A good day fishing the highlands

As an early Father's Day present, Jessa booked a guided fishing trip for Ellie and me—our first ever—with Brookings Anglers in Cashiers, North Carolina. A few weeks before the big day, I phoned the shop to request Simons Welter as our guide, and was delighted to learn that she was available. Simons seemed a perfect fit for us on several counts. Firstly, I figured that Ellie might take instruction more easily from a female guide. (And honestly, so might I.) Secondly, Simons graduated from Clemson the same year I graduated from W&L, and I reasoned that the similarity in our ages might help with rapport. Finally, I knew that Simons is involved with Trout Unlimited, cares passionately for her fish and her home waters, and makes a specialty of "blue-line" fishing: in short, she would be the ideal guide to put us on southern Appalachian brook trout in the highlands of North Carolina. 

[Simons and Ellie. We've decided Laura Dern should play Simons in the movie.]

My plan worked out beautifully. Simons took us to a high-altitude creek up near the Parkway (I will not name it) that she described as lightly-pressured and known to have a few small brown trout mixed in with the native brookies. And indeed it was a lovely spot. The three of us got on famously, and Ellie made me proud with how well she read the water in her first visit to a freestone stream. Simons showed us a couple of small-stream techniques we had not used before and that will stand us in good stead elsewhere, including back home on Verdigre Creek. She also showed us how she reads a map when scouting for new locations. This was decidedly a "teach a man (and young woman) to fish" scenario.

There was only one hitch: For whatever the reason, the fish were not in the mood to come out and play. Ellie and I made decent casts, got good drifts, and I got one follow from a brook trout (which explains Ellie's nervous excitement in the photo below, courtesy of Simons), but that was the only fish we saw all morning. This sort of thing makes guides crazy, but we assured Simons that we understood it was beyond her power to make the fish cooperate, and that we had not only got Jessa's money's worth, but had a wonderful time. Having introduced ourselves with handshakes, we parted with hugs.

[Ellie and Mark. Photo courtesy of Simons Welter.]

Our original plan to spend the afternoon hiking Whiteside Mountain got derailed, so after a late lunch at An Madra Gránna (The Ugly Dog Pub in Highlands), we got back on track with a visit to Silver Run Falls near Cashiers. Ellie was fished out and content to go creeking and lounge on the rocks near the waterfall, but having seen trout on Silver Run on our last visit, I decided to bring my tackle with me. And that's when a small miracle happened. 

Any other time Jessa and I have been to Silver Run Falls, it's been crowded—which is not a surprise for a scenic spot and excellent swimming hole so close to town and so easily accessible. But now we found only one other family there, and they were preparing to leave. What's more, I spotted several small trout—rainbows, I assumed—leaping from the plunge pool. Not only had I been right to bring my tackle, I had the place to myself.

The current from the waterfall was substantial, and the fish at a distance from anyplace I could reasonably stand, so I would need to make a relatively long cast and, with so much line on the water, drag was inevitable. So I tied on a small streamer—not Farrell's Irish Gold, but something similar—and began casting.

The first fish to hand, much to my surprise, was not a rainbow but a beautiful brown—and Ellie was nearby with her iPhone to take our picture.

If the brown was a surprise, the next fish was astonishing: the sought-after brookie, gloriously colourful despite spawning season still being a few months away. And again I was lucky; Ellie had wandered off but Jessa was now close by with her Nikon.

Veni, piscati, vici.

When I texted Simons the good news, she responded, "See, you don't need no stinkin' guide." I assured her that my guide had come out smelling like roses; it had just been a delayed-effect phenomenon. 

[With many thanks to Jessa, Ellie, and Simons Welter.]