One question I am often asked is, “What is the best way to fish the streams of the park—fly-fishing, spinners, or what?” The simplest and least expensive way to have a productive day on one of the creeks of the Smokies is to incorporate the use of a simple cane pole. Use of cane poles was widespread in the Smokies prior to World War II, and it is still fairly common to encounter an old fisherman from Bryson City or Cosby fishing with a 10-to 14-foot cane pole. The mountain folk are deadly with these.
Besides being very effective, cane poles are one of the least expensive routes you can take. An out-of-state visitor who forgets his fishing gear and wants to try his luck in park waters can purchase a pole, a spool of four-pound test line, a half-dozen flies, and a fishing permit for less than fifteen dollars.
A cane pole enables you to stand back from the area where the fly is dropped. Tactics employed when using a cane pole are almost the same as those used when fly-fishing, and the basics are the same for a wet fly, dry fly, or a nymph. Attempt to drop the fly along the edges of waterfalls, allowing the current to carry it to the end of the pool or run. If a strike does not occur the first time, and you feel there is a fish in the area, repeat the drift in a slightly different section of the pool. Keep a tight line the entire time your fly is in or on the water, as a lightning-fast strike can occur at any point.
chapter 5
Casting Tactics and Gear Tips
ONE OF THE FIRST THINGS many fly-fishermen notice when casting in the streams of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park is it rarely is what they expected before they tried. Even accomplished fly casters sometimes experience difficulty adjusting to the low overhead canopies and swift currents of these streams. Classic casting, where the line goes above the head of the caster on the back cast, can be impossible to accomplish on these waters. Personally, I have never liked the surface disturbance roll back casting creates, so I rarely do or recommend this for these streams.
Fly-fishermen find that the biggest obstacle to ideal fishing conditions is the lack of casting room, plus problems with drag. You will find yourself doing a good deal of sidearm casting, especially on some of the small streams. Plan to lose a few flies while angling these canopied waters.
While I do not tout myself as an expert fly-fisherman, I do catch trout and bass from these streams using these techniques. One thing I have learned over the years from fly-fishing here is that what is behind you is just as important as what lies ahead. I am referring to the infernal trees and limbs the National Park Service has shown little inclination to trim to improve my casting ease. It usually happens when I walk up on an extremely inviting run, where I know an eager-to-strike trout is waiting for my challenge. For the last 50 casts I have looked behind me, working my back cast through “keyhole” size openings in the streamside greenery. (This is an art form that those who fly-fish in these streams eventually master.) However, in the excitement of coming up on the best run of the day, I forget to check my back cast. Whammo!—my last No.14 Adams takes up permanent residence 16 feet up a hemlock. Even if I extend the butt of my fly rod into the tree to use the reel as a hook, I am out of luck.
Unorthodox casting techniques are the rule rather than the exception on all but the largest waters in the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. Many times, presenting a fly under a limb hanging a foot above the surface can only be accomplished by sidearm casting. This easy-to-master technique requires two things—knowing what is behind you and deadly casting accuracy. Under these conditions, there is no room for error.
Next to casting difficulties in tight conditions, drag problems are the next thing that surprises newcomers to these waters. How severe the drag problem is depends on the sort of water you are attempting to challenge. If you cast to water that has few crosscurrents, or limit yourself to extremely short casts, drag will be minimal. If you prefer to make long casts across broken pocket water or exposed rocks, you will be forced to mend your line constantly. Proficient fly-casters who attempt long shots into distant feeding lanes across such barriers and who have experience with an ever-constant drag will catch considerably more fish. When concentrating your efforts on short, easy casts, you often risk getting close enough to the fish to alert them to your presence.
One thing I did not discuss in previous books that I should have was the deadly effectiveness of fishing a nymph dropper-style under a dry fly. Two flies are permitted in park waters, and by using this dual-presentation approach, you more than double your odds of a strike. Many fly-fishermen have difficulty detecting light takes on nymphs. The dry works like a bobber, or strike indicator, for those too bashful to admit what they really are. The added benefit is trout also will prefer the dry over your subsurface offering. It’s my opinion that dry/nymph-dropper fishing takes a little advantage away from a strictly dry-fly approach, but the tradeoff is pretty handsome.
Several things facilitate dealing with the fast, swirling currents found on many runs in the streams of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. The instant your fly is on the water, begin mending line. By holding the tip of your fly rod aloft, you can get more line off the water, thus less line is exposed to the current. The result usually is less drag. A leader that is at least 9 to 10 feet long also can reduce the headaches nearly every fly-fisherman experiences dealing with drag on these waters.
Picking an ideal fly rod for the streams of the Smokies is a job comparable to picking the ideal wine. Long fly rods (9 to 9.5 feet) have been the choice of a number of highly successful, long-time patrons of the region; but an almost equal number of noted fly-fishermen prefer extremely short fly rods (6 to 6.5 feet).
Those favoring the long rod say the added length allows them to keep more line off the water, thus helping to eliminate drag. Greater casting accuracy is also cited as a plus for the long rod. Those who favor short rods cite the use of light lines (No.3 to No.4) and maneuverability on the stream as solid advantages. The short rod is easy to work on small streams, where overhead growth can hinder casting.
Regardless of your choice in the length of your fly rod, it should be of good quality. For dry fly-fishing, fly rods should be engineered to cast fly lines in the 2-to 4-weight class. Weight forward lines are recommended on these waters, where you are not always afforded the luxury of traditional, power-building casts. When fly-fishing using streamers, wet flies, or nymphs, heavier fly lines in the 5-to 8-weight class work well on these waters. My personal fly rod is an old, early graphite designed to cast 4-weight line. It is light and responsive, yet extremely powerful. I use it for 90% of the fishing I do. Several years ago, while black bear hunting in New Brunswick, Canada, near Juniper on the headwaters of the Miramichi River, I carried along this rod in the event we might prowl some beaver ponds where brookies are thick as fleas on an old hound in summer.
My host, Frank MacDonald, had taken me fishing for Atlantic salmon there in previous years. On my first trip up there we drove to Doaktown to attend Ted Williams’s birthday celebration, and there I met the famous Yankees baseball player for the first time. A couple of days later I fished with Ted on his favorite reach of the Miramichi, and I marveled at this casting ability. At lunch we talked about old fishing tackle. He collected Creek Chub Bait Company (CCBC) dingbats in the musky size, and at the time I had perhaps the largest collection of CCBC lures in the country. Even at that, I only had half a dozen or so CCBC dingbats in the rare musky size.
On two other occasions I fished with Ted, who had the biggest hands I have ever seen, and he was certainly the gruffest person I ever knew. Except for the conversation about old dingbats, he had little say—especially when I refused to gift one or two to his collection. On one particular trip, the regular salmon season had yet to open on the Miramichi, but where the stream passed his lodge in Doaktown, the so-called black salmon season was open.
Unlike Pacific salmon, Atlantic salmon generally survive their upstream spawning rites, and most return to the sea. Some get caught upstream during the winter, where they remain until the ice leaves