sharp contrast to many of my fishing forays. In terms of elegance of accommodations it was far down on the list; although, in fairness, it could be said that the lack of finesse in lodging could be one of the reasons why it was so successful. At its most basic, the accommodations in the “barracks” at the Walhalla Fish Hatchery fostered an air of camaraderie and tested our social skills. After all, miles out in the middle of nowhere with naught else but each other’s company,  in the pitch blackness of a mountain night, long-dormant conversational skills led to pleasant conversations. And, to our credit, being captive in a mountain cabin with like-minded anglers was a weekend well worth the time and, dear reader, a fish catching opportunity unparalleled in the pages of this publication. Truly, it was a convivial group made even more so by the superb angling opportunities. In addition, the ample delectables prepared by Sherie and Keith Cloud warmed bellies and made for stimulating evenings around the table.

               Over the weekend, the waters around Walhalla and environs were explored and probed by our group and the Chattooga, with its restive waters, was the target for most during the weekend. Weather-wise, we were blessed with good temperatures, clear skies and a fish-filled stream.  Yet, even the most expert anglers among us can flail the waters, fish till exhaustion and come up empty-handed. That is, unless one is forearmed with superb intelligence and a secret knowledge of the habitat of hungry trout. Such angling bloodhounds led the group to special places, deep into the forests surrounding the Chattooga and, myself, fortified with ample doses of arthritic medications, plunged headlong – and enthusiastically – into the thickets.

               Following rustic woodland trails, we hiked upriver and fished several pools and runs, taking a leisurely approach to trying out different flies and different methods. During our hike, I was very impressed by the treatment accorded to two of our newest members, Greg and Diane Gunter. For this couple, an introduction to the Chattooga was enough to get them “hooked” on fly fishing. It was a pleasure to witness the generosity of two of our resident “experts,” Bob Williams and David Sarratt, who, in the

               I immediately reminded myself that it was David Sarratt who took in this old duffer and taught him some of the “secrets” to catching trout in the Chattooga. Several years ago, I had the privilege of being in the same spot where Greg and Diane stood on that January day, trying to pay attention and committing to memory the physical delicacy and mental sensitivity required to hook and land mountain trout.   In thinking back on those early days, I remain forever grateful that someone took the time (and was patient enough)to help me through Trout 101. You can be sure should the opportunity arise, the favor will be “paid forward.”

               Reaching further upstream, we came to a broader stretch of the Chattooga. As Bill Clary, noted mountain guide once told me, “fish the impossible water.” The quote rattled around in my brain for a moment and, tying on a simple hare’s ear, I began to run the nymph deep through several seams, taking an occasional rainbow or small brown. In no case were long casts the order of the day and, conversely, most of the fish were taken within a scant ten to fifteen feet. Indeed, with such short casts, strike indicators were practically worthless and the new Orvis Zebra line on my reel allowed me ample indication of any strike. (I apologize for the shameless plug) But, Clary also told me that after a few fish are taken on any one lure, it is time to switch to something new. I suppose that the fish get tired of seeing the “same old thing.”

               Following a cue from Bob Williams as well as a borrowed fly, I repeated the pattern and caught fish after fish. I was sworn to secrecy by Bob and continued to hook rainbows in the 10-12 inch range. I soon experienced a smashing strike that jolted my little 4 weight rod and I felt the shock travel up the rod and into my arm as  an 18-inch rainbow swallowed the tiny fly and leapt into the sky. What a thrill! Not even a 55 lb. Wahoo could equal that! Even after the fly became unraveled, it continued to catch fish and I must have caught more than 50 fish that day. But, actually, I lost count after 50 and was threatened with bodily harm if I caught any more. Regrettably, I cannot divulge the secret fly as it was hand-tied by Bob and after that one was used up, so was I. It was a decent end to a more than decent day and time to hike back to the 28 bridge.

               Rare are the trips and days where everything seems perfect: God is in his house and all’s right with the world.  I had the pleasure of fishing with gentle folk; I saw the river at its best; I caught more than my share of fish; and I experienced the embrace of nature. It could not have been more perfect. I hope everyone who is a member of TU gets to share those kinds of days with those kinds of people; it might be the most mind-expanding experience of your lifetime.