Larry Eckart
Well-known member
Spring Trout Trip to Tennessee
Over the last few years I’ve shared some photos and thoughts about my spring trout trip to eastern Tennessee. I hope you enjoy this year’s story.
Let me begin by taking you back to September 25, 2024. On that day I was standing in a nice run on the Watauga River with my friend Ron. I checked my phone, again, to see the latest track of a nasty woman named Helene. Not good. I told my friend: “Ron, you have to leave this afternoon and I have to leave tomorrow.”
Ron left that afternoon. I hung around to clean up our cabin before heading home the next day. It rained that night. And then it rained harder. And then it rained harder still. Getting up Thursday morning I decided not to drive home to Raleigh through the North Carolina mountains but circle north through Virginia.
That proved to be a wise decision as Helene began to smash the mountains with destruction and death.
Fast forward to March 31, 2025. I drove from Boone over the mountains to Tennessee. There are two roads that connect Boone to the Volunteer state. One is still closed six months after the storm. The other road through Banner Elk is open, but reduced to one lane due occasionally due to ongoing restoration work.
Here’s what I saw.
I saw one house, a nice house but not extravagant, on the other side of a small roadside creek. There is still no bridge to that house.
I saw small mountains of leftovers. When we think of leftovers, we think of last night’s meal: peas, carrots and meatloaf. With Helene, the leftovers include someone’s home, someone’s front yard, some town’s main street, some child’s toy, some school’s football field.
Mountains are beautiful. But not mountains of rubble.
It all made me pause and wonder if I should trade in my fly rod for work gloves and a hard hat. The least I could do was spend some money in those towns, for those people, trying to recover.
The Watauga in Elizabethton is back in its bed. But I would not call the Watauga country “back to normal.” You see, in Elizabethton, you can’t drive into town over the the Doe River Bridge. It’s a beautiful bridge. Graceful. But it was compromised by the force of the water and the trees hurled down by Helene.
We rent a cabin on the river. We asked a guide, in front of his clients, about the fish killed by the storm. “There were no fish killed; maybe some pushed downstream but no fish killed,” said this guide in his drift boat, in front of his clients.
He lied in order to protect the image of the river. I can understand that, but still, he lied.
For 19 days back in September and October, the Watauga roared high above flood stage, the water loosed to protect the dams upstream. Finally, on the 20’th day, the men operating the dams let the water fall quickly. Trout, lots of trout died up on the banks. The man who owns the cabin we rent from spent days picking up trout, hundreds of trout, just on his property, burying them so that his clients during the fall and winter wouldn’t leave due to the stinking mess.
Said a local bait shop owner: “It will be two to three years before we know the full impact of the storm on the river.” Truth! In order to compensate for the fish kill, Tennessee Wildlife is tripling the normal number of rainbows normally stocked this year.
This is a photo of the Watauga at a nice run:
My friend Ron and I combined traditional fly casting with euronymphing. We like them both. Here are two photos of typical Watauga browns. The dark color one is more typical of the fish we catch.
Friend Ron decided to show off and catch this 22” beauty:
One morning we caught up with the owner. He surprised us with a story we had missed about murder on the river in 2023. Yes. You read that correctly: murder on the river.
A man owned a long stretch of property along the Watauga. His two sons thought he was drinking up their inheritance. With the help of a woman, the sons planned to do away with their father. They knew that every night he drove down to the river, just to watch the river go by.
On March 31, 2023 one son stood on one side of the river and reported to the other son when their father drove down to his preferred spot. The other son drove down and proceeded to shoot their father dead. The fools were so dumb that they had been texting their plan to each other, along with its fulfillment.
The next day, April 1, 2023, a group of fishermen in a drift boat came ashore to stretch their legs. They saw someone laying down on a driveway. Thinking he might be hurt, they walked over.
The next thing they did was call 911. You can’t make these things up. Google it if you don’t believe me.
Back to fishing.
On the last morning, instead of driving home, I decided to check out a nearby creek. There is something lovely about small streams. Intimate. Friendly. And there is something great about finding a new place to cast a fly.
I worked downstream with a Walt’s Worm, seldom having more than a rod length of line out. Flick over to this riffle, roll cast over to that run. Do it again and move down. What a joy to have about a dozen mighty rainbows smash your fly. After a while, I examined my fly. It was literally chewed up. I guess I would be chewed up also if I had been attacked by a dozen mighty rainbows.
The pics below show the small stream and a sample mighty rainbow.
Here is a sample of the flies we used. The streamers are Steens Squirrel eurostreamers. The nymphs are Walt’s Worm euronymphs with a pink bead and plain bead.
On the way home I got a reverse look at the ongoing recovery from Helene in the Tennessee and North Carolina mountains. May God bless both the recovery work and recovery contributions!
Over the last few years I’ve shared some photos and thoughts about my spring trout trip to eastern Tennessee. I hope you enjoy this year’s story.
Let me begin by taking you back to September 25, 2024. On that day I was standing in a nice run on the Watauga River with my friend Ron. I checked my phone, again, to see the latest track of a nasty woman named Helene. Not good. I told my friend: “Ron, you have to leave this afternoon and I have to leave tomorrow.”
Ron left that afternoon. I hung around to clean up our cabin before heading home the next day. It rained that night. And then it rained harder. And then it rained harder still. Getting up Thursday morning I decided not to drive home to Raleigh through the North Carolina mountains but circle north through Virginia.
That proved to be a wise decision as Helene began to smash the mountains with destruction and death.
Fast forward to March 31, 2025. I drove from Boone over the mountains to Tennessee. There are two roads that connect Boone to the Volunteer state. One is still closed six months after the storm. The other road through Banner Elk is open, but reduced to one lane due occasionally due to ongoing restoration work.
Here’s what I saw.
I saw one house, a nice house but not extravagant, on the other side of a small roadside creek. There is still no bridge to that house.
I saw small mountains of leftovers. When we think of leftovers, we think of last night’s meal: peas, carrots and meatloaf. With Helene, the leftovers include someone’s home, someone’s front yard, some town’s main street, some child’s toy, some school’s football field.
Mountains are beautiful. But not mountains of rubble.
It all made me pause and wonder if I should trade in my fly rod for work gloves and a hard hat. The least I could do was spend some money in those towns, for those people, trying to recover.
The Watauga in Elizabethton is back in its bed. But I would not call the Watauga country “back to normal.” You see, in Elizabethton, you can’t drive into town over the the Doe River Bridge. It’s a beautiful bridge. Graceful. But it was compromised by the force of the water and the trees hurled down by Helene.
We rent a cabin on the river. We asked a guide, in front of his clients, about the fish killed by the storm. “There were no fish killed; maybe some pushed downstream but no fish killed,” said this guide in his drift boat, in front of his clients.
He lied in order to protect the image of the river. I can understand that, but still, he lied.
For 19 days back in September and October, the Watauga roared high above flood stage, the water loosed to protect the dams upstream. Finally, on the 20’th day, the men operating the dams let the water fall quickly. Trout, lots of trout died up on the banks. The man who owns the cabin we rent from spent days picking up trout, hundreds of trout, just on his property, burying them so that his clients during the fall and winter wouldn’t leave due to the stinking mess.
Said a local bait shop owner: “It will be two to three years before we know the full impact of the storm on the river.” Truth! In order to compensate for the fish kill, Tennessee Wildlife is tripling the normal number of rainbows normally stocked this year.
This is a photo of the Watauga at a nice run:
My friend Ron and I combined traditional fly casting with euronymphing. We like them both. Here are two photos of typical Watauga browns. The dark color one is more typical of the fish we catch.
Friend Ron decided to show off and catch this 22” beauty:
One morning we caught up with the owner. He surprised us with a story we had missed about murder on the river in 2023. Yes. You read that correctly: murder on the river.
A man owned a long stretch of property along the Watauga. His two sons thought he was drinking up their inheritance. With the help of a woman, the sons planned to do away with their father. They knew that every night he drove down to the river, just to watch the river go by.
On March 31, 2023 one son stood on one side of the river and reported to the other son when their father drove down to his preferred spot. The other son drove down and proceeded to shoot their father dead. The fools were so dumb that they had been texting their plan to each other, along with its fulfillment.
The next day, April 1, 2023, a group of fishermen in a drift boat came ashore to stretch their legs. They saw someone laying down on a driveway. Thinking he might be hurt, they walked over.
The next thing they did was call 911. You can’t make these things up. Google it if you don’t believe me.
Back to fishing.
On the last morning, instead of driving home, I decided to check out a nearby creek. There is something lovely about small streams. Intimate. Friendly. And there is something great about finding a new place to cast a fly.
I worked downstream with a Walt’s Worm, seldom having more than a rod length of line out. Flick over to this riffle, roll cast over to that run. Do it again and move down. What a joy to have about a dozen mighty rainbows smash your fly. After a while, I examined my fly. It was literally chewed up. I guess I would be chewed up also if I had been attacked by a dozen mighty rainbows.
The pics below show the small stream and a sample mighty rainbow.
Here is a sample of the flies we used. The streamers are Steens Squirrel eurostreamers. The nymphs are Walt’s Worm euronymphs with a pink bead and plain bead.
On the way home I got a reverse look at the ongoing recovery from Helene in the Tennessee and North Carolina mountains. May God bless both the recovery work and recovery contributions!
