Thursday, October 14th
After our late night with the ROFFians on Wednesday, we slept in until 7:30am
on Thursday. After a shower and several fruitless attempts to dial out to the
Internet from the KOA public phones, we headed down to an inviting stretch of
the Oconaluftee for a final fishing free-for-all before heading home. True to
my previous experiences with it, the Oconaluftee river proved again to be full
of great holes but entirely devoid of fish. In fact, this time I wasn't even
able to coax a two inch fish to strike. Fruitless as it was, though, I enjoyed
the fishing immensely. As I waded up the river, I seemed to cast with more
control and precision than ever before. The sun was out and the sky was clear
but it was still early enough that I could see my breath in frosty clouds about
my face. I fished for about an hour and, completely a peace with my
surroundings, decided to hike up to the road and walk down to the van from there
rather than risk a fall in the river. So, although the terrain was steep and
quite overgrown, I broke down my 7' graphite rod and started hiking. There was
no trail, but I was able to slowly and cautiously make my way up the steep hill
by grabbing trees and branches and using them to heft myself higher and higher.
After about half-an-hour of strenuous climbing--I found that it was much more
enjoyable if I imagined myself as Ken Fortenberry stalking a trout up a creek no
wider than a piece of paper--I began to wonder where on earth the road was, but
I remembered that it had dropped quite steeply right before the turnout where we
had decided to stop. Finally, I reached the top of the hill just as I heard the
sound of a truck go by. The problem was, though, that the sound of the truck was
coming from behind me and as I turned to look, I could see the road on the other
side of the valley. I had climbed the wrong mountain!! As hard as getting up
the hill had been, getting down was harder and I was as much afraid for the
safety of my legs and arms as I was for my fly rod as I began sliding down
uncontrollably, falling over and into trees and brush all the way down. At one
point I found myself stuck in a thicket of briars above and below me and for a
brief moment I considered just waiting there until an emergency rescue team
could cut me out. Fortunately I was wearing heavy neoprene. When I finally
made it all the way back down the mountain, I ended up right back in the river
where I had begun, only much more tired and in a decidedly bad mood. I opted to
wade back down the river rather than walking up another mountain, but due to my
fatigue I ended up falling several times before making it back to the van. By
the time I got back, I looked as wet and haphazard as Dave LaCourse on a bad
fishing day (just kidding, Dave). Bill took great pleasure in the fact that I
was covered from head to toe in mud and weeds, but at least he was willing to
drive much of the way home. In all, it was a great experience. We caught nice
fish, we put faces with the names of ROFF, and we fished with folks that I
surely hope we'll have the chance to fish with again really soon. Thanks to
everyone whose planning, preparation, and benevolence made our trip so
thoroughly enjoyable. Until next time! --Steve Zimmerman, October 15, 1999
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