North Mills River Ecstasy

North Mills River Ecstasy

2/04/2020

 If you like to trout fish cold mountain streams that flow through a wooded forest away from the civilization of today’s world. If you like fishing in peace and harmony in nature where you can scream and maybe not be heard except by the wild animals that roam these forests. If you enjoy using a light weight short fly rod and like, with delicacy, casting with pin point accuracy under mountain laurel trying to fool wary trout hidden among the bank side vegetation. If you like climbing over granite boulders, wading in narrow passages easy without disturbing the stony stream bed all the while listening to the riffling water that tumbles over rocks and boulders than the North Mills River in Western North Carolina is where you might want to fish and adventure to.

  First I suggest fishing in the project area around the park where the river is wider there. You’ll feel the cold stream water that flows between the valley from way upstream. You’ll learn and get accustomed to wading and navigating the tricky rock and stony stream bed before journeying to the more extreme mountain forest conditions upstream. Though the park section is fished quite regularly it will give you an inkling of what lays above. In the gin clear water the fish are wary of any human inhabitant fishing the waters. There you’ll find stocked trout, hold overs and even some stream bred wild trout if you’re quick and lucky. Long casts and making yourself undetected conforming to the forest and laurel that surrounds you, you’ll have a good chance of hooking up to these wary trout. Even if you’re fishing upstream, high sticking, you’ll have an edge on these trout but patience is still required.

 I step into the stream, in the project area of the park, and feel the calm cold current flow of the water. I make long casts down stream searching for any hungry trout. My casts, though with a weighted Woolly Bugger, are delicate enough that the bugger falls upon the current with little splash with my double taper line. I guide it near hanging laurel branches trying to lure the hidden trout to follow the bugger out into the more open waters. A trout grabs the bugger and the line tightens. The fooled fish wrestles with the tight line. His weight is felt as the 3 weight rod flexes with the battling trout. I carefully bring it to the net.

  As I wade and fish downstream I come to a run of riffling deeper water. I nymph fish the riffles and hook into an aggressive trout. It battles below the surface enough that the trout frees himself and the line falls limp. A little further downstream I drift the nymphs in similar fashion. The floating fly line tip dips in the current quickly. I lift up the rod and the line tightens and shoots downstream. The rod arcs and with that the trout shoots upstream beneath the quicken riffles. I play the trout from under the riffles and have him coming towards me with sharp jerking tugs. Nearer to me I lean forward and net the healthy frisky brook trout.

 

 After another hour, and a couple more catches, I feel I’m ready for the adventure up river.

  There’s a dirt road, just before the park, that twists and turns climbing the mountain. It dead ends at a small parking area. I see cars and trucks with bike racks attached to the bumpers. There’s a billboard showing where I am on the mountain and trails for bicyclists and hikers, as well as fishermen, to follow. There are two gates blocking the entrance to the dirt roads that lead through the mountains for such activities. I notice no fishing gear or fishing equipment in the vehicles. It appears I may be the only one fishing the mountain stream this early February afternoon. As I assemble my 3 weight 7’ Demon Hardy fly rod a bicyclist pedals to his truck.

  I make sure I have all the gear, cigars and water I need for the journey because there is no turning back, losing time or light, once I start down the gated long dirt road. The road is well used as I walk between the cliffs and valleys. I can hear the water rumbling below but the cliff side to the unseen water is too steep to descend. Onward I walk and come across a couple of bicyclists pedaling their way up the road. Following the road I continue on looking for a safe passage down the hill through the forest while listening to the stream below. It’s just not looking for a safe way down the mountain side but also a safe and easy way back up. I come across some big boulders that I find and a narrow path down the hillside. I step off the wide road and follow the narrow path through the bare tree forest to a flat section of land. I pass an old camp fire as I walk to the stream. The water flows in a hurry over granite boulders, downed logs and under laurel. I step into the cold stream and feel the rocky stream bed beneath my boots.

 

 

 I make a couple of quick casts with my woolly bugger getting a feel for short casting strokes but letting long casts shoot downstream avoiding the many stream and bank side hazards. Without any strikes I cross the stream and head upstream through the forest.

  Upstream I find a path back to the water. I step off the bank and let line fall upon the water before my cast. As I raise the rod the Woolly Bugger is caught on something beneath the water. I lift the rod higher and to my surprise I see the flash of the mouth of a brook trout shaking, trying to pull the Woolly Bugger free. I’m flabbergasted. The trout tugs until he gets free before I ever attempt to land him.

  I start casting down stream and let it swing till it comes directing below me. I twitch the line before and during stripping the bugger in. I feel a nimble tug but miss the hook set. It felt more like a short strike on the marabou tail. I make another cast towards the far bank and while it swings downstream I twitch the rod tip. At the end of the swing I quickly strip in line then let the bugger move freely in the undercurrent. I feel the more aggressive take and instinctively jerk the rod and line for the hook set. The trout powers down and across stream in darting fashion. The tip of the 3 weight arcs and then bows into the mid section briefly. The trout bolts to the middle of the stream and the rod tip follows. As I take in line gingerly the trout reluctantly follows with nudging tugs. A nice brook trout lays in my net. 

 

 I light a Carolina Cigar Company 4 blend and take a few puffs. The shadows disappear as the sun rays finally reach the valley and is now shining down upon the stream. Granules on the granite boulders appear to twinkle in the sunlight like the pearly white sand beaches along the Florida coast under the rising morning sun. The different colors of the quartz minerals in the granite stones, in and around the stream, makes for a valuable appearance to the bland surroundings of the wintry colorless bare forest. The drab olive laurel now shimmer to the brightness as if their leaves are wrapped in satin. I look down stream and enjoy the tranquil valley that encompasses me. I stand, stretch my legs and arms and continue on downstream.

  For some time I can’t get a trout interested. Maybe the warm weather the day before created some kind of hatch or plenty of nymph activity that the trout aren’t hungry. Whatever the reason it is long stretches of water before I hook up with another trout.

  The day grows long and I rest upon a rock beside the stream. I decide to spend another few minutes or so trying to encourage a trout to take a dry fly. I knot on a piece of 5x tippet and to that knot on a Blue Wing Olive. I walk the bank to a section of water where water tumbles over ledges of rocks and spills into a deep pool. I cast upstream into the slower swirling current. I cast upon the calm run of water against the far bank anticipating a take. My attempts are fruitless so I call it a day.

  I nod to the mountain stream and turn my head and look up the mountain side in which I came. Slowly and carefully I follow the path to the dirt road above. At the top I feel a slight cool breeze across my heated face. I pause to catch my breath from the tasking climb. I take a sip of what’s left of the water and start the long walk uphill to the truck. The last of the resounding stream below fades as I turn towards the gate. My truck stands alone in the parking area. The tailgate creaks as I ease it down. I open the cooler and reach for a beer. Today’s adventure was well worth the time spent!!!

~doubletaper