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Sunday morning late, about 7:30, the wind was howling down the valley and dragging clouds across the mountain tops. Balsam Lake had been drained and begun to refill after Saturday’s rain and several mallards were twisting, turning and flaring as they tried to grab the wind and land on the lake. Keith, Reuben and I agreed that with the lake filling up and with the excessive wind the surrounding rivers might be too high and muddy and the wind too strong to cast a fly and so we thought of heading for home. As we were driving out on Charley’s Creek Road we passed over the creek and much to our surprise it was running clear. When we got to the 215 turn-off Reuben stopped us and suggested that instead of turning right and down the mountain toward Highway 64, Brevard and home, that we turn left and pass over the Blue Ridge Parkway and down the other side to the West Fork of the Pigeon River and try our luck there. Maybe the Pigeon would be clear and the wind perehaps not as strong on the west side of Cold Mountain. As we passed under the Parkway the trees were glazed with Hoar frost where the water droplets in the clouds froze and completely coated the trees in a brilliant white glaze that sparkled as he sun broke through the clouds. Driving down the mountain, I noticed the temperature began to climb and by the time we reached the Delayed Harvest parking area it was up to 42. We suited up, with some good natured grumbling about the cold, and walked out the right end of the parking lot headed for a hole were Reuben had caught a number of trout on Thursday afternoon. Keith headed up steam where he caught trout but Ruben and I went to either side of the hole and we both caught a trout on almost the first cast. I came up dry after that but Ruben was pulling them in using the high stick technique with his ten foot, five weight rod with a long leader, three split shot and a balloon strike indicator for his dropper. After catching a half a dozen of the usual size trout for that water he found himself hung up on the bottom. At least he thought he was hung up and proceeded to yank on his line and began to wade out to free this line when all of a sudden that “rock” he was hung on began to swim off. The pool wasn’t very large but it still took him five minutes to tire that fish out and to bring him to net. And before we pulled out of there that afternoon, Ruben had caught two more in the 17-18 inch class as well as a number of more typical-sized trout. Keith christened that spot “Reuben’s Rock” which I think was well deserved.

 

After seeing that big one landed I thought about pushing Reuben in the river and taking his spot but decided that wouldn’t be very gentlemanly and it might cost me my TU membership (ed. note: Not so, Mac, Reuben has been named "Doctor Dunk") so I decided to try and find a hole of my own. I walked down stream and did find a likely looking run and began to fish it from the tail of the run towards the head a distance of about 200 feet. I was using  an olive and purple Wooly Bugger that Kevin German had tied and offered to me. I was using a strike indicator set at various depths with two split shot on my eight and half foot, four weight rod. I was trying to imitate Ruben with the high stick approach but having no luck. But as I neared the head of the run on the right side there was a scalloped out area of maybe six to eight feet long and just a foot or two deeper than the surrounding area. As my Wooly Bugger passed through that hole I had a strike and by the time Keith found me 45 minutes later and suggested that it was time for lunch I had numerous strikes and managed to hook five fish and landed three from that one spot. By varying the drift of the line one way or the other by a foot or two, there would be no strike until I got the fly right in that lane and only then was a strike likely. I guess I have to work on keeping my line taut and refine my response time to strikes if I’m going to land more fish. As we were leaving, I asked Keith to strip his fly through that same lane and he caught a fish as well. As we walked back to the trucks, Keith informed me that was the very same hole where Kevin, who had tied the Wooly Bugger, had caught a number of fish. I wondered if that Wooly Bugger had led me back to that spot on Sunday to continue what was begun on Thursday.

 

We almost let the wind and rain frighten us away and we would have lost a great opportunity to continue our fishing, fun and fellowship.

"...OR, AN OPPORTUNITY ALMOST LOST"