“There’s a big one in that deep run right under the bridge. It’s the biggest one I’ve seen this far up. Must be 12 or 13 inches.” The fishing has been disappointing so far and Tim is trying to spot fish for me. He forgot his fly rod and refused an offer to share mine so is relegated to helping the old man try to snag one. I’ve been fishing for almost three hours and had only a couple of rises. The feeling in my feet is pretty much a memory because of the cold water and it’s getting late. This might be my last chance.
We’re about three miles up Hazel Creek, a beautiful stretch of water in the Smoky Mountain National Park on the north side of Fontana Lake. Tim got a great deal on a “distressed” floating cabin last fall and has spent a lot of time renovating and fixing up. Millie is out of town for the weekend, so he invited me down for a guys’ time. Hazel Creek is only accessible by boat and it was an hour run from Tim’s place to the trail head. Being that it’s after Labor Day, the area is uncrowded. Although we’ve seen some paddlers and campers (along with a momma bear and two cubs), we’ve yet to see another fisherman. The fact that I’ve had the stream to myself hasn’t translated into hungry trout.
People are also reading…
The bridge is an old metal thing left over from logging operations in the 1920s. An abandoned railroad bed, converted to a forest road, winds up the creek on a very forgiving grade. The hike up was pleasant with lots of waterfalls and remnants of the settlement that used to thrive here. The forest is mature and healthy and it’s hard to conceive that 100 years ago, millions of board-feet of lumber moved down this road and the area was a wide-open clear cut. As a landowner, who harvests timber on a regular basis, the regenerative capacity of our forests is a blessing. We’ve seen the same at Demeter.
I work slowly up the creek, placing my fly in likely looking places, not wanting to spook one before I get to the place Tim has found. A big dead tree lies in the middle of the creek. I wade beside it, keeping it between me and the trout’s hiding place. I can cast from behind the trunk. masking my movements. Tim is observing from the bridge, filming the moment with a Go-Pro. It’s a perfect setup. I work out line with a few false casts and lay the fly in the riffle above the hole. My muscles tense…
A Park Service plaque near the center of the old settlement paints the picture of a timber boom town that was pretty much dried up by the time the park was created, and the dam filled. There may be a bit more to the story. Fontana and The Smokies are jewels for outdoor recreation and a legacy for our nation. They bring tourist dollars and jobs to the region but there is an offset. Similar to Bland County, the federal government doesn’t pay property taxes on its land, which results in a markedly decreased tax base for localities.
Tim tells me there’s no love lost between longtime locals and the TVA and Park Service. When the river was impounded to form the lake in the early 1940s, multiple small towns and homesteads were flooded and forever lost. Landowners were paid for the condemned land and/or offered other land in return but the general sentiment is that the prices and trades weren’t close to being fair. The locals were also promised plentiful and cheap TVA hydropower once the dam was operating but that promise never materialized. None of the power generated by Fontana went to the area around the lake. Instead, it went to power Alcoa, Knoxville and Oak Ridge to support the war effort. The yokels in the hills take it on the chin while the folks downriver get the perks. Sound familiar? Maybe all of this was necessary for the greater good, but you may have a hard time making that case to folks whose ancestral land is under 150 feet of water or locked up in perpetuity by a national park.
Enough of that, though, back to fishing. The fly floats perfectly over the trout. Everything is poised for some action…everything except the trout, it seems. I’m sure this is only a momentary setback, so I cast again and then again. After a dozen or so casts at every possible angle and presentation it dawns on me that there’s a very good reason this fish is the biggest Tim has seen up here. It’s better at this game than me. Trout-1; Dale-0.
The hike back to the boat and the run to the cabin are gorgeous and relaxing. Tim fixes burgers on the grill as we watch the sunset. A beer and a few Motrin calm my protesting muscles. No bruised ego here. It’s been a marvelous day and maybe if I play my cards right, Tim will invite me back next year for a rematch.
Dale and Joneen Sargent are stewards of a tract of mountain land, Demeter, in Bland County. Dale can be reached at dsargent522@gmail.com.
Credit: Source link
