Mystery of the Davidson River NC.

 

Mystery of the Davidson River NC

2/08/2021

Time and again I’ve heard it is hard to catch trout in the Davidson River NC regularly. Maybe it gets fished heavy being it’s a premier trout water in NC. My son and I have fished the Davidson a few years back. That I recall we may have only caught 1 trout each during a long day of fishing.

  It is a beautiful mountain stream that flows through a forest of laurel and hardwoods. The stony river bed, like most mountain streams in NC, comes alive under the sun showing off brilliant colors of rocks and stones along with sparkling sediment. There are plenty of shaded areas as well, against the cliffs and heavy canopy. Maybe cause it runs so clear the trout are able to see a great distance and are fishermen shy. They definitely appear to be line shy. The few trout I have caught in the Davidson are fat compared to other mountain streams. Even so these fish appear to be a mystery to catch to some of us fishermen. When I’m in Western NC I just always have to give these river trout a try and break the mystery.

 

  I fished the Davidson three times while in Western NC in February. The first time out I came to find rising trout in the afternoon to BWO’s. There had to be at least a dozen or so picking off BWO’s like a young child picking out the Lucky Charms in a a bowl of cereal. I had, with me, 1 fly box I had just tied up before leaving for NC from PA. for this occasion. In the box I had a dozen of BWO’s in #18 and #16 sizes of Catskill ties and CDC para duns. I knotted one on and watched trout after trout picking off the fluttering or drifting BWO’s naturals off the surface. I watched one BWO drift into my own imitation and a trout rose and appeared to gobble both up. Not sure which one he was after but I reared back on the rod and my line tightened. He fought and struggled like a child caught taking his younger brother’s toy and not wanting to give it back. When I netted him I saw my BWO imitation in the side of its mouth.

 

 The CDC wing of my BWO was well drenched so I knotted on another. Trout were still rising for the naturals but wouldn’t touch any of my imitations. I watched two trout on two separate occasions rise to mine and inspect it as if they were gemologists looking through a magnifying glass to see if the BWO was real or fake. They both refused it and dropped out of sight. I wasn’t sure if they were seeing my 6x tippet or somehow knew it wasn’t real. Either way I didn’t catch another. Soon the BWO’s quit and I moved downriver.

  In a long deeper stretch I was stripping buggers when one trout rose to the surface in the distance. I was in the middle of the stream already up to my thighs. I knotted on a BWO Para Dun with dark CDC wings. I was pretty sure the trout had no idea I was there being he was pretty far downstream holding in deep water just out from an overhanging branch. Being I was in the middle of the river I had nothing behind me to hamper my back cast. I made a long cast just short of his last rise and let the BWO drift into his zone. He rose and grabbed it like it would be his last meal of the afternoon. I reared back in anticipation and the line tightened. Another brown trout came to net with my BWO pierced in its jaw. I didn’t catch anything on a dry fly after that one.

 I did catch one more trout on a nymph before taking off. 

  A few days after that I returned waiting for trout to rise for a BWO hatch. Well, it never really happened though very few trout did rise on occasion. It was suppose to get warmer in the day but with the cloud cover it never felt like it. The wind picked up making it hard to cast the small dries. Along with the windy conditions it got so cold my fingers stiffened to the point I couldn’t tie any more flies to my 6x tippet. I had to call it quits. 

 

 The third day I returned I was more prepared and the temp’s were to be in the upper 40’s. I brought with me a fly box filled with BWO’s I had tied some time ago with different variations and shades. There was nearly a breeze and I couldn’t wait till noon for the BWO hatch.

  I got there early and started nymph fishing the faster riffles first at the beginning of the long pool. Water gushed over a stony and rocky shallow section and emptied into the somewhat deeper water wavy against the far bank. I knotted on a little olive nymph and dropped a black stonefly below. I added a little weight to the leader to get the combination down fast. I began to nymph fish my way downstream to where the trout were rising earlier in the week. In a shallow run, near the far bank, I cast upstream and held the 7’1/2” rod level with the water following the indicator drifting in the slower wavy current. The indicator went under and I instinctively set the hook with a sharp wristing tug. The line tightened, I felt an instant jolt on the line and a fish pulled down stream arcing the 4 weight in a good bend. Tension line ran through my fingers and line spit out of the reel. I knew I had a dandy.

 He fought downstream with healthy jolting tugs swimming back and forth covering the full width of the narrow river. When he started to swim towards me I was able to see his long fat body just below the surface water. He stopped short of where I stood and took off towards the far bank beneath the wavy current. I had a tight grip on the cork and if the cork was any softer I would have left finger impressions in it. The trout battled as the rod tip flexed with each jolting tug. Nearer to me I got my net out and was ready to net him if he got closer. He swam upstream a bit, passed me and tried to hold in the faster current. I moved the rod, as he swam up river and kept side pressure on him. I didn’t force the issue though because I was using 6x tippet. He finally turned with the current and swam downstream. After a few more skirmishes I got the big beautiful butter belly brown in the net safely. He had taken that little olive nymph.

 

Well, with that catch I definitely deserved a cigar. I took out a Ramon Bueso toro and lit it up. The Habano wrapped cigar and long fillers hit the spot!

  

 After a few enjoyable puffs to get the cigar heated and burning even I fished the same combination down river catching only one smaller rainbow in a deeper hole on the little olive nymph.

  

 I fished an assortment of nymphs, keeping the little olive nymph on, in the pool where the trout rose in the past without a strike. When I saw a few, very few, BWO’s drifting down the stream I knotted on my own imitation. There were a couple trout rising seldomly further down river in the shallower tail out but none in front of me. Even so none were coming up near me I casted and drifted my BWO imitations time and again in the deeper water near me. Maybe I drifted my imitations enough that one trout thought the hatch was on. On one drift through a trout rose, briefly looked at it and sucked it down like a preteen slurping the tiny marshmallows in a cup of hot chocolate. I reared back the rod and set the hook. The trout darted about trying to shake loose but couldn’t free himself before I netted a nice healthy looking brown trout.

  

 I moved downstream some within casting distance of the shallower water. I watched trout rising to the few BWO’s fluttering time after time but wouldn’t touch mine. When the actual big hatch started the trout rose and I watched them picking off BWO’s one by one. I casted out and showed the trout just about every shade, size and style in the next hour or so without a take. You would of thought I was trying to get the trout to taste spinach or brussels sprouts.. When the hatch quit so did the rising trout. (An after thought was maybe I should have went down to 7x tippet?) I fished nymphs till I decided to call it a day without getting another strike. I was pretty frustrated over not catching more on the dry but the big brown made my day a happy one overall.

  I would say I never did conquer the mystery fully but the few trout I did catch left a lasting impression. Heck, maybe some consider three netted trout on the Davidson River a really good day.

“Maybe next time” as they say.

I lit up an AB Magic Toast Robusto for the drive back to my sons place.  

 ~doubletaper

 

 

In Finding the Catawba River

 

In Finding the Catawba

2/07/2021

 After spending a couple of hours trying to find the catch and release waters of the Henry Fork I decided to search for the special regulation area near Glenn Alpine. I have the Atlas of North Carolina Trout Fishing Map. It shows the rivers, forks and creeks stocked with trout as well as wild trout waters. It shows interstates and main routes but does not show any secondary roads.

 

  It was only talking to an old friendly geezer on my way along the Henry Fork open waters that I found out the dirt road leading up the mountain was not privately owned as posted. With the snow on the road he doubted I could make it up the dirt road anyhow. It looked pretty bad what I was able to see so I took his advice and turned around.

  It was getting late in the afternoon and I really wanted to fish. I was hoping to find the Special Regulation Waters of the Catawba River without much wasted time. Without secondary roads on the map all I could tell was the project waters were somewhere between the town of Glenn Alpine and Lake James.

  After an hour finding a main route around Lake James I started taking roads to my left in hopes of finding the project waters. I think it was the third left, off the main route, I saw a parking lot of vehicles and the river. I found the road leading to the parking lot, I think is Powerhouse road. When I pulled into the parking area I was at the Handicap Access Hatchery supported waters. I knew the project waters couldn’t be too far down river.

  In the parking lot I saw a fisherman, at his tailgate, looking as if he was done fishing. His wet waders were in the bed of his truck as well was a spinning rod. I stopped and asked him where the Special Regulation Waters were and you would of thought I guessed the ‘Who Done It’ caricature without any clues. He not only told me how to get there, besides bragging about the big trout that could be caught, but had me follow him to where he usually fishes it at. Was this a trap?

  After driving down the road a mile or three he pulled off the side of the road next to posted signs and skeletal deer carcasses and informed me this was it. He sounded genuine in his North Carolina accent.

  After putting on our waders he even took out a fly rod. It was only a 2 weight he told me but was the only one he was carrying at the time. I followed him pass the posted signs and along a path through the heavy pines. Somewhere along the path we turned off to the right still walking through the wooded pines and brush. The whole time he was talking I was listening for banjos. The old rubber boot and red t-shirt hanging from a tree branch didn’t bother me as much as the one-eyed, pigtail stuffed doll with the faded torn skirt thrown in the bushes did. It kind of gave me goosebumps on my arms. Almost brought a tear to my eye. Once we got to the river though I was feeling much better.

  The river was wide where we were at and flowing as clear as a jar of moonshine. Not as wide as the Tuckasegee, which I fished the past week, but wide enough that two fishermen can fish both sides without interfering with each other. It was shallow enough, looking thigh high deepest in most areas, that one could wade clear across river. There were nice riffles down below that looked deep enough to hold feeding trout as well as deeper water. I could see no exposed boulders or log jams within the middle river section that would hamper casting or snagging hazards. Along the banks there were a few branchless fallen trunks, as well as a posted sign, and plenty of overhanging branches but for the most part all were accessible to cast to from out in the river. Upriver I could see the lengthy bridge which we parked before reaching it.

  As I stepped in the river it didn’t feel as cold as the mountain streams and creeks I had been fishing in. Though he told me the bigger trout like to hug the banks out from the main current I waded right for the riffles down stream. He started fishing the bank side from where we entered in the not so fast rough water. As I waded I felt the current around my legs wasn’t too strong to push me off balance easily.

  I started casting an olive Woolly Bugger towards the far bank in a slower current on the far side of a riffling section of water. I let it swing deep within the riffles and once the line straightened I started to strip it towards me when a fish grabbed it like a ‘T’ shirt being thrown from a concert stage into the crowd and this recipient wasn’t letting go. With the current the trout felt weightier than it was while giving a good fight on the arcing 5 weight. I turned my head upstream and my new friend was watching me. After I got the brown trout in the net I turned toward him and he was already nearer to me. Even wanting to take a picture of me with my trout with his own phone. I showed him what I was using and gave him a couple of olive buggers. He tied one on immediately and waded back upstream.

 

 

 There was wadeable shallow water mid river where I could fish good water on either side. I waded over and was in water just above my knees. The water deepened within casting distance down stream but also deep enough on both sides to hold fish. After letting my bugger swing through the deeper riffles I let the line straighten for a second or two before stripping it in. I let it dangle in the current twitching the rod tip to give the Woolly Bugger more action. I was stripping it in slowly when a trout grabbed it like a miler grabbing a water bottle midway through a marathon. He held on for a few seconds and then let go just like a marathon runner. It wasn’t long after that I heard John call out he was taking off. I asked him if he caught any trout. He said he had one that got off and a couple of other strikes. When I asked him what on he told me the Woolly Buggers I gave him. He thanked me for the buggers and waded to the bank. I watched as he disappeared through the forest.

  I fished another hour under the sun. I glanced around now and then watching to see if someone was watching me from the banks. The one posted sign along the river bank wasn’t that old or faded like the tin Special Regulation Water sign stuck to a fallen tree trunk. It was just an eerie feeling I guess out in the middle of nowhere, alone and in unfamiliar territory. I felt like a sitting duck. Heck, I didn’t even know if my cell phone had reception if I so needed to call in case of an emergency of some kind. I did catch a couple more brown trout. One more on the Woolly Bugger and one on a #12 black stonefly. The air began to get cooler and when I looked at my watch it was near 4:30. I fished towards the bank while wading in that direction.

 

  I walked through the pines heading at an angle towards where I figured my truck was parked. I found the wider path through the pines and followed it towards the way we came in. Within vision of my truck I saw another truck parked behind it. First I was glad my truck was still there and didn’t get towed but was starting to worry about the other vehicle? I started to wonder if I was going to be confronted by the owner of the posted property or even wondering if a NC officer was waiting for me. When I got to my truck there wasn’t anyone in the other truck. I didn’t see anyone else around nor did I see anyone in the river while I was fishing. I kind of hurriedly changed out of my wading gear and got out of there in my Dodge.

~doubletaper

Big Stones on the 'Tuck'

 

Big Stones on the ‘Tuck’

2/04/2021

 

  When I got to the Tuckasegee River, nicknamed the ‘Tuck’, early Thursday morning the river had gone down quite a bit from the day before. The sun was brighter also and there was less cloud cover. It might had been a little, just a little warmer outside but when I stepped into the river it was just as cold as I remember. I casted out a Woolly Bugger and within 4 casts I caught a frisky rainbow. 

 

 For the next half hour I couldn’t get a strike on any of my assorted colors of Buggers or other streamers. Pretty much how my morning went the day before.

  The day before I only caught 2 rainbows. One on a bugger and one on a little olive nymph.

 

 I tried nymphs, buggers and even San Juan worms but the trout didn’t appear to be hungry or I didn’t have the right snacks for them to enjoy that day.

  On the drive over today my son, Jesse Pete, stopped by a tackle shop and asked them what the trout in the ‘Tuck’ might be feeding on. After Pete told me what they told him I figured out I would give it a try.

  The guy told him size #10 or #8 stoneflies. The day before I was using #16’s and #14 stones without any takers. I dug in my fly boxes and came up with #12 2x-3x long black stoneflies. I’m not sure if I ever used such big stoneflies in Pennsylvania but I did have them. With a #18 BWO nymph and one of these black stoneflies I felt like a kiosk  employee offering some kind of free tasty tidbits in the grocery isle at a busy supermarket.

  The second trout I caught was a small rainbow on the olive nymph in the slower water out from the bank. Once I got a good mend and drift in the deeper faster water I started to hook up to bigger trout on the black stonefly.

 

 I took a break from the action and took out an Alec Bradley Post Embargo Robusto. Having smoked one before I knew the Honduran wrapper leaves a good flavor on the lips while the medium body Nicaragua and Honduras long leaf filler gives a smooth draw, enjoyable smoke and pleasant aroma. 

 

  I watched the indicator drift on this side of the seam bobbin on the small waves like a lost bottle going out with the tide. It passed by me and I let slacked line out to try and keep it drag free. Maybe after 6 or 7 yards the tear drop indicator dipped so I yanked the rod angling it over my head and right shoulder. The 5 weight 9’ rod tip section arced with the instant tight line. The trout took upstream like a torpedo and I gripped the cork handle with both hands tightly as if not giving up on a tug of war rope. I felt the spool spin line out as the trout continued its course upstream and towards the middle of the river. It wasn’t fishy wild but by the arc in the midsection of the fast action rod and the strength I was using to keep the rod up I knew this wasn’t a small dude. Once it got into the rolling waves out a ways it started to give some jolting tugs. The top rod section arced and recoiled with each forceful jolt. He turned with the current and swam downstream keeping his distance. I stood my ground and moved the rod at an angle always trying to keep side pressure on him. Down stream he turned and forcefully start tugging again and again moving ever so slightly nearer in my direction. I suppose once he figured out the tippet wasn’t going to break and the guy holding the rod was experienced with this kind of fight he decided to make a dash upstream again a little deeper. He took off like a torpedo upriver and I could tell he was swimming deeper.

  There are many sharp shallower rocky ledges in the Tuckasegee where, if one is careful, can practically wade out to midstream or even get close enough to cast to the other bank keeping on the ledges. I thought that was what he was up to, trying to run deep and get my line frayed on one of the ledges.

  I grabbed the line with my left hand, just out from the reel, and lifted the rod high keeping the least amount of line in the water and as straight to the fish as possible while keeping pressure on him to turn around. I felt the rod curve a little deeper as I moved the rod butt into my gut. I was hoping my knots wouldn’t fail. He moved towards my direction some and then turned downstream again. I started to reel in line as fast as possible trying to keep a bow in the rod. He swung in a big sweeping arc downstream towards my wake from the current flowing around my waders. He held up a bit with one tug before swimming towards shore trying to surprise me. I swung around with the rod facing the bank as quick as he tried to outsmart me. He started to swim upstream between me and the bank but then bolted across the current back towards mid-river. I brought the rod high quickly to keep tension as he passed and then lowered it some once he passed by always trying to keep a bow in the rod. This was a cunning old trout no doubt and I wonder if anyone ever got him to net in his old age. He turned down stream once more and I gave him a little line out maybe teasing him in the process. Then I felt it was my turn to trick him and see how much energy he had left. I took a few steps backward and angled the rod upstream. He reluctantly gave in and started to move upstream and I felt I was trying to drag a log uphill. Then I swung the rod towards the bank and he followed but once he got in the shallower riffles he darted back out towards mid-river. He didn’t get too far as the rod curved into the midsection again and he stopped with the rod pressure. I turned the rod upstream and he started to make a wide arc swimming upriver. Once he got straight across from me I pulled the rod up over my head and started to reel in line. The pressure was too much and he turned down river with the current. I had him closer than I ever did before. I slowly brought in line as he kept his distance but was moving in front of me as I was facing the middle of the river. He swam passed me with a couple of tugs and tail swats and with that I took out my net. I had the line pinched between my right finger and the cork handle as I brought the rod high in the air as if stretching my pectoral muscles. The big bow backed up towards my direction facing upstream. I had the net behind him and as I lowered the rod slowly he unknowing was backing right into it. I watched to make sure his tail didn’t touch the net before making a quick move scooping him in the net.

 

  What a relief! Good long fight with a netted big fish. What more could I ask for? He took the big black stonefly. I took a sigh of relief, wet my hand and let him swim back into his domain.

 

  After letting him go I took the cigar from my clinched teeth, took a big breath of fresh air, thanked God and stuffed the stogie back between my lips. I checked the time and it was just before 12. My son was to arrive around noon.

 I continued to nymph fish and the big black stonefly didn’t disappoint.

 

 When my son showed up I gave him a couple of stoneflies and olive nymphs. We fished together till we decided to go. He caught one rainbow on a Woolly Bugger before we departed while I caught a couple more trout on the black stonefly.

 It sure was a fun day of trout fishing the 'Tuck'!

 

 ~doubletaper

 

Calisthenics on Curtis Creek

 

Calisthenics on Curtis Creek

2/09/2021

 My last day in Western North Carolina I decided to fish a small mountain creek called Curtis Creek North of Old Fort. From the road, on the drive up, I could see big boulders, skinny water that opened up into larger pools and lots of wavy water. The riffles glistened under the morning sun flowing through a forest of laurel, trees and sharp cliffs. I parked in the Handicap accessible Delayed Harvest lot, got my gear on and headed upstream along a forest path.

  At the water I knotted on a Woolly Bugger without much confidence. The few smaller streams I fished the Buggers weren’t so successful as nymph fishing. With the fast shallow riffles and rocky strewn bottom I was afraid nymph fishing would consume more time with water hazard snags and retying. After some time of no takers I decided to change tactics and take a chance on nymph fishing. Because of the fast current I decided not to use an indicator.

  I had found a beaded San Juan worm in the parking area so I figured this must be popular. I looked under a few rocks and saw a good sized brown nymph that I identified as a Brown Stonefly. I knotted on my biggest Brown Stone and dropped my San Juan as my bottom fly. I grabbed a cigar out of my pocket, lit it up, looked down creek and continued on.

  

 Wading the creek was no easy task. Climbing over huge boulders along the banks to get to deeper pools was extreme effort. Carefully wading over underwater rock ledges and slippery bedrock that looked like they just came right out of a rock tumbler was the other half of the needed energy. I haven’t exerted that much energy for some time. It felt like a combination of rock climbing, extreme Yoga and Aikido.

  Finally drifting the nymphs through the riffling section the line pulled away. I made a quick yank of the 4 weight fly rod over my right shoulder to set the hook. The hooked fish swam with the current in erratic motion. Once the line straightened down creek I started to reel him in towards me. At times he appeared to spin in circles in the fast current like running with an uncontrollable kite trying to get it to raise up higher in a swirling wind. Once I got him netted I discovered I caught a beautiful wild brown trout with defining Parr marks. He had taken the Brown Stonefly.

  

 Later on I hooked another small trout but it got off before getting it to the net.

  By the time I got to the bridge it had to be in the high 50’s. I went to the truck to strip off some clothing before continuing on down creek from the bridge. The water was wide but mostly shallow with little deeper pockets. I returned to the truck and drove down the road hoping to find better water.

  I parked along the road over looking a steep cliff. The water below looked deeper and very inviting. I got my gear on and carefully made my way down the steep hill to the creek. I fished with buggers and nymphs without a strike for some time. After a couple of bottom snags resulting in lost nymphs and tangling with an over hanging branch when roll casting I was sitting on a rock along the bank. While knotting on a piece of 5x tippet, out of the corner of my eye, I thought I saw a splash of a rising trout downstream. I looked around and saw a couple of decent size Mayflies that looked like a Hendrickson and a couple of small caddis. Another trout poked up through the surface quickly only about 25 feet away. I added a length of 6x tippet and contemplated what to try next. Being February I didn’t expect to see any big Mayflies so I had none on me. I did have a box of caddis though. I picked one out to give it a try.

  From my sitting position I made a backhand cast with my right hand and wristed the forward cast downstream. I stopped the cast abruptly which caused the leader and tippet to fall upon the water with slack. My caddis drifted, drag free, down creek and the trout snapped at it like a sitting dog being thrown a biscuit. I yanked the rod back and the hook point penetrated. I stood up and got the trout safely to the net. I took it as the brown was a hold over from earlier in the year.

 

 

 The small caddis got torn up trying to dislodge it from the trouts mouth. I knotted on another. Crouching down I moved down the bank within casting distance of the other rise I thought I saw. With the same casting effort, while stooped down, the caddis fell upon the water surface. To my surprise the trout rose and grabbed my fly way before I expected it. I yanked the rod upstream, the line tightened and the fish dangled at the end of the tippet momentarily. The caddis dislodged and flung up creek tangling in the overhanging branch. After that episode I fished a dry caddis up creek to the big pool below the cliff I was parked on.

  While fishing the big pool I happen to turn around when I heard stones falling down the hill. A NC Wildlife Management officer was carefully making his way down the rocky slope to greet me. After the usual “did you catch anything” question he asked to see my license. I clinched the burning cigar between my teeth, pulled down my waist waders slightly and took my license out of the back pocket of my fleece wading pants.

We had a good conversation for about 15 minutes or so. He was very informative on their single hook laws, trout stockings and any other questions I asked him. After he left I fished for another 15 minutes or so and called it a day.

~doubletaper