Not realizing that I would get hooked on Small Mouth Bass Fishing, a little over a year ago I accepted an invitation to try it from my close friend and business associate Jamie Ramm. Jamie and I go a ways back but we’ve only been fishing together a few years now. He was raised up in Maggie Valley, NC so fly fishing is second nature to him. While we both enjoy fresh and saltwater spinner fishing our passion is fly fishing for native trout in the Great Smoky Mountains of North Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia. Some of our trips include the Hazel and Eagle Creeks along the north shore of Fontana Lake and Bradley Fork over in Cherokee, NC to name a few. One of our most memorable trips was on the Deschutes and Crooked Rivers in Oregon.
Put all of these trips together and we would both agree that we’ve never had more fun than doing the overnight floats the last two years with Elk Creek Outfitters out of Boone, NC., www.ecoflyfishing.com . Owner and master guide Judson Conway really knows how to put on the do. Judson is a young but well seasoned guide with many years of experience in numerous foreign and exotic places. North Carolina is fortunate to have such a professional guiding on her streams. We all benefit form his constant passion for keeping our streams beautiful and zero limit on taking the fish.
Planning our trip starts about six months prior to the actual date. We secure the dates from Judson and reserve a small but well preserved farm house overlooking a long stretch of the New River near Somewhere, VA. This place takes me back to my childhood with antique furnishings, a wood burning stove in the den, and asbestos shingle siding. One can while away the time just sitting on the front porch watching the river flow by.
As the time draws nigh anticipation turns in to anxiety and wishes that we were there already. The day finally arrives and fishermen from Raleigh to Asheville, NC to Elizabethton, TN converge on this quaint rural setting. This year we had a group of ten aging from sixteen to fifty four, the latter being me. No doubt that by the end of the trip the youngest learned a few tricks, both good and bad.
Gathering at the house on a Friday evening we enjoy tall tales, some favorite spirits, and a great steak dinner. Needless to say that the B/S gets pretty deep as the spirits disappear.
Saturday morning, making sure everyone awoke to the smell of coffee and a big sausage and egg breakfast, Frank and I started banging pots and pans early. The tales weren’t quite so tall by now. The spirits had some of us feeling mighty low. That didn’t last long though because Judson, his gang of guides, and the camp bitch (slang for the gear guy who sets up the camp) were to arrive about 8:00. There were big greetings and hand shakes all around when they arrive. Matt, one of the guides, was the camp bitch last year. He was a little put off when I used that terminology, "Camp bitch," he replies. "Is that what you call us"? I responded by explaining that it’s pretty common to hear that out west. Judson says, "It’s common around here too." Matt comes back with "Well, you could use something a little more prestigious like gear guy or something." One of many laughs for the trip ensued after that comment.
It looked like the weather was going to be perfect with low overcast skies and patches of misty rain. True anglers pray for weather like this. An hour or so later we were at the put in and helping the guides ready the rafts.
John, the 16 year old, can’t wait so he grabs a spinner and starts chunking a grub on a ¼ ounce lead head. After a few casts he gets it caught on a snag about twenty five feet out. Seeing him struggle with getting it loose I went over to show him a trick we learned last year. We called it, playing the banjo. That’s when you pull the line out just above the reel, keeping it very taut, letting it snap and simultaneously dropping the rod tip, to send a jolt to the jig at the other end. This works really well. Many a jig and plugs are retrieved using this technique. Anyway, when it came loose a ten inch smallie jumps on it. I handed the rod to John. Immediately he started hollering "First caught, first, caught" trying to take dibs on a third of the pot. We all chip in three dollars for the first, the most, and the biggest caught and divvy it up at the end of the day. "Oh no", someone from the gang yells out, "you’ve got to get it in the raft for it to count." John hurries over like he’s going to get in the raft saying "I’ll fix that" and just as he lifts his foot to climb in the fish gets off. We all got a big laugh out of that. And so did he.
Finally we get all five of the rafts on the water and here we go. Frank, my partner, lands the first fish securing us at least one third of the pot. Shortly after that we hear Elvis, believe it or not a nineteen year old guide from Tennessee, screaming at the top of his lungs, "MUSKY, MUSKY". One of the guys on his raft had hung a thirty or forty inch musky on ten pound test line. About ten seconds later the line goes slack and the excitement was over. One or the other of us chunked musky lures off and on the rest of the day. We had several follow but none to take.
After that the action slowed and Frank and I had only put four fish in the boat by lunch time. Ah, lunch time. As I was saying earlier, Judson really knows how to put on the do. Our lunch menu consisted of hot crab cakes freshly cooked by the riverside, cold slaw, chips, beverages, and dessert. Lots of stories to tell but reports from the other rafts had similar counts on the numbers of fish. A little off from what we had hoped.
Almost immediately after lunch Judson puts me on a chartreuse curly grub with pepper flecks and the action picks up. Just as we pass a large rock with a nice eddy behind it he instructs me to cast just up stream and let it drift through. Bam, something hits it like a rock. I had hooked into a bronze back that started stripping line. Judson drops the anchor and the fight is on. Unlike the smaller bronze backs that dance on top of the water and real give you a show, this old gal just stayed low and made run after run. Finally she tires and we get her in the net. She is twenty one inches long and just over three pounds. Now we had secured the second third of the pot with the largest fish.
Judson is all high fives and kudos. That’s one thing that he and his guides do well. Every time someone catches a fish they act like it is the first one they have seen in months. A few pictures and we return the old gal to the river hoping to see her another day. I refer to her as old gal respectfully. A five pound small mouth bass is approximately fifteen years old.
After that the numbers start racking up. Landing fish after fish and before we knew it we had put eleven in the boat. About now Bryan and Sean, a couple of the guys from Raleigh, caught up with us and we started comparing numbers. They had caught ten. The rest of the afternoon the count teetered back and forth between us for the prize for most in the boat. I’m enjoying the friendly competition and jigging along side of a log laying down stream when it feels like I got caught on a snag. Suddenly the snag pulls back and it’s yet another citation bronze back. A citation is twenty inches and over. Two in one day is more that one could expect. More pictures and kudos and she’s back in the water.
Around five thirty we arrive at camp. Dillon, the camp bitch, had set up five tents, a huge dining canopy, and the mess tent. Oh, and the latrine. Hmm, the latrine, a handicap toilet seat with a plastic bag lined five gallon bucket under it. Strategically placed overlooking a beautiful stretch of the New River, it’s not exactly home but comfortable and the scenery is breath taking. Striking paper is supplied, of course.
The guides get busy preparing a steak dinner and we get the campfire started. We start tallying up the numbers and Frank and I took the whole pot, the first, the most at fourteen, and the biggest. Yahoo, way to go buddy! Another evening of tall tales sitting around the campfire, a meal fit for kings, more spirits, and we’re all ready to hit the sack.
Morning arrives with sound of rain peppering down on the tent. I’m thinking, this don’t sound too good. It turns out though that Mother Nature was just shaking off the dew and it ended soon. We enjoy another fine meal prepared by the guides and get ready for another day on the water.
The action starts almost immediately. Bryan gets the first fish right off. A quarter mile down stream and Frank and I start racking up the numbers again. Bam, bam, bam, and we have six in the boat. Within one minute I caught two in the same spot. It kind of slowed down after that and the wind picks up with a fine mist in it. This intermittently occurred the rest of the morning.
The river has gotten pretty wide by now and keeping up with the other four rafts was impossible. We all spread out in search of that illusive perfect spot. Just before lunch Danny, at Judson suggestion, casts into another honey hole and hauls in a nineteen inch bronze back to secure the biggest for the day. Before we know it it’s time for yet another fine hot meal prepared by the riverside, blackened salmon, potatoes, salad, and the works again.
Another two mile stretch of the river and the trip is coming to an end. Bryan and Shawn get the first fish of the day and ties Danny and Steve for the most at twenty two per boat.
Hand shakes, salutations, and a hardy exchange of pleasantries and good byes, and we all head off to our perspective destinations thoroughly rejuvenated and already planning next year’s trip.
Judson Conway is one of the most knowledgeable guides you could ever meet. Born about a century too late, he reminds me of a cowboy. He loves and respects what Mother Nature has provided for us to enjoy. We would all benefit if we would be as conscience as he is about keeping America beautiful.
May 6, 2004