Sunday brought more rain and another ghost town, Elkmont. It's another example of manifest destiny preserving this place for us and screwing a handful of individuals out of their vacation homes. It's a valley full of summer cabins with all the people missing. And it has one sweet river. We got to the river at the magical moment when the rain had just stopped and the clouds had parted and the light came through at just right angle to make the green's glow and the river sparkle.
|Marc fishing the head of a productive pool.|
We nymphed a bunch. I struck out but Marc and Mike did okay though Mike cheated and used a San Juan Worm which would have been okay had I thought of it but I didn't and thus Mike garnered unfair advantage.
At one point I lodged my dry-dropper rig in an overhanging branch. The nymph was hooked tight to a leaf and the spindly limb resisted efforts to dislodge the fly. I moved a couple of steps downstream to gain better leverage and noticed a hornet circling around the large, bushy dry. Before long there were several hornets assaulting the dry and that's when I noticed a small, Bald-faced hornet's nest about a foot or so up the branch from my nymph. I stepped back, tugged my rig free, and looked elsewhere for fish.
|Water Snake I found basking the elusive sun. Almost stepped in him.|
That was better than the one that swam towards me on Saturday. Creepy.
|Wouldn't you want this if you were a fish?|
|In Cherokee, a Cherokee, texting.|
I have less of that now.