It rained here all week last week. Several inches. Last Sunday I headed out to do some fishing, or try to, after a day or two without soaking rain.
I headed across the ridge into one of my favorite creeks in the Smokies. It was really high, and still a bit off-color. I rigged up a nymph rod, and decided to try dredging some weighted nymphs with split shot. I stepped into the creek, and was about swept off my feet. The current was crazy. I carefully started working my way upstream.
Most of the places I usually fish, I couldn't even get to. About five minutes in, I was wading up the edge of the creek, and made a greenhorn mistake. I was studying the current seams in the next overflowing run when I reached up to push an overhanging branch out of the way, and ducked under it. I stuck my head right into a nest of bald-faced hornets. They were not happy about this. They swarmed out and stung me about ten times on my head, neck, and right arm. Felt like somebody driving 16-penny nails into my flesh with a clawhammer. I ran upstream through knee deep water, sliding on slippery rocks, flailing at the hornets with my hat and trying to avoid breaking my $400 fly rod. I finally got away from them, and sat down on a rock. There was blood trickling out of my right wrist and the back of my head from the force of the stings. Within a couple minutes, I could feel the venom spreading through my body, vein by vein. Numbing, burning. I half expected Sam Elliot to step out of the bushes and say, "Dang, that hurts, don't it?"
I began to get dizzy, and felt like I was about to throw up. I knelt in the creek and stuck my head under the cold water as long as I could hold my breath. And repeated it a couple more times. I took a box of snuff out of my pocket, and plastered it on the stings. As I was walking back up the road toward my truck, I saw a big bunch of broad-leaved plantain on the side of the road. I picked several leaves, chewed them up, and poulticed them onto the stings. I sat on my tailgate for about half an hour until I started feeling a little better. I started to just pack up and go home, but I figured I drove over here to fish. As Lone Watie told Josey Wales, I decided to Endeavor to Persevere. I stood up and put my pack back on.
I fished for half an hour, dredging nymphs through the familiar holes where I usually catch fish, but that were now almost unrecognizable and unwadeable with the high water. This wasn't working. I decided to head upstream. I drove to the head of navigation in the valley and parked at the trailhead. Maybe this trail will take me to better things.
I headed across the ridge into one of my favorite creeks in the Smokies. It was really high, and still a bit off-color. I rigged up a nymph rod, and decided to try dredging some weighted nymphs with split shot. I stepped into the creek, and was about swept off my feet. The current was crazy. I carefully started working my way upstream.
Most of the places I usually fish, I couldn't even get to. About five minutes in, I was wading up the edge of the creek, and made a greenhorn mistake. I was studying the current seams in the next overflowing run when I reached up to push an overhanging branch out of the way, and ducked under it. I stuck my head right into a nest of bald-faced hornets. They were not happy about this. They swarmed out and stung me about ten times on my head, neck, and right arm. Felt like somebody driving 16-penny nails into my flesh with a clawhammer. I ran upstream through knee deep water, sliding on slippery rocks, flailing at the hornets with my hat and trying to avoid breaking my $400 fly rod. I finally got away from them, and sat down on a rock. There was blood trickling out of my right wrist and the back of my head from the force of the stings. Within a couple minutes, I could feel the venom spreading through my body, vein by vein. Numbing, burning. I half expected Sam Elliot to step out of the bushes and say, "Dang, that hurts, don't it?"
I began to get dizzy, and felt like I was about to throw up. I knelt in the creek and stuck my head under the cold water as long as I could hold my breath. And repeated it a couple more times. I took a box of snuff out of my pocket, and plastered it on the stings. As I was walking back up the road toward my truck, I saw a big bunch of broad-leaved plantain on the side of the road. I picked several leaves, chewed them up, and poulticed them onto the stings. I sat on my tailgate for about half an hour until I started feeling a little better. I started to just pack up and go home, but I figured I drove over here to fish. As Lone Watie told Josey Wales, I decided to Endeavor to Persevere. I stood up and put my pack back on.
I fished for half an hour, dredging nymphs through the familiar holes where I usually catch fish, but that were now almost unrecognizable and unwadeable with the high water. This wasn't working. I decided to head upstream. I drove to the head of navigation in the valley and parked at the trailhead. Maybe this trail will take me to better things.
To be continued...
