Asheville

In June, my in laws invited my wife, baby boy, and I to go with them to Asheville. They were up there for a conference for my father in-law's work. We had never been, and we thought it would be fun to go. Being that we were up in the mountains, I was excited to get out and go fishing on some streams/rivers. We got up there after I got off work on Tuesday, and went out to eat at a fabulous Mexican restaurant called Mamacitas. After that, we walked around to see downtown. My wife and I had never been there before so that was pretty neat. The second day we were up there was my day to go fishing. I have a hard time leaving my family behind to do things like that because I want to be with them (especially on a family trip) and it makes me feel selfish. What made it even harder was that my in-laws were at conferences, so my wife was all alone at the hotel with my son. So I tried to find some place close to town to fish at so I wouldn't be gone long. I saw that the French Broad goes through Asheville, and there were two parks close by where I thought I would have good access to the water.

I went to the first park and after a good look at the water, I knew I could not wade it like I expected I might. It was deep, and muddy, with steep banks. I decided to try and find access on a stream that joined the river nearby. I got out there and the trail I planned to access the stream on was closed and had a no-trespassing sign. I tried another access point (which was just a pull off that had a small trail heading to the stream). I got all geared up without checking the trail, and a few feet into the trail I could see that it was the home of some bum. There was trash everywhere, clothes hung up on ropes to dry, a tent with a tarp over the top, and a spin-casting rod set up near the bank (which were even steeper and higher than those on the river). So I decided to try the last park. At this point I had been out for an hour driving around and looking for somewhere to fish. At the last park I saw that there was a pier set up to fish from, but it was best set up for regular fishing rods - not fly rods. I decided that I needed to fish here so I could get a little bit of time in and maybe catch something. There wasn't too much tree coverage over head, so I didn't think much of it. At this point in time I was a little frustrated because I knew I didn't want to be gone long, and I had already wasted more than an hour looking for somewhere to fish. 

This is where it really starts to be a crappy fishing trip. On my first cast my fly caught in a branch overhead. This was a fly I just bought that day at a fly shop in town. I don't have very many of them, so I am very protective of them. I was able to get it out, and after that I was more cautious about casting. I got several casts out to the water, and started to get a little careless. I got my fly caught in the same tree, but this time a little higher. I tried pulling the fly out, but I saw that it was wrapped around the branch and hooked back onto the line - there was no way to yank it out of the tree. I tried cutting the line so that there would be enough slack that the fly might release the line and just fall out of the tree. That didn't work. So I had the brilliant idea to turn my rod upside down and use my reel as a hook on the branch to pull it down so I could reach the branch and pull the fly out; my rod separated, leaving my fly, half my rod, and my reel in the tree. I stayed mostly calm and started looking for how to get everything out of the tree. I was getting embarrassed because right behind this pier was a walking trail - so many people were walking by watching my shenanigans. I climbed up on the railing to the pier and reached for the lower branches of the tree. I was barely able to grab them and started slowly pulling them down. The branches were forked, I was pulling on the lower fork, and all of my gear was on the upper fork. When I was about an inch away from grabbing my rod (and getting excited to be done with this fiasco) the lower fork broke clean off, with the upper fork springing back into it's original position, and launching my rod and reel into the air. I watched it in slow motion as it flew into the river, and sank with a splash. 

Poop. Poop poop. I only swore once under my breath. I hopped down from the railing and started looking around at what my options were now. I knew I had to go into the river for it. I started walking back to the car to change into just my shorts, and leave my valuables there. On my way I texted my wife to tell her that I threw my rod in the river, and would have to dive for it. I also told her I was pretty sure that this was God telling me to stop fishing. She texted back to tell me not to think that way, and told me to only do it if it was safe. I assured her it was. People were lazily floating the river so I knew the area I was in had a gentle current, and I would be okay. Plus the rod didn't land too far from shore. I went back to the pier now in my shorts and keens - sporting a wicked farmers tan as well. At this point a kid who was probably twelve years old was on the pier, and seemed to be looking for my rod in the water. I think he had been watching the whole thing from a distance. I walked down the side of the pier, shimmied over, hand over hand on the deck of it to a post from which I slid down into the water. It was super muddy down there, and got deeper with every little step into the water. I slowly trudged over to where I thought my rod was, and the only good thing that happened to me this trip happened right then: I saw the tip of my rod just under the water's surface. I wasn't looking forward to plunging into the cold muddy water to feel around for my submerged rod and reel. I grabbed the rod, climbed the post, and shimmied back to shore. The kid was still there and he just watched as I climbed back up with mud up past my ankles. I walked back to the car, threw my gear in the trunk, grabbed some paracord, and a small emergency shovel and headed back to get my fly. At this point I didn't care what I looked like or what I did, but I was going to get everything back. Asheville (wich is like the Boulder, Colorado of the east) is full of weirdos anyway. I tied the paracord to the shovel and used it as a weight to toss the line over the tree branch, and pull it down so I could get my fly. I grabbed the fly, and put it in my mouth as I wrapped up the paracord and walked back to my car. I got a lot of looks as I stood in a pile of mud that was dripping off of me as I started to reorganize all my gear in the trunk. I knew I needed to wash off before I got back in the car so I walked up stream until I found a tree I could shimmy out on hand over hand (to avoid climbing the muddy bank) and dangle my feet in the water to clean them off. As I drove back to the hotel I thought of what a crappy, and discouraging fishing trip it had been. I wish I had a friend there to talk some sense into me before I did many things on this trip, or at least to have filmed me. I could probably have sent that in to funniest home videos or posted on youtube to become the next sensation (look at this idiot) and win a lot of money, but alas I have no such spoils. This weekend my family is flying up to Canada/Montana for a week long reunion. I'm planning on fly fishing - no way I could pass up doing so in one of the world's trout havens. Hopefully I plan it out better, and have a much more enjoyable experience.