We were standing calf and knee deep in crystalline water. The mid-morning sun had just crest Timber Ridge and was now peeking into the gorge, through the overhanging laurel and rising haze.

It was an experience I had savored before. But, today was different. It was better. Today, I took my son fly-fishing for native Brown Trout in a North Carolina wilderness study area in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Matthew was so excited, he could hardly stand still - This is, of course, a problem for a four-year-old standing on slippery rocks in a mountain stream. It took him only minutes to make his first close inspection of a cold-water branch.

After Matthew‘s first change of clothes for the day, we decided it was a good time for a snack and a rest from the hike down the gorge. My backpack contained two changes of clothes for Matthew and one for me. I packed my fishing gear, a first-aid kit, a compass, a canteen, trail maps, a flashlight, a knife, energy bars, matches, rope, and a poncho. Matthew packed his fishing gear, sandwiches, a poncho, and a whistle.

We discussed what, if we were a native Brown Trout, we might eat and where we might hide. It was agreed that although a trophy wild trout would surely love a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, we should keep them for our own lunch, and see how the trout liked #18 Elk-hair Caddis flies. Matthew and I don’t like flies that much anyway.

I rigged Matthew’s leader and found a likely pool that was knee deep to a four-year-old. Making my way a short cast upstream, I paused to admire a Norman Rockwell painting of a young adventurer looping a dry fly into a calm pool. I’ve never seen a more moving site.

The light morning haze off the water afforded him generous cover as the water erupted with a tail-dancing Brown that made Matthew scream with excitement.

“Daddy!”

“All-right, big guy, bring him in!”

I hurried back, but the trout was gone as quickly as it had appeared. The smile on Matthew’s face was now etched as in stone and stayed there for hours. I didn’t know it was possible for a four-year-old to become that focused. His next strike produced a 10 inch Brown, but, Matthew was the one now hooked.

Sharing a day of fly-fishing with my son revealed a whole new dimension to a sport that I have enjoyed since I too was young. Until this day, I didn’t know that it was possible to enjoy fly-fishing more.

Matthew caught and released eight fish before we reluctantly decided to head back. The climb out of the gorge, back up the mountain, would take considerably longer than the hike in. From the forest road to the shallow trout waters below, took an hour under pack. The hike back, I expected, would take twice that.

Matthew asked me to carry him only once on the arduous trip out. I carried him for about ten minutes before putting him down and explaining:

“Son, I just can’t carry you, I have a heavy pack with everything we need to stay overnight if necessary, and you’re such a big boy now, I can’t carry you too. If you get tired, we’ll stop and rest.”

A late afternoon storm cooled us off and gave us a chance to make shelter, eat, and talk:

“What do you do if you get lost?” I grilled Matthew.

“Blow my whistle!”

“What do you do if I get lost?”

“Blow my whistle!”

“Who caught the biggest fish?”

“I did.”

“No, I did!”

“I did!”

“No, I did!”

“What do you think Mommie and Anna are doing?”

“Anna said shopping.”

“Who’s having more fun, the boys or the girls?”

“The boys!” Matthew added, “Boys, yeah! Girls, euwwwww!”

“Girls, euwwwww? You’ll probably change your mind about that someday, Buddy.”

We rested two more times before finding the Jeep. Matthew climbed into the front seat and threw his pack in the back. As I buckled his seat belt, he leaned against my shoulder. Matthew was sound asleep before I got the Jeep started.

Making our way down the mountain was slow. A second storm made the visibility poor and the forest roads slippery. Besides, Matthew’s head was propped on my arm.

It was after dark when we got home. Matthew was awake, and both of us were excited with the day’s adventure and eager to share the story.

“The adventurers have returned!”

“WHEREHAVEYOUTWOBEEN?WEWEREWORRIEDSICK!!!IALMOSTCALLEDTHEPOLICE!!!
YOUCOULDHAVEBEENINADITCHSOMEWHEREORDROWNEDFORALLWEKNEW!!!
DON’TEVERDOTHATAGAIN!!!
YOUCOULDHAVEATLEASTCALLEDTOSAYYOUWEREGOINGTOBELATE..."

Girls, euwwwwwww.

Rob Wedding © 1997