Monday. A Government holiday which meant I had some wiggle room to hit the water. So, having found my five or so hours of time, I headed out. The hour of my departure was early, by the time the six o’clock bell rang to wake my still sleeping family, I would be well on my way. After stopping for gas and a 24oz. bottle of a syrupy energy drink that couldn’t be good for me, I caught the interstate and rolled north to the Clinch River.
Once upon a time, the Clinch was a revered place in the Southeast. Photos of proud anglers holding kipe jawed leviathans was not uncommon. Stories around campfires at night were full of Clinch river trout that were hooked, but never seen as they stripped the angler of his fly line, backing, and his pride.
That was the Clinch of old. The Clinch of today is more like a future hall of fame football player who is old and tired but to in love with the game to quit. What used to be a normal catch of 14” now brings whoops and shouts of joy. If you catch more than two over 12” it has been a good day.
Knowing this, I approached the water with minimal expectations. The water was low, not particularly cold, and completely void of any activity that would suggest that fish were to be found. I fumbled two #22 midges on my line and waded out.
The third cast brought a little guy to hand. It was young and looked like it hadn’t been in the neighborhood very long judging by its worn fins from the hatchery. After pulling the fly from its mouth I lowered it back into the water where it darted underneath a rock to try and figure out what had just happened.
It was then that the trip took an odd twist. On the wooded hillside behind me, I could hear the passionate wail of dogs who sounded as if they were on the trail of something. The thought had no sooner passed my mind when a four point buck bounded out of the timber and into the river no more than thirty yards from where I stood. I watched in amazement as this animal raced through the early morning fog. Valiantly he pushed forward until he stumbled into a deep hole, sinking up to his neck in the current. The dogs emerged from the underbrush and with reckless abandon they rumbled in after him. Finally the deer managed to climb up on an exposed rock, but he had trapped himself and the dogs were closing in fast. With no where to quickly escape, the buck then did the only thing he could do, he turned to face his attackers. They inched up the rock, growling with a deep tone as the buck lowered his antlers and spread his front legs to secure his footing. At that point the fight was on. One by one the dogs lunged at him, and as they did so, he dispatched one, a yellow lab mix that found himself lifted completely out of the water. The others, having seen the fate of their friend, slowly backed away, heading back to wherever home might be.
The deer stood on the rock for another half hour or so. I thanked God for letting me get such a thrill, and continued fishing. The buck kept watching me, and the thought crossed my mind that if the old boy came my way, I’d be in the world of hurt. Luckily he moved across the river and disappeared.
The rest of the day I fished with my friend Jeremy. We both caught fish, he having the better of our days. Both of us catching each other up on life events and discussing the quality of the Clinch, but in my mind I kept going back to that scene of the day waking up, and life…real life…the life of this amazing planet as it unfolded before my eyes.
Once upon a time, the Clinch was a revered place in the Southeast. Photos of proud anglers holding kipe jawed leviathans was not uncommon. Stories around campfires at night were full of Clinch river trout that were hooked, but never seen as they stripped the angler of his fly line, backing, and his pride.
That was the Clinch of old. The Clinch of today is more like a future hall of fame football player who is old and tired but to in love with the game to quit. What used to be a normal catch of 14” now brings whoops and shouts of joy. If you catch more than two over 12” it has been a good day.
Knowing this, I approached the water with minimal expectations. The water was low, not particularly cold, and completely void of any activity that would suggest that fish were to be found. I fumbled two #22 midges on my line and waded out.
The third cast brought a little guy to hand. It was young and looked like it hadn’t been in the neighborhood very long judging by its worn fins from the hatchery. After pulling the fly from its mouth I lowered it back into the water where it darted underneath a rock to try and figure out what had just happened.
It was then that the trip took an odd twist. On the wooded hillside behind me, I could hear the passionate wail of dogs who sounded as if they were on the trail of something. The thought had no sooner passed my mind when a four point buck bounded out of the timber and into the river no more than thirty yards from where I stood. I watched in amazement as this animal raced through the early morning fog. Valiantly he pushed forward until he stumbled into a deep hole, sinking up to his neck in the current. The dogs emerged from the underbrush and with reckless abandon they rumbled in after him. Finally the deer managed to climb up on an exposed rock, but he had trapped himself and the dogs were closing in fast. With no where to quickly escape, the buck then did the only thing he could do, he turned to face his attackers. They inched up the rock, growling with a deep tone as the buck lowered his antlers and spread his front legs to secure his footing. At that point the fight was on. One by one the dogs lunged at him, and as they did so, he dispatched one, a yellow lab mix that found himself lifted completely out of the water. The others, having seen the fate of their friend, slowly backed away, heading back to wherever home might be.
The deer stood on the rock for another half hour or so. I thanked God for letting me get such a thrill, and continued fishing. The buck kept watching me, and the thought crossed my mind that if the old boy came my way, I’d be in the world of hurt. Luckily he moved across the river and disappeared.
The rest of the day I fished with my friend Jeremy. We both caught fish, he having the better of our days. Both of us catching each other up on life events and discussing the quality of the Clinch, but in my mind I kept going back to that scene of the day waking up, and life…real life…the life of this amazing planet as it unfolded before my eyes.
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