The Great Smokies part 2

Our campsite was near a stream so we hoped to fish there. Paul and Robert proceeded to set up the tent, while Don and I set up the camper. Paul had moved the rear van seat forward to remove the equipment. When they tried to move the seat so someone could sit in it, they couldn’t figure it out. Eventually a young kid walked by, and showed them how to move it. We laughed about all the bachelor’s degrees, master’s degrees, and post master’s degrees we had, but couldn’t figure out how to operate a seat.

Pat sent along steaks, potatoes, and salad so we started a campfire for the evening and cooked over the fire. She also sent along my favorite brownies, turtle brownies. She sometimes threatens to not send any with us for some smart ass remark so I am often threatened to be brownieless.

By sundown, it was starting to get quite cold as night fell. Paul had a heater in the tent, but we had nothing but a blanket for the camper.

We watched as some boy scouts attempted to set up a tent below us. They had no idea how to set it up and struggled until dark. By the time we turned in for the night they had nothing more than a sack laying on the ground. They cooked something on a burner on the end of a propane torch.

That night set a record for cold. Camping when temperatures are near zero takes special equipment. We didn’t have any. I put on every piece of clothing I had, buried myself under my coat, and shivered all night. As cold as I was, at least I was off the ground. Paul and Robert had a heater, but it ran out after a few hours. The scouts had nothing but the tent.

We got up as the sun rose. We started a fire and Don made coffee and skillet breakfast. It was damn cold. Eventually two scouts crawled out from under their flattened tent.  I hope they got a merit badge for their efforts.

After breakfast, we tried fishing the stream near the campsite. The fly fishermen went to work, catching trees and other objects, while Robert and I cast spinners.

Needing more blankets, and some fishing guidance, we headed into town. First we headed to Walmart and bought blankets.

We stopped at the tackle shop and hired the owner’s son for half a day. He asked if we wanted to catch lots of fish. We said we did so we followed him to the edge of town.  

Right outside of town we stopped.  You could see the population sign for Gatlinburg where we stopped. Not exactly the commune with nature we were expecting. This wasn’t in the national park, but he said this is where we catch fish. He took a photo of the four us standing by Paul’s van. That’s the photo you see on the blog.

He said to get rid of our lures and put on a single hook with a split shot. He then attached a single piece of soft plastic and told us to throw it upstream and let it float down. He spoke fly fishing to Don and Paul, in some language only they understood. They began whipping some type of buggy thing. We caught fish immediately.

The logic of fishing right out of town was revealed later. The creek we fished flows through Gatlinburg. Many hotels are located along the creek. In order to keep their clients happy, the hotels have the creek stocked with trout. The trout didn’t know the city limits, but the guide did.

We waded around in the rapidly moving stream, while our guide dozed off on the bank. After the requisite amount of time, we paid the guide and headed back to our campsite.

Fortified with more blankets we went back to our campsite. After fishing with a guide, we were confident we could catch trout the next day.

That night we drove into Pigeon Forge for dinner. The traffic was as bad as before. We sought a restaurant known as the Applewood Farmhouse , famous for southern cooking. We couldn’t find a place in the parking lot, so we parked along a road and walked back. We had a great meal, ordering the apple smoked meat, and plenty of mashed potatoes, biscuits and gravy.

The next morning we were back fishing the stream near camp. One thing that struck me was the color of the boulders. The fishing shirts we had purchased from Cabela’s were an exact match for the colors along the stream.

Unfortunately fishing was not as productive. I recall casting the end of my two piece fishing rod into the stream and watching it float away. Fortunately I held on to the reel and was able to reel the top back to me. Robert moved downstream and caught fish under a bridge. We all moved down too, but he was the successful one. He has a special ability to catch fish.

Robert’s explanation follows:

As to catching fish, from what I have seen, it is all in the fingertips.  Of course that assumes the bait has been put in front of the fish.  My brother and I conducted some experiments when we lived on Dunlap Lake in the Edwardsville area when I started my initial fishing adventures.  One part of the lake had a rocky cove  We were fishing the cove  along a hill where  rocks were located.  We could see hundreds of Crappie in very clear water.  This was later in the season and the spawn was almost over.  We were casting and reeling in through a regular convention of fish and not catching them.  So, I climbed up the hill and had my brother cast along the edge.  He would lay down a fifty foot cast and reel it in.  He was using a white jig that was clearly visible in the water.  Time and time again a fish would come up to it and take it completely in.  But the bite was so soft he could not feel it.  So I started signaling for him to set the hook and he began to catch fish.  Then I came down and kept a finger on the line, reeling in fast enough to keep up some tension.  If I felt the tiniest little peck, I would set the hook.  We both caught a lot of fish.

The next day we went out again. The picture below was taken by Paul on that day. I am in front, Don in the green, and Robert way back by the bridge. As you can see by our clothes, it started to rain and got worse. Mountain streams fill rapidly in a rainstorm and wading became hazardous. We decided to quit.

After removing and stowing our gear, we became tourists. We hiked up the mountains along a stream. There were brook trout in the streams, but they were protected from fishing. We returned to drive through the National Park looking at mountains and wildlife. Eventually we reached Elkmont, a restored settler’s village. There were historic Appalachian equipment, farms, and a water mill.

We drove through some meadows and later a wooded area. Along the road were a few dark birds.  Paul stopped the van. First one crossed the road, followed by another. Paul said they were wild turkeys. I had never seen one before. Now they are a common site almost everywhere. We even had one in my neighborhood last summer.  We stopped at a tourist gift shop and bought hats and other stuff.

The trip home did not include fog so we returned to our brake lights plan. We were safe at last. A few years later, Don and Pat sold their camper. I never found out if they demonstrated the brake lights-tail lights maneuver to the new owner.