Don Bishop and Zach Northern fish a creek in the Black Mountains of western North Carolina.
As the mid-afternoon sun began to warm the waters draining off of Mitchell summit, I stumbled down its east flank trying to keep up with a pair of mad anglers. The toes on my left foot that got jammed up on a chunk of slick Precambian gneiss were bruised but not broken, and I felt like I twisted nearly every joint in my body the closer we got to the highest place east of the Mississippi River. I gave thanks for the cool waters at that elevation, cool enough to numb the pain and get me back down into the valley below us where we left the trucks.
There are numerous maintained trails that climb and cross the rugged peaks of the Black Mountains north of Asheville, NC. There’s even a paved road to the summit with ADA compliant facilities for all to enjoy. But the fly casting duo that met just after sunrise that day weren’t going to find what they were looking for along the well-trodden path. It was the end of July, and to get at the browns, brooks, and rainbows that inhabit the creek near where it feeds into the South Toe River, they’d have to get off trail and climb the creek itself to the top of Appalachia.
The creek just below the summit of Mount Mitchell, the highest point east of the Mississippi River.
I met Zach Northern a year ago up on that same summit when an old high school buddy invited me out for a boys backpacking weekend in the Black Mountains. His pack was huge and he had a guitar strapped to it. I immediately recalled my first painful backpacking trips in the scouts when I thought having the biggest pack was the point.
I wasn’t sure what to make of the dude, but his Appalachian dialect and specific knowledge of the plants and animals of the mountains made me think of my grandmother Callie who passed away a few weeks earlier. She spent 96 years living and growing in the shadow of those same mountains. A year’s worth of persistent facebook messages about trout fishing and we were finally headed back to the Black Mountains where it all started. Patience and persistence are important qualities for aspiring anglers.
Zach Northern
By 6:30 am, Don Bishop was waiting for us in the national forest parking area when we rolled up ragged from a long drive out of the relative flatlants of the Carolina sandhills. Zach and Don first got connected by way of online fly fishing forums. This would be their inaugural expedition together. Neither had fished this creek before.
Trout prefer bodies of water that regularly stay below 70 degrees, so the hot, dry summers of the southeast send them up stream to the higher elevations or into larger bodies of water that are deep enough to resist solar heating. The creek offers cool oxygen-rich waters, but insect activity is limited compared to the lower elevations. Less food means less fish.
Trout are also smart and have great eyesight, so we headed upstream to stay at their backs since they tend to face into the current. The photographer’s instinct is to photograph faces, but I was immediately advised to be mindful of a trout’s line of sight when I tried to get ahead. It was for the best because I tend to shoot better under difficult conditions. It forces you to be creative when things don’t work out how you expected.
Before we set out, Zach and Don took some time by the trucks to discuss strategy and prepare their flies. Is it best to fish this creek with dry flies or nymphs? We’d soon find out. So we journeyed up towards the roof of Appalachia; trout stalking insects, anglers stalking trout, and photographer stalking anglers. The creek level was down some, making solar heating more efficient. There was little time to waste. Whatever trout were up there that day would likely be sheltering under submerged rocks to stay out of the sun.
Zach prepares a fly before setting out for the creek.
By mid-afternoon, we made it about as far up the mountain as we could before the boulders we had to climb became cliff sides. It took six and a half hours for our party to cover a little over two miles to the top. By the time it was over, we had been on the creek for ten hours. I’ve pushed myself as a backpacker to be able to cover two miles of rugged trail with a full pack in under an hour. I thought I knew what a hard hike was, but even the toughest trail up struggle mountain is still a trail purpose built to make backcountry travel a little easier.
I also failed to anticipate how active this style of fishing is. It’s hard for an outsider not to visualize plenty of time for naps on a fishing trip. But we were nearly always on the move, only stopping briefly if a pool wasn’t biting. And they mostly weren’t biting. As we made it deeper into the backcountry, the fishing party began to have more success. A brown here, a brook there, and even a magnificent 12-inch rainbow trout near the top of our ascent.
A 12-inch Rainbow Trout found lurking in the upper reaches of the creek near the summit of Mount Mitchell.
Every fish was released after capture to be able to live and make more fish so that there can be more fishing weekends. I keep wondering what it is that pushes humans to these sorts of pursuits. Considering how much of human history has been varying levels of hardship, why would those of us living in the now choose to do the things that are hard when we could simply stay in our comfortable homes blasting our eyeballs with comfortable content and eating comfort food. Everything is so easy now, right? What are we looking for? What is the point?
I come away from these experiences physically weary and sometimes mildly broken, but I’m never happier. For me the comfortable world can be alienating and often quite lonely, even in a crowd. Visualizing our place as being but one component of nature rather than above or removed from it is the only thing that ever came close to making sense to me. If there is a purpose to any of this madness, it seems to be to learn and experience as much as you possibly can. And if possible, try to leave it better than you found it.
View of the east flank of the Black Mountain Range from Maple Camp Bald where the creek and other tributaries drain into the South Toe River.
So should you walk the long path up struggle mountain for a fish that might not be there? Absolutely yes, but be mindful to take your time and step carefully. Some of the rocks are wet.
Stay tuned…