By Joe Woody
I’ll start this off with a statement… “I am a mediocre to decent fishermen.” If you’ve fished with me before, you would probably come down on the “mediocre” side of the argument. If you’ve listened to me tell stories, you’ll be more inclined to place me in the “decent” column… but I would argue the latter statement is true with most fishermen. We can spin a story. That is one of the reasons I love this magazine business… I get to hear the best of them. However, I’ve had the opportunity to fish with some fantastic fishermen, both on the fly and with a spin caster. There’ve been some instances where I stopped fishing and just watched the magic unfolding. If you find yourself in this situation, do yourself a favor and just watch and learn.
The preceding paragraph was more of “one off”… a little tidbit of wisdom and has little to do with what I’m trying to get at, but maybe I can tie it all back in by the end of this story. Sometimes I get off on tangents, so let’s just go with it.
Back to the actual story…
I was shut out the other day on Hazel Creek. When I say shut out, I mean I caught the collar, I had a big zero in the caught fish column. Call it what you will but the harsh fact is, I did not catch a single fish. Now, when I say the other day, I mean over a three-day weekend. So, to clarify, I didn’t catch a single fish over a three-day weekend on one of the most famous trout streams in the country-Hazel Creek, that by any metric, is kind of hard to do…but I did it. To make matters worse, the only strike I enticed was on my walk back to Proctor Bridge we were to be picked up for our shuttle back to Fontana Marina. And as a final slap in the face, the fish struck my yellow and orange strike indicator, separating it from my leader… it then floated away. I then broke down my four piece, placed it in my tube, and walked to the worn fishermen’s path visible on Hazel Creek during low water. I finished my fishing trip in a bad place.
I could blame all this on the weather of course, sleet and snow, 16 hours of straight rain, broken up by sleet and snow, or just the cold, but I’m not going to do that. I could not solve the puzzle. Usually when a “catastrophe” is in the works, I buckle down, sharpen my focus, get dirty and adopt the “one with the fish” protocol. That weekend, however, had a much deeper lesson for me. The Man Upstairs was teaching me something more profound.
I had the pleasure of fishing that weekend with my two dearest friends, Barry Holcombe and Ben Bailey. Together, we’ve spent countless days exploring and fishing. Both are extremely competent fishermen. I knew what was coming. They’d been piecing together wise cracks every hour I had not caught a fish and were saving them up for the trip home. I got kind of lucky. Ben had canoed over and was not taking the shuttle back. But I knew Barry was going to float a few innocent yet stinging statements meant to crack my stoic exterior, but as we were waiting for the shuttle, something amazing happened. Three or four other groups of fishermen came out of the wilderness to join us on our trip out. They were mostly younger men from all over the Southeast with different levels of experience. They were all on fire about their weekend in the wilderness. They spoke with a passion that men have after days alone braving the elements. Barry and I just listened. One group, who had never trout fished before, talked about the trout they caught. Yes, they had never trout fished before and had caught fish. They talked about seeing bears, they even had an encounter with a Bobcat. Now, I can count on two fingers the amount of Bobcat sightings I’ve ever had. These young men were on fire for the outdoors. They would be back. That weekend ensured seven or eight more members of the He-Man Trout Fishing Conservation Corps.
Barry and I just looked at each other with understanding. Those young men were us, 25-30 years ago. I wanted to join in their conversation but I did not have their passion that day. Let me say that again… I did not have their passion. I was so inundated with my own failings as a fishermen, that I forgot to enjoy the trip. Here I was doing what I loved to do with whom I wanted to do it, in a paradise duplicated nowhere else, and I was not in the moment. How could I let that happen? One of my driving philosophies in life is to live in the moment.
Every so often, the man upstairs will remind you of what’s important. I should have been thankful for the time with good friends, in a beautiful place; but instead, I was stressed out about not catching fish. I received a big plate full of humble pie but then, as he often does, the great spirit taught me a lesson and placed a big scoop of Butter Pecan Ice Cream right in the middle of my plate. Live in the moment… enjoy what you are doing… be passionate. Don’t worry so much about the results. I just needed reminding. It was good medicine.
Joe Woody is Co-Publisher of The Angler Magazine WNC with his wife Debra. He is an Army Veteran and a self proclaimed “Adventure Angler”. You can usually find him wandering around Western North Carolina telling fishing lies. He is also a baseball nut and a crazy FCS Football fan. He has a Bigfoot magnet on the back of his truck.