Remnants of the fog hung over the river like an apparition, floating above the rippling waters only to disappear as the sun warmed the morning air.

The calm ebb of the river gave way to the hurried rush of the rapids as the waters were forced into a narrow channel. I flipped the rod in a half-hearted cast and let the line drift into the turbulent pool. As the tiny wet fly reached its lowest arc in the murk, a bull Rainbow trout left his lair, duped by the man-made fly akin to the deception that resulted in the fall of man. I dropped the rod tip sideways, feeling his strength as the hook set. Unable to shake the lure, he bored away in a heavy run, working the tip of the nine foot rod. Darting from one side of the pool to the other finally weakened the trout's resolve and I worked him closer to the side of the drift boat.

Richard Colley, our host and guide of "Hobo Fly Fishing Guide Service", dipped the smooth wooden loop of the net through the water, extracted the catch and gently removed the hook. I felt as though I had just won an Oscar, found a cure for the common cold, and figured out the mystery of the Bermuda Triangle, all pale in comparison to catching your first fish of the day. Ignoring the accusations of the suicidal tendencies of the rapidly retreating trout, I flipped the fly further down the river. 

Seated in the front seat, my fishing partner Kevin Bennett, was also doing well for himself. Having already landed two Rainbow's, he was keeping the reel hot, as another fish took his fly. With this quality of fishing one might assume we were on the Flathead, Colorado, or maybe the Beaverkill: wrong on all accounts. We were plying our rods on the Watuaga River. From its humble beginnings in the mountains of western North Carolina, the Watauga flows into northeastern Tennessee on its ultimate journey to the Mississippi River. The river appears custom made for fly fishermen with its deep pools, racing rapids and rocky fords, along with of course Oncorhynchus Mykiss, the Rainbow trout. But the picture wasn't always this rosy....  

The Watuaga is a river reborn, a river resurrected. For not long ago it was dead! A massive chlorine spill in February 2000 resulted in tens of thousands of dead fish and other amphibians. But through the efforts of dedicated sportsmen, local landowners along the Watauga and the Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency, the waters once again team with life. Over 40,000 adult trout were, along with in excess of 100,000 fingerlings were stocked. While the adult fish cannot compare, yet, with some of the giants that were destroyed in the spill, they still offer some excellent sport. It will take few years for the river to make a full recovery, and eventually there will be trout that reach the proportions of those before the disaster. Rumor has it that just recently some truly trophy trout have been released in the restocking effort.

Kevin and I certainly were enjoying ourselves with the new residents of the river. Our journey downstream eventually meant leaving the general waters behind and led us into the trophy designated area, precluding the opportunity of keeping any of our catch. Once again, we drifted our flies through a long glassy chute of green-black water, sliding along the base of a massive wall of granite. The shadowy silhouettes of two trout fell in pursuit of the sinking flies and hurled themselves onto the hooks. Now Kevin and I both had excellent fish on at the same time, while Richard tried to position to net them. We were all having a busy day.

It was nearing time to break for lunch and rounding a turn in the river we came across Richard's wife Patricia Colley setting up the folding tables and chairs along the river's edge, for what was to be a delicious lunch of fried chicken, cole slaw, baked beans and rolls. It took little provocation to get us started.

Brent Besosa, who was working the camera and getting something worthwhile from Kevin and I, for an upcoming television episode of God's Great Land Of The Wild TV show, was the first to finish. He wasn't about to let us get by with doing all of the fishing, all the while he waded into the water he was murmuring something about the need for Kevin and me to learn how to operate the camera.