Southern Appalachian Brookie

So, here's the brookie.  Next on the list for this 4 trout series will be the rainbow.  I've collected all the reference material  - it'll be a Redband Rainbow - and will get started putting some paint to canvas after the holiday.  Happy Fourth of July!

...it's a start

There is always a risk in showing a work "in progress" but hey, why not?  You might be looking at this Southern Appalachian Brookie and be wondering, "What is this crap all bout?"  But the upside is that you might look at the finished product in a few days  and say, "WOW!"  

The purpose - at this stage -  is to get some paint on the canvas and color over all of that intimidating white space.

Spring Creek Brown

OK...I know the photo is lousy.  Cell phone cameras have their limitations.  But until I get a response from Pentax regarding my broken shouldnt' be broken camera, it'll have to do.  As soon as my friend and neighbor Chas, the greatest photographer on the planet, (see Shoot the Light) returns from one of his international photo seminars and can take a shot of this, I'll have something very professional to post. Until then, I hope you enjoy my very unprofessional effort.  I'm thinking of naming this series "The Blue Collar Series" after the comment from my blogger buddy Howard from Windnots and Tangled Lines, after my last post.  I think he nailed it.  I can't wait to get started on the brookie...or maybe I'll start the rainbow.

New project

This will be a series of four paintings - a cutthroat, a brown, a brook and a rainbow - and they aren't going to be the hook-jawed monsters that we all dream about catching. Nope, they are going to be the more common everyday varieties. The beautiful 10 inchers that frequent our nets more often.

The top painting, a Westslope Cutthroat, is about an hour from being finished, but I was so pleased with it I couldn't wait to start the brown shown below it. The brown has a long ways to go. I've got learn to focus! One at a time Alan! One at a time.

Spruce Pine Veterans Outing

Last Friday afternoon our special guests began arriving at our lodging place in Spruce Pine, North Carolina, a repurposed schoolhouse from the 1930’s now known as the Pinebridge Inn. We were to greet vets from our TU VSP/Project Healing Waters programs from the Carolinas, and Tennessee.

A few weeks earlier, Ryan Harman, a PHW Board Member, Pisgah TU member, and the Program Lead of the Asheville PHW program put the word out that a select few veterans from the area were to be invited to spend a day on Rock Creek, a beautiful little stream hiding in the shadows of Roan Mountain in western North Carolina and managed by the guys at River's Edge Outfitters in Spruce Pine. As most of the vets had heard of the place from the reports of prior outings, filling the nine veteran quota was easy and quick.

Friday night’s creek side dinner was spoiled when we received a call from the caterer that due to a quickly passing thunderstorm her set-up on the stream was being threatened by rising waters. No problem. We’ll eat at the Inn. And as it turned out, those rising waters were a blessing in disguise.

When we arrived at the creek early Saturday morning the well drained grounds were fine, and due to the slight coloration of the water, the creek was even finer. That little touch of color should have put the normally leader shy trout on warning . . these fishermen meant business and with the ability to be armed with 3x tippets . . . landing a few of the creek’s bruisers was a certainty.

But turning our vets loose on those big guys would have to wait until the completion of the three seminars that we had planned - Jesse Connor from Trout Dancer Rod Company conducting a dry/dropper seminar, Dick Engelhardt sharing his expertise on streamer fishing, and Paul Bourcq from the NC Fly Fishing Team, passing along his line management techniques. Each veteran had the opportunity to sit in on each seminar and when it came time to practice their new skills it wasn’t long before the words, “Fish on!” were heard up and down the stream. By days end each of our vets had landed his share of rainbows – most of them in the 18 to 24 inch range. The smallest fish landed (not counting a horny head or two) measured twelve inches.


Paul Bourcq's line management seminar



Dick Engelhardt's streamer fishing seminar



Jesse Connor's dry/dropper seminar...and the results

We all had a fantastic time. The weather finally cooperated and the fishing was great. Best of all - that "winding down" time at the end of the day and the fish stories that were shared. The ones caught and the ones that got away. The memories, the camaraderie, the sharing.



Special thanks to the Pinebridge Inn for their great hospitality, and to Joe Street and Steve Mingle from River’s Edge Outfitters for making the water available. Our thanks to the seminar leaders who so freely shared their skills with our veterans, and the TU volunteer guides and mentors that made possible our one-to-one ration of guides to participants.



Outings just like this one are taking place across the country nearly every week. With over seventy of our TU chapters involved in the Veterans Service Program now, you can be sure that hundreds of our deserving veterans are experiencing the thrill of landing trout as they enjoy a holiday from their ongoing recoveries.

Showin' some skin...

Brown trout skin study, acrylic.

They made me do it!

Both of our daughters and their mates have gotten into camping – well, it’s sorta like camping. They each are proud owners of 30 plus foot travel trailers, campers, and for a few years now Shirley and I have been able to pull off a major coup. Just a short 14 miles from our home lies a beautiful little lake and campground that we discovered a few years back, and of all the camping sites available in Western North Carolina we’ve been able to convince the girls that this is the one spot that is worthy of our annual Memorial Day Rendezvous. There are a number of reasons why we are partial to the place. First and foremost, the fishing is good. The water is clear and the wooded shorelines are free of houses and boat docks; the separate spring fed swimming lake is great for the grandkids and the campsites are clean, bug free and well maintained.

But back to the fishing. I have fished for trout in some pretty special places. I have hiked in, jeeped in and driven up to the banks of some fantastic waters, but I have yet to discover a more enjoyable way of casting a fly line than while dangling my legs in the cool waters of Cascade Lake on a hot spring or summer day in my float tube. Cascade Lake is formed from the clear waters of Little River, which flows from the DuPont State Forest in WNC. The upper end of the lake below Hooker Falls has a decent population of rainbows and I’ve seen photos of some pretty nice largemouth that have been caught down lake. Most of the angles are after these. I aint. No sir, Chad and I go there for the bluegills.



As we watch boat after boat heading out with their bass gear, Chad and I just chuckle as we land one ‘gill after another within shouting distance of the boat ramp. This year was no different. At midday on Friday I inflated the float tube, grabbed my 2 wt. and a selection of flies and headed for the water. That first immersion in the cool waters of the lake, no matter what the ambient temperature is, gets your attention. I eased into the craft and kicked my way to the far bank about 100 yards away. By the time I arrived, the mix of cold water and hot sun had reached the perfect comfort level.

I tied on a little yellow chenille bodied, rubber legged fly and by the 5th cast I had released three pretty fish back to the depths. The average size of these blue gills runs around seven inches, and occasionally we catch one of hand size – say around ten inches. Cast after cast, as I kicked my way down the shoreline the fish were very cooperative. Within two hours I had managed to catch around fifty of them. Great fun on a two weight.

Chad joined in on Saturday and the action continued, but at a little slower pace. Meanwhile back at camp, the kids were having a blast with the swimming and the science experiments that daughter Melanie had brought along. All four grandkids, donned in their chemistry lab smocks had great fun making fake snow, creating slime and who knows what else. It was to be a fun and educational weekend for all of them. By the end of the holiday I would come to regret the educational part of the deal.



On Sunday afternoon it was decided that our daughters, the grandkids and our non fishing son-in-law Jonathan, would rent canoes and paddle up to Hooker Falls for a picnic. As they paddled past Chad and I along the shoreline they had what they thought was a great idea. They figured their science projects should evolve into a little biology lesson, and that we should keep four fish for them to clean and cook up for dinner that evening. Well that turned out to be a curse of sorts. From that moment on the bite was off. Cast after cast and no fish. Chad had drifted away from where I was working the shoreline and he wasn’t having any luck either.

I had tried just about all of the traditional bluegill flies and in an experimental mood I tied on a size 12 Humpy. A couple of casts later I saw a flash of color dart through my sunken fly and I was hard onto a decent fish. I had seen more bass on this trip than ever before and I hoped that I would get lucky and catch one of them, but so far, they had rejected my offerings. If this was a bass though, it sure acted strange. Instead of thrashing around on the surface with a jump or two thrown in, this fish headed straight for the deepest water in the lake. My 2 wt. was double for a good 4 minutes until he finally came into view. It was a bluegill…and a larger one than I had ever seen, much less caught. As I measured the big guy’s length, I hollered at Chad to come my way with his camera.



As Chad’s eyes grew bigger looking at my fish he says, “We gotta keep that one!” to which I replied, “No, we don’t even have a stringer.” But of course, as the flotilla of grandkids passed Chad on their way to the falls, they managed to find a piece of wire on the bottom of the canoe and passed it over to him with instructions to keep some fish for the kids. So here I sat in my float tube, holding in my hand a 13 inch bluegill that I, by way of Chad, had been ordered by my family to keep. I tried to recall the last time that I had kept any fish, much less a bona-fide lunker. It had to have been at least 45 years. As the day was growing short and the fishing had been slow, I relented and slipped the wire through the fish’s lips.

The fish cleaning exhibition later that night went reasonably well and the fish did indeed taste very good, but still I was tormented by my decision to keep him. I did a little research on the average growth rate of bluegills when I got home and learned that the fish was at least 10 years old . . . and certainly near the end of his reproductive life span, which made me feel a little better. He went out like the lunker he was though. I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun from my end of a fly rod.

Over dinner there was serious talk about changing the rendezvous location for next year. Seems there is a great little island off the Carolina coast that has a lot to offer. Supposed to be great for crabbing. Wonder how deep a bend a crab will put into my 2 weight?

Triumph of the Human Spirit

Our TU volunteers within the Veterans Service Program are very good at teaching disabled veterans the sport we love, but the activity I witnessed last Friday will never, ever, be replicated in our Veterans Service Program. I’m referring to a very special part of the groundbreaking ceremony I attended for the Boulder Crest Retreat in Bluemont, Virginia.

Ken Falke, a 21 year combat veteran of the U.S. navy and retired Master Chief Petty Officer, has provided his beautiful 37 acre property to create a free, first class rural retreat for America’s seriously wounded warriors and their families to reconnect and recover from the injuries of war and we were honored to be invited to the ground breaking ceremony. Our opportunity to partner with Ken and his organization is what the VSP is all about.

After the obligatory speeches and expressions of gratitude we were invited outside to witness one of the more impressive sights that I have ever seen. There at 12,000 feet, circling this little piece of paradise in the Virginia Mountains was a small plane, and right on schedule a small dot appeared in the sky behind it. That small dot was Dana Bowman. You might remember a news story about Dana.

He is a retired Sergeant First Class with the U.S. Army where he was a Special Forces soldier and a member of the U.S. Army’s elite parachute team, the Golden Knights. Dana didn’t make the news for his combat exploits. Back in February of 1994 Dana and his partner were practicing a sky diving maneuver known as the Diamond Track. The maneuver calls for the jumpers to streak away from each other for about a mile and then turn 180 degrees and fly back toward each other crisscrossing in the sky. Dana and his partner had demonstrated the Diamond Track more than fifty times without a mistake, but this time was different. Dana and his partner collided at a combined speed of 300 mph, instantly killing his partner, who, when he passed by Dana severed both of Dana’s legs with his outstretched arm.

As told on his website, www.danabowman.com, nine months later he turned this tragedy into a triumph when he became the first double amputee to re-enlist in the United States Army. Bowman re-enlisted in the United States Army airborne style, skydiving with his commander into the ceremony. After Dana’s re-enlistment, he became the U.S. Parachute Team’s lead speaker and recruiting commander.

I and the 200 attendees at the Boulder Crest groundbreaking event were honored to be in his presence. While we will never replicate his sky diving performance with the veterans that we serve, we can all take from Dana’s life story . . . he is but one of many that have an incredible story of triumph of the human spirit.

Simple Pleasures

At the FFF Southeastern Rally last year the always thoughtful Shirley raised her hand repeatedly during their live auction to purchase a guided trip on the Soque River in north Georgia. Ever since moving to the southeast I have seen the pictures and read the stories of the monster trout that are found there, so I was naturally thrilled with her good sense and her persistence to win the thing. The package she won was donated to the auction by Charles Henderson of Southern Sweetwater Anglers, and it was a half day trip for two anglers on Charles' trophy section of the famed river.

It was a no-brainer that this trip was going to be son-in-law Chad's birthday present, and since his birthday back in September, we have anticipated heading into those beautiful north Georgia mountains to meet up with a toothy, hook-jawed rainbow or two. We had a year to redeem it and the year was ending on Memorial Day, so what better way to spend Mother's Day weekend than packing up our families - mothers included, of course - and heading for the river?

A few nights before leaving I spoke to Charles about the river conditions and to pick his brain a little on what we could expect. He said if we were lucky we might get some top-water action with hopper patterns and he recommended nothing smaller than 5 weights and 4x tippets. I'm likin' it already.

When we arrived at his lease - just a stones throw from the Batesville General Store - I was a little surprised at the size of the water. This so-called "river" would have barely qualified as an Ozarks "crick," but it was wild and beautiful, crystal clear and as fishy lookin' as any water, anywhere. Charles and Chad headed downstream and I headed up. I hadn't been in the water but a few minutes and I noticed a trout rising no more than a good double-haul upstream of where I entered the water. As the place was too canopied for a double-haul, and I can't do one on a spacious football field anyway, I went into my excuse of a stealth mode and headed up to his position.

My dry landed perfectly, drifted over his position - and nothing happened. After three more reasonable casts I reeled in to change patterns, and as if to mock me, the trout rose two more times while I was fumbling through my fly box. Over the next little while I tried a couple of more patterns to no avail and finally conceded defeat. I gave him a wide berth and headed upstream with the intention of fishing my way back down to him with a wet. Hugging the far bank, I moved about fifty yards up and sat down on a mid-stream rock to take in the beauty and allow the fish to settle back in.

As any painter would know, to make "green" you mix up a bit of blue and a bit of yellow. The shades of green that you can create are virtually endless, and thanks to an early spring and ample rains, they were all on display on this overcast late May morning. But for the patter of a light rain and the ocassional crow calling out to his brethern, I was surrounded by the beauty and the silence that we all cherish when on a trout stream. That is, until the dogs started howling. Distant at first, the ruckus was becoming louder, closer, and more frantic as the hounds chased what was surely a 300 pound black bear towards my little slice of peaceful paradise.

Of course it was a bear! What else could rile up every dog in the county? The more I thought about it, the surer I was, and the larger the bear became. I was imagining the headline . . . "Headless North Carolina angler found floating in north Georgia trout stream." Well, I wasn't going to sit on that rock and let him have me. No sir, if I'm going to be attacked by a bear I'm going to be fishing when it happens.

As the dogs and the bear changed course at the last minute and faded off into the distance from whence they came, I was back in position to make a presentable drift with the black Woolly to my real nemesis, and sure enough, on the first swing through his lair he was on! After a few moments I brought him alongside, slipped my forceps around the Bugger and released him back to the river. Though certainly not of local bragging size, the little 12 incher was beautiful. I continued on downstream and had a few more hits, but other than seeing the flash of one nice fish - one very nice fish - the lunkers of the Soque had eluded me. So be it. My back was hurting and I headed back to the truck about an hour earlier than planned.

Earlier that morning when we arrived at the parking spot, in a silly mood for sure, I asked Charles if there really were huge trout in the little pond that adjoined our parking area. With a raised eyebrow and a smirk he said, "Sure Alan. Go have a go at 'em. Chad and I are going over here," as he pointed towards the river.

Well, after stretching out on the picnic table for a while I couldn't resist the temptation of the pond. A few weeks ago at the Virginia Fly Fishing Festival I got to know one Mr. Steve Vorkapich, the creator of the Float Master strike indicators. I had met Steve a few years earlier, but other than exchanging pleasantries when our paths crossed at various fly fishing shows, we really didn't know each other. That was my loss. Steve is without doubt one of the nicest guys I know, and spending some time with him at The Speckled Trout B&B in Waynesboro was a highlight of our trip north. Before parting ways at the festival I convinced Steve that we needed to do some product swapping. (For the uninitiated, Sunday afternoons at most fly fishing shows see frantic activity among the vendors as they wheel and deal to carry home items that they've admired all through the weekend but were to cheap to buy.) I left with Steve's strike indicator selection and he left with a few of my prints.

So here I was on a premier southern trout stream, rigging up one of Steve's indicators with plans to try them out on the little pond's bream population. I selected a small yellow one and placed it about a foot above a brown Girdle Bug. Wham! The minute the rig hit the water it disappeared, and shortly thereafter I had in my hand a pretty little bluegill. I won't try to convince you that every cast had the same result, but I will tell you that over the next hour I landed at least three dozen of the little guy's neighbors, including the nice one shown here.

I found the Float Master easy to cast and wonderfully easy to re-position for different depths. And when I finally had enough and broke my gear down, I saw not a single kink in the line from its usage.

They say that fly fishing soothes the soul. They say that it's not just about catching fish - it's about the experience. They say that standing in a clearwater trout stream and soaking in Creation is good for you and your relationship to it's Creator. All true. Chad and I got to do all of that on Saturday. I got to do that before hiking back to the truck and the pond, but I sure am glad that I got to experience the simple pleasure of landing a mess of bluegills too.

Smiley

Another new one for the VA Festival. 12" x 24"

The Drift

It could have been a trout - more likely, the fading light playing tricks through the leaves. Evenings like this mess with the mind.

I was awake before the alarm went off. A normal occurrence these days. Used to be that I would lie awake on the “nights before” imagining the fish I would catch. Half afraid that I’d miss the alarm and oversleep, I’d play fish after fish until nothingness overtook me, then with the alarm sounding I’d rise from bed in a manner unknown on days that promised nothing but work. Now, in my sixties, sleep still comes slowly. But for different and unexciting reasons. Yes, I’ll play a few trout before it comes, but only to pass the time until it does. I miss those nights of eight hours like I miss so many other things that age brings our way.

I know this place well and my father knew it well before me. He was raised within an hour of the place and he had the good sense never to move far from it. I wasn’t so lucky. Careers can be cruel like that. Tonight I’m back, and as I approach the pool I’m swept away with memories. Dad used to say that there was a big brown back under the trees at the far bank. He said he would never see him during the day, but in the twilight, occasionally, if the river was really still, he might see his nose appear from the rock, waiting for the darkness that big browns are fond of. He said if I can get the drift just right I might catch him one day.

It’s getting darker.

Greenback Cutthroat

A few posts back I mentioned that I am revisiting the paint brush, and since then I have been burnin' the midnight oil, as they say, to complete a few new pieces to show at the upcoming Virginia Fly Fishing Festival. Well, here's one of them. I haven't taken the time to title them, just as I haven't taken the time to plant all the flowers that Miss Shirley has been buying to spruce up the yard. Sorry dear.

My plate is rather full at the momment. This weekend I'll be presenting the details of the Veterans Service Program to the attendees of the Trout Unlimited Southeatern Conference, and immediately after the conference I'll be headed to Harman's Northfork Cottages up in West Virginia to shoot a video with Curtis Fleming from Fly Rod Chronicles, followed at the end of that week with the festival in Waynesboro. Then the week after that I'll be back to Virginia for the infamous Project Healing Waters 2Fly Tournament. It's a wonder that I get anything done!

I think that the Greenback Cutthroat, which this "skin" illustration represents, is just about the prettiest thing that our God has ever created (my apologies to Miss Shirley again), and it was done with acrylics on a 5 x 7 inch canvas. Hope you all like it....Prints are available!

Ft. Jackson Warrior Transition Unit, After Action Report

My friend Bobby Sutton from the Saluda River TU chapter in Columbia, South Carolina has filed the following AAR. Way to go Bobby!

My name is Bobby Sutton and the Project Healing Waters stories I have heard from my father have always held a special place in my heart. The Founder of PHW, Ed Nicholson, has been a family friend for a long time and has included my father, Bob Sutton, in many PHW trips. Being a Columbia, South Carolina resident I began to ask myself why there was not a PHW Chapter in Columbia. Geographically it is perfect, with the Saluda River winding through Columbia and with Fort Jackson and the VA hospital just a few miles away. With help from our chapter president Shawn Kenney, Alan Folger (VSP National Coordinator), John Bass (PHW Regional Coordinator), and all of my great friends at Saluda River TU, Project Healing Waters Columbia is now a Chapter!

We have received great support for Fort Jackson and have had 2 events on the Fort so far. Our first event on March 1st was a 3 hour Adaptive Fly-Fishing Clinic and we had about 30 soldiers in attendance. We held tying demonstrations as well as basic casting, and showed videos as well. We had 15 or so soldiers from the Warrior Transition Unit sign up for our six lesson Fly Fishing 101 course that we began last week. The excitement and enthusiasm of these heroes is truly amazing and we look forward to great friendships as well as furthering our partnerships with the facilities as well! Thanks to all my TU and PHW Friends for helping us get this great new chapter going!

Bobby Sutton
Program Lead
Saluda River TU

Rainbow

This is the first full-bodied trout I have painted, and I think I'm startin' to get the hang of it. Going back to my roots with a paint brush is challenging after spending the past few years trying to figure out pen & ink and colored pencils, but I'm starting to see the potential of it.

This rainbow was done with acrylics, and the image you see above is from a scanner. With a heavily textured base, getting a good scan is problematic. The scanner lights can do some pretty weird things with the bumps and ridges, but it came out pretty true to the original.

Gettin' Ready

With the Virginia Fly Fishing Festival coming up on the weekend of April 21st in Waynesboro, Virginia I had better be doing one of these a night. Of course I can't, but I do hope to have a few of these acrylic paintings done by then to show along with my colored pencil illustrations.

This Rainbow "skin" was done with nothing but a palatte knife and a broad brush, using primary colors right out of the tube. It measures 18" x 24". And for those of you that might wonder "how can this guy who is so persnickety and detail oriented do something like this?" . . . well, I'm wondering that myself. I'm not wondering about the fun level though. This was a blast to do!

And my apologies for the picture quality - I had to shoot it with my phone. My $400 Pentax - the one that is shock and water proof - isn't "rub" proof. While at the TU Veterans Service Program dinner in DC last week (more on that to follow in a future posting) I had the phone in my pocket and something rubbed against it, crashing the thing. Pentax said "sorry." Will I be buying a new one? I think NOT!