Fly Fishing Laurel Fork, TN

Fly Fishing Laurel Fork, TN really should be titled, The One That Got Away. Or, The Ham Sandwich. The Ham Sandwich? What does that have to do with fly fishing the Laurel Fork in East Tennessee in Hampton? Well, read on and it will all make sense. Maybe. Someday.

To begin with, I should tell you where and how to fly fish the Laurel Fork in East Tennessee in Hampton. But I will only say that the wild brown trout, in my opinion, are few and far between on this stream. And that, it isn’t the most fertile stream that I’ve ever fished.

That said, very seldomly, you might end up with something really HUGE on the end of your line.

And learning an invaluable lesson afterwards. A lesson that will NEVER be forgotten in this life, or beyond. EVER. Of the most monumental importance in the lives of men all over these states, and even the world. And especially mine.

That said, I can assure you that the only thing that was on my mind a few years ago when I went to fly fish Laurel Fork was the fact that I’d forgotten to pack a sandwich for my lunch.

So I stopped at a local convenience store in Hampton, TN, grabbed a ham sandwich, and headed to the cash register.

This was the beginning of the strange events that took place on that fateful day. Cause, when I went to pay–the very large young woman with blue hair and a golden nose ring behind the counter–proceeded to tell me, point blank, that hardly any men were buying these ham sandwiches these days. And sales were WAY DOWN.

Well, why’s that? I inquired.
I don’t know, she squawked, wagging her head. ALL the guys are saying that they just don’t make them the way they used to. And that the ham sandwiches from yesteryear were infinitely better… which maybe true. I mean, maybe they really aren’t as appealing, untarnished, or pleasant as the ham sandwiches we used to make. BUT, I FEEL they should all just shut the #&%# up about it. MAN UP! And buy them, anyway.
Well, I don’t see anything wrong with it. I stated, eyeing the pretty package as I paid.
Man up! Man up! Man up! Was all she could say, as I began leaving. Which, for some reason, really irked the heck out of me…

So how’d you FEEL after you had to register for the draft after you turned 17? I inquired.
Huh? She asked in consternation, as I finally slipped out of the door.

And so, I continued, heading on my way to fly fish Laurel Fork, driving into the wilderness and roadside area near Dennis Cove. Where I fly fished for several hours, catching about 6 wild brown trout. Most of which were between 6 and 10 inches.

Then around 1 pm, I became so hungry that it was finally time to eat my ham sandwich for lunch. But when I opened the package up along the Appalachian Trail, I quickly discovered that a few rats, or mice, had already taken a bunch of bites out of my ham sandwich. Moreover, there were even a few small rat, or mice, turds inside the package. Also, the ink from the price tag had stained the bread in a numerous places…. Like blurry tattoos, on smooth porcelain skin. And finally, unbelievably, there were even a few staples, lodged in the bread, one of which was gold, thin, and rounded, like a modern-day woman’s nose ring. Ick?

And no wonder, I thought, so many guys were no longer buying these ham sandwiches these days, as that blue-haired cashier had informed me earlier. Because almost all of the ham sandwiches in this day and age were decidedly disgusting and defiled to the point of absolute inedibility.

That said, the hunger, the thirst, my friends, is real. And, at that moment, I was so hungry that I decided that I’d eat this dirty, stinking, disgusting ham sandwich, anyway.

In fact, I could salvage it by dumping the mice turds out and picking off the pieces of bread, which had been gnawed by the rodents. And, most importantly, picking out the staples. Which I did. No doubt. But just as I was about to take a reluctant bite, I suddenly noticed an insect crawling up my neck.

Grabbing it, I stared, discovering it was a black stonefly. Which would mean that there was a hatch going on at this very moment in the stream! And also, more than likely, big fish rising up to eat them. Moreover, I was sure that I could catch one of them. I thought, forgetting all about my ham sandwich. And running down to the stream.

Arriving there just in time to witness the black stoneflies hatching in good numbers. So I tied on a good pattern match. And scurried upstream to a deep hole with a small waterfall pouring into it. Then, I cast my fly just below the waterfall. Into the whitewater. Watching it, dancing on the swift currents. Then, drifting into the smoother slower waters.

Suddenly, she rose from the depths. Striking like lightening. Diving. Disappearing. As I set the hook. My heart pounding.

And she was on my line at last. Peeling off line as she rushed frantically, furiously around the pool.

But no, she’d not snap my line. No, I’d not let her. For such a wild brown trout was a real trophy on a small stream like the Laurel Fork. And perhaps, even a once-in-a-lifetime fish. A catch any man would be proud of. To catch and keep. For all time.

Then, at last, she was in my net, measuring a glorious 20-inches. Unbelievable! My God. And there she was with gorgeous golden flanks. Still thrashing.

Grabbing her in my hand, I reached for my camera. Had to get the picture. The snapshot. For all to see. My pride, glory.

But that’s when the sun’s reflection in the stream, hit my eyes, sparking a memory… And I was taken back in time…

My high school crush. She stood before me on the sidewalk. Under the tall oaks. In the moonlight. In the town, where I grew up. The soft summer breeze.

Her body pressed up against me. Breathing. My heart pounding.

Staring into her eyes, scarcely able to breathe. I uttered something about a woman being the downfall of every man.

And she laughed, saying, oh, I get it, so we’re all like Delilah with Samson; in that, we’ll take your highest dreams and reduce them to a cold, hard, mundane reality–

And then, the spell was suddenly broken. As I stood alone in the stream again with my trophy brown trout in my hand.

But just as I was about to take the money shot with my smartphone. The picture of the trophy trout in my hands, proving to all that I truly was a master fly fisherman, and the real alpha of small stream fly fishing… Suddenly, she began wildly flailing and flopping. Somehow breaking free of my grasp.

Then, in an instant, which seemed to last forever, I helplessly watched her splash down into the water. Where she slowly swam away from me, never even turning back, disappearing into the dark depths of the pool.

Son of GUN! I screamed.
But what else was there to say? She escaped me. Left me. For good. And there was no chance that I’d ever see her again. Still, a mutual parting? But now I had nothing.

But nothing may be bliss. If you observe it, as the point of awareness, which you are. An infinite awareness, which has no ending.

But all that meant nothing to me at that moment. So I just went on my way that day. Heading back to the trail, where I bumped into a group of northbound AT hikers, who all just happened to be young men. All twenty-somethings.

Catch anything? they asked.

And that’s when I suddenly remembered the ham sandwich, which I’d left on the trail in the same direction from which they’d come.

No, nothing, I replied passing them by as fast as possible.

And I know it may seem strange. But, for some reason, at that very moment, you know I just had to have a bite of my ham sandwich, which I’d left on that big boulder along the trail not so long ago. In my haste.

So I hurried back to it only to discover that those AT hikers had all taken LOTS of bites out of my sandwich. Consequently, there was hardly any left. Maybe only a half of a sandwich. Or even less.

So now, if I’d thought that my ham sandwich had been defiled and disgusting before with the small rodent bites in it. And those tiny turds in the same package with it. Well, you can only imagine my absolute disgust for what was left now. And I’d only left my sandwich alone for maybe twenty, or thirty minutes. But those guys had completely ruined almost all of it. Bass turds!

But I hadn’t had any food, or drink, since the morning. And the thirst. The hunger is real, men. No doubt. I am not immune to it. No man is. And it was almost killing me.

So I was like. Well, even if every guy who had walked this way had had a piece of it, so be it? I still needed some food. Some satisfaction. Satiation. So I picked it up. My ham sandwich. And was about to take a bite.

Get a piece for myself…

And that’s when I felt the blow from behind. Then another one. The tremendous impact. As I was thrown off my feet. Sent, tumbling to the ground.

In a cloud of dust. I looked up. Saw him. Huh? The guy, who’d just blindsided me out of nowhere. A young man with crazy, starving eyes.

Stay away from her? He hollered. THE SANDWICH. IT’S MINE!
I bought it, you jackass. I replied, my head still reeling.
Don’t matter. Finder keepers.

Dude, that sandwich has been had by at least a dozen men! Can’t you see! The rats and mice have had at it, too. It will probably give you a stinking DISEASE!

You saying something bad about my sandwich? he hollered back at me. I’ll kill you, boy. He threatened me, now brandishing a knife. I think it’s the most beautiful thing that I’ve ever seen. So I’m taking it with me.

I bought it. I paid for it, I tried to argue.
Don’t matter, it’s all mine, NOW.

And with those last words, he turned and took off in a blaze, quickly disappearing around a bend in the trail.

Then, I slowly got up, my ears still ringing. Swearing, that I’d get back at that guy, somehow. Someway. But for now I just focused on heading back to my truck in a fury over the unprovoked attack. And for what? A half eaten, disgusting, defiled sandwich. And so, I drove home that day, knowing that I’d find him again, someday.

And, as luck would have it. After talking with a few locals over the next few months. I eventually did manage to identify my attacker that day. And even to acquire his address, which was at a rundown trailer on the outskirts of Hampton, TN.

So I went there after practicing my overhand right for weeks. To meet him face-to-face. To stand and stare at him. And dare him to try to hit me, while I had my eye on him. Then, I was gonna floor him with everything I had.

So I walked up to his front door. Knocked. And heard his words.

Come in.

So I did. Ready now to face the scumbag.

But he was just laying on the couch. White as a ghost. Sickly. Gaunt. The smell of urine in his trailer. Eyes still as crazy and hungry as I remembered.

You come here to kill me?
I said nothing. Just glared. Fact was, I was armed.

Oh wait, I remember you. You’re that guy I cold-cocked in them woods. And took your sandwich. Well, I guess you is pretty mad. But you gotta know what happened to me. See, you was right… Can’t believe it.

Cuz after I ate it. That damn sandwich. See then, I got real sick. Stuff coming out both ends all night long. So bad, I had to call the hospital. Man, I ain’t never rang the hospital cuz I can live through anything. But not that. No way. I mean, I thought I wuz gonna die for sure.

And that first night alone in the hospital was over 22,000 dollars. Man, I’m a working man. But I ain’t got that kind of money. But it just wasn’t just one night, neither. Cuz the doctors say some of my organs were failing from the poisoning. And my heart was breaking.

And them bills just kept piling up with all the nights I stayed. So then, it was another 33,000. And another 54,000. All this, just to save me. And my insides. Course, I didn’t know all this at the time. It was only after they’d saved me, let me go home. That’s when I started seeing them bills coming in.

Man, it was over $400,000! And I ain’t got that kind of cash. So I just said I wasn’t gonna pay. But they figured out a way to take it from my take home pay. Relishment? And the Sheriff even come by one day to tell me that I’d better not miss a payment, or lose my job. Or he’d haul me off to the jail.

So now I’m stuck paying these bills for years and years. At least ten. Maybe twenty! And, for what? For punching you in the back of your head, and stealing your danged ham sandwich.

Anyway, I’d say I was sorry. But seems to me like you got the better end of the deal. Way I figure. I took the sickness, the massive debts, you should’ve received. So maybe you should thank me, for kicking your ass that day, you goddamn bass turd. And don’t be staring at me that way, neither, boy. Or I’ll get up. And kick your ass all over again.

Then after all that, he just sat up on his couch. And poured himself a shot of whiskey, still glaring at me. You wanna shot?

I’m good. I shook my head, still trying to decide whether to go through with my intended beatdown of him. Until I realized how sick, miserable, and beaten down he already was. And that, in some strange way, everything he’d just said to me was somewhat true.

And then, suddenly, for some reason, my mind flew back again to that night when I stood in front of my high school crush. When she had said to me, oh I get it, we’re all like Delilah with Samson; in that, we’ll take your highest dreams and reduce them to a cold, hard, mundane reality.

And so, the force of love was stronger than the hatred that I had for this man now. So instead of leaping forward and raining down blow after blow upon him. I just told him to take it easy, and all.

Take it EASY? I’m just a debt SLAVE now, man. Government has got me. And I took your BEATING that day. You ASSHOLE. YOU OWE ME one. You son of gun. Don’t you never let me catch you alone in these woods around here! He hollered, as I was leaving. I ate your HAM sammich. I had it every which way you can! And NOW I’m a slave, an indentured servant, for taking what was YOURS. You cur! You mutt! You mongrel. You flea-bitten slewer!

But I was at peace. And, I didn’t even care about his ranting and raving. But he had taught me one thing for all time, I thought, as I went on my own way. Which was: To never mess around with the kind of ham sandwiches that they are trying to sell to you and me, to all men, in this day and age.

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Gary Alan

After a long career in the publishing industry, Gary Alan left his corporate job to pursue his next adventures in life as a blogger, writer, investor, fly fisherman, hiker, and traveler. He is the author of the adventure fiction book, 'Big Thunder-Hearted River'.