So fly fishing Rocky Fork, Tennessee? Or even hiking. I bet you want to know what it’s like. Well, why don’t you just hike in there sometime and find out? Seriously, though, I’d be glad to tell you all about my experiences fly fishing Rocky Fork State Park in Tennessee. It’s just that you should know that I’ve only been there about five times, so I’m no local expert. That said, there are some strange things that happened to me the last time that I went fly fishing there. Thus, I have a mind-bending story to tell you about this awesome fly fishing and hiking location. So let’s begin.
Fly Fishing Rocky Fork: Close to Both Asheville and Johnson City:
So Lamar Alexander Rocky Fork State Park in Tennessee is supposedly Tennessee’s newest state park. Gotta love that, right? And you can find it approximately 30 minutes from either Johnson City, TN or Asheville, NC. Located conveniently just off Interstate 26.
But I can tell you that you’d never know that once you’re in the park. Because it’s rugged, beautiful, and feels secluded, especially after you’ve hiked a bit off the beaten path. More on this in bit. But first.
Fly Fishing Rocky Fork for Stocked Trout Along Rocky Fork Road:
Another point of interest, if you happen to be a fisherman, is that the stream, Rocky Fork, is stocked by the state for about 1 mile along Rocky Fork Road, as you approach the parking area at Rocky Fork Trailhead. So you can fish along the road, if you have some mobility issues. Or you’re just dying to put a stocked rainbow trout into the frying pan for dinner.
That said, you’ll often have lots of company. Because the locals somehow know the precise moment that this section of stream gets stocked. So you might see a few corn chuckers and dunkers fishing there along the road. Don’t be surprised. Moreover, they might just outwit and out fish you, some of the time. So deal with it. Okay.
Fly Fishing Rocky Fork for Wild Southern Strain Brook Trout:
Anyway, I should also tell you that one of the reasons that I hadn’t fly fished Rocky Fork until this year is that the brook trout in my adopted home of Eastern Tennessee are a southern strain. Whereas, the brook trout that I learned to fly fish on, primarily in Shenandoah National Park, are a northern strain. A northern strain, which just so happens to be quite larger and stronger than the southern strain of brook trout.
In other words, I wasn’t interested in fly fishing for these teeny-a$$ southern strain brook trout. As they rarely exceed 12 inches in length. And such a specimen would be a real whooper, at that. So no wonder they call ’em “specks” down South. Still, curiosity and my love of small stream fishing eventually got the best of me. So I decided to drive over to fly fish Rocky Fork State Park a few times this year. And this is what went down when I went there the last time. And it’s a pretty big deal, so pay close attention. Okay?
Fly Fishing Along the Rocky Fork Trail:
Anyway, after I arrived at the Rocky Fork parking lot one day this Spring, got all set up and all, I planned to just fly fish along the Rocky Fork Trail. It actually follows Rocky Fork, the creek, upstream for about a mile. But apparently the secret about Rocky Fork fly fishing is out, because there were already at least 4 to 5 other pairs of fly fishermen fishing along this part of the stream. Fuming, I headed back toward my truck, figuring that I’d drive over to North Indian Creek, instead. But then, I thought, hey, why don’t I just hike deep into the Headwaters of Rocky Fork. After all, I hadn’t fished that part of the stream, yet.
Hike-In Fly Fishing Rocky Fork:
Back at the truck, I put together all my gear for a hard day of hiking, as well as fly fishing. Pro tip, here, if you’re planning to do some hike-in fly fishing. Well, pack light. And so I did. Taking just what I needed that day. So I could travel light over what I suspected was going to be some fairly steep mountain terrain. And yes, it turned out to be that way.
Hiking Rocky Fork: Directions to The Headwaters:
By the way, if you want to do this same hike, too, like I did that day. You start at the Rocky Fork Trail at the parking area (see the Rocky Fork Trail System Map). Then, you head up Rocky Fork Trail, following the stream, for about 1 mile. If the elevation gain is already too much for you. Don’t carry on.
Now when you come to your first fork in the trail. You head right, right up the Long Branch tributary. And this is when your resolve to hike all the way into the Headwaters will be tested. Because you now have A LOT of steep terrain to ascend, as well as about 2.5 miles of trail to cover, before you can even think about wetting your line. Also, don’t forget to follow the sign that says: “Headwaters Trail.” Or God help you, grasshopper.
Fly Fishing Rocky Fork, The Headwaters:
Anyway, after a long, painstaking, and brutal hike, I finally arrived at the Headwaters of Rocky Fork. And man, let me tell you something. I kind of liked it. In fact, it’s almost a Garden of Eden, sort of. At least in my mind, on account of the many feeder streams, springs, and waterfalls that all seem to converge into Rocky Fork, here. And with the sunny cloudless blue sky that day, well, all of those cascades and springs were quite a sight to behold.
Moreover, the trail, for the most part, continued to follow Rocky Fork upstream for quite a ways. And so, I soon began fly fishing in those crystal clear mountain waters. Although, most of the holes proved to be unproductive. And totally devoid of any fish.
Eventually, I stumbled onto a particular hole with a small waterfall pouring over into it, where I spotted several rising wild trout!
And, as God as my witness, by some miracle, I did everything right that day. Approaching the pool from downstream slowly, crouching low. Planning out my cast, before ever casting. And finally, casting to those rising fish in the lower part of the hole, first. And behold, I watched, heart stomping, as a gorgeous wild rainbow trout rose to my Adams Wulff fly. And what a great fight it put up on my fiberglass 3-weight fly rod. Landing the fish, I got a good photo of it and released it.
Then, I was in for another Southern treat, as I soon hooked another rising trout. But this time, it was one of those southern strain brook trout.
And again, it was another memorable fight. And when I reeled it in and had that speck in my hand. I thought. Wow! These little specks weren’t so bad after all. After all, they’re just as beautiful, perhaps, even more so than the northern strain I’m used to.
Not only that, but it’s really the whole experience that matters. And, in terms of that, these Headwaters of Rocky Fork were really delivering my best overall fly fishing day of the Spring so far.
And how could it not? As there were still no clouds in the blue sky, not one. Just sunshine. Sun on my face. Pleasant warm temperatures. And hardly any infuriating and pesky breezes to interfere with my casts.
Waterfalls, cascades, spilling into the stream and onto the trail everywhere.
And springs galore, which I’d already drank from with my Katadyn BeFree Water Filter. Saves you from having to hike in all that water weight, by the way. Not to mention, having an unwanted bout of Giardia. So don’t say that I didn’t warn you.
And already, I’d caught a few fish. No, I didn’t need to catch anymore to have a great day. Still, no way was I leaving at this point. As this was what it was all about. Living the dream. Each and everyday.
Fly fishing. Hiking. And writing about my adventures, occasionally. Here, and in my books. And so I carried on with my quest to fly fish the Headwaters of Rocky Fork that day.
Until I eventually came to a bend in the stream from where I spotted a small beach beside a deep pool about a hundred yards upstream. But as I approached that beach, I also saw what looked like a large white trash bag, filled with junk, lying on it. Some camper’s trash, I thought, infuriated. But as I got closer still, it became clear to me that this was, in fact, the body of a dead man, lying on that beach. My God!
Now, I stood there, emotionless, staring down at the body. And, at that point, it seemed that all sense of morality evaporated from within me. For whatever reason. I don’t know why. I just laughed hysterically for a long time.
Dumb son of a b#%h. Must’ve had it coming to him! I thought.
But no one had this coming to them.
Cause what I saw was a sickening mangled body. And it was pretty clear that this young man had been mauled by a bear. I mean, if you want me to draw you a picture. I truly can’t. No, it was just a brutalized heap of ripped up clothes. Broken bones. Puncture wounds and some flesh torn off the ribs. Like road kill, almost.
But the worst was this man’s face. Nothing but a bloody pulp, like a melon, which had been gashed open. And skull bites. One eye drooping off his face. The other one, dead set, glaring angrily at me. There was even a tiny bit of brain, oozing from one of his bloody nostrils. Sickened, my stare dropped down to his waist.
And I hunched over, reaching into his pocket. Pulling out his wallet. Inside of it, I found a bunch of bills. Then, I laughed hysterically again. Almost two hundred dollars and some change! I pocketed his cash. Scratch, I thought. Scratch!
Still averting my eyes from his face and eye, I rummaged through his other pocket. And just as I thought, I fished out a bag of grass and some papers. The lighter was in his back pocket. So I did what any other man would do in my position, I guess. I rolled one. Took a few drags. Could feel it going straight to my brain. Then, I finished it off. All of it. Tossed the blunt into the creek.
Stumbling away from the body. I headed up the trail, following drops of blood, straight into his campsite about two hundred yards away.
You’re not supposed to camp here, anyway, I thought.
So it served him right. Getting mauled to death.
Surprisingly, the camp wasn’t in as bad of shape as I’d thought it’d be. Still, there was his tent, which had been ripped open on one side. Sometime during the morning, I guessed. A single handprint of blood was streaked and smeared on it. But really, there wasn’t too much of a mess, after that. Just a bunch of torn open and shredded food packets and boxes strewn everywhere. The contents all consumed. Except for the crumbs and dust, which the chipmunks and mice would take care of, soon enough.
Something else I spotted, too, was a cooler, which by some miracle, the bear hadn’t touched. And when I opened it.
Bingo! I discovered a whole six pack of beer. Still on ice!
Yeah sure, most of it had melted. But no lie, here. There were still a few ice cubes floating around in the chilly waters. And how that dead guy back there had ever hauled all this gear all the way in here, I had no idea.
All I knew at that moment was that I wanted one of those beers.
So I grabbed one. Cracked it open. And drank deep. Guzzled it. With gusto. Whole can. Yes, I did. Then, I grabbed another one. And did the same. Then another. And so on. Until all of the beers were gone.
I crumpled the last can in my bare hand, as I sat on the cooler, and tossed it over my shoulder. Then, I thought about what to do next, considering all this mess.
But, it was hard to think, rationally. And far easier to just thoughtlessly feel and react to things.
And I was also starting to suspect that there was something else that’d been sprayed on that grass. Cause I couldn’t make much sense of anything at that point. Plus, I was getting suspicious that that dead guy that I’d seen back at the beach was really me. Still, I pushed this thought right out of my head. Or, at least, I tried to.
Then, I got back to thinking. Or, at least, trying to put some thoughts together.
So, the only thing that I did know now was that I needed to get back to that man’s body. Grab his wallet again. Get his driver’s license, so that I could report this to the authorities. Which I really didn’t want to do. But this one was falling on me.
Yeah, it was my responsibility now.
I mean, here, I’d pocketed all his cash. Smoked his stash. And yes, I’d even drank all his beers, which he’d surely broken his back when hiking in here. So the least that I could do for him and his family was to report this incident to the police.
No, not today. As they’d surely arrest me on the spot. But tomorrow. After I’d straightened up. Got this strange stuff all out of my system. Why, I’d give the local sheriff an anonymous buzz to let him know where the body was. Hopefully, before the foxes, coons, coyotes, and vultures had a serious go at him.
And so, I found myself back at the body, kneeling on the ground beside it, as I rummaged through the man’s wallet again.
That’s when I noticed a slight quiver of his finger.
The green stuff was laced. I was sure of it. And when I looked at that man’s face again. For just one moment, no, I didn’t see a bloody mangled skull with one eye drooping out of its socket. Instead, I saw the fresh face of me in my youth.
WTH is going on? I wondered.
And that’s when the man’s hands suddenly shot upwards and latched around my throat. Christ, this bloody b*#Wst*d was as strong as an ox! I cursed to myself, as I choked and tried to pry his fingers off my throat.
“I’ll kill you, you f#$ing dirty thief…” he gurgled and gasped obscenities at me, his grip tightening around my throat, cutting off all my breathing now.
Trying to jerk away from him was useless. As his grip was as inescapable as a bull dog’s bite. Feeling faint, I realized I was just about to pass out. And that I really didn’t have much time left before I died. No lie. Unless.
In my right pocket, I reached for it.
Just a pen. A writer’s pen. It was always with me.
I had it in my hand now. Raised it high. Plunged it downward with all the force I could muster. Straight into his neck. A spurt and spray of blood burst upwards onto my face. My world was red. Blood red. I plunged my pen downwards again. And again. In a fury.
“You’re weak. Pathetic. A balling child. You afraid of dying? Huh? Well good, cause I’m gonna send you to your grave. You worthless bloody b@$^#rd!” I hollered.
I even thought that I heard him crying, begging me for mercy, as I hunched overtop of him. Driving my pen, straight through his throat. With both hands. No, his tears hadn’t deterred me at all. Nope, it’d only made me all the more determined to put his bloody soul to rest. And then, he was gone. Just like that. Choking, gurgling up blood, and writhing underneath me, like a worm, until he saw the light of God and amazing grace.
Then, I stood up, looking down at my bloody hands. Blood all over me. Gazing back down at the dead man again, I saw my face on him again.
Then I screamed out loud. “What’s happening to me?”
That’s when a tidal wave of panic crashed overtop me. And I fled the scene in terror. And the darkness came closing in all around me now. Behind me. I could feel something. Some monsters, wolves, or demons in hot pursuit of me. Above me, a ghost floated through the trees. Never leaving me. Always seeing me below. Running for my life on that trail. And yes, I knew that the ghost above was me. You see, I’d died on this day.
Back there. In the Spring. In a panic. Along a creek. In the South. In the day time, in a living nightmare that just never seemed to stop. Until the very moment that I’d just given up. Relinquished my soul. Turned on my old self. And choked the bloody life out of him. Kicking that worthless, balling, crying maggot into the creek, where I’d never heard another peep from him ever again. But now, it seemed, that this ghost from my past was finally catching up to me.
In the parking lot, I finally stopped running.
And suddenly, there were a whole lot of people who’d somehow gathered around me. Aghast. And looking strangely concerned, asking me if I was okay. If I’d been injured. And did I require medical attention…
I must’ve looked like something out of a horror movie. Blood all over me. A few drops still dripping off of me. But I was afraid to let those people get too close to me. For fear that I’d confess where I’d buried the body in the creek. And for a moment. In a moment of weakness, I nearly wept. But that part of me had died back at the Headwaters of the creek. So I lashed out at them, instead.
Get back. I stabbed out at them. The bloody pen still in my hand. Get back. You freaks. I lunged forward, stabbing at them again.
Stay back! Or I’ll kill everyone of you mindless sheep! So help me, God. I will!
And I could see them scattering before me, like leaves in the wind.
Their cars doors slamming shut. Except for one man, who stood before me, obstinate, in defiance, as if he could take me in a fight. But I know it was the look in my eyes that finally made him step back.
I’m calling the police. Don’t know what you’re on, partner. But this is a family place… so you best be…
Inside my truck, I started her up. Hit the gas. Hard.
Backing up, full speed, aiming straight at that man, who’d dared to challenge me. But he swiftly dove out of my way, falling onto the ground. Still, I hit him with a spray of gravel and dust, as I peeled out of there. And was on my way. Speeding down the highway. Until I could go no further.
Stopping in an abandoned parking lot. Where there was an abandoned gas station.
That’s when the ghost from my past, from my old self, finally descended back into my heart again. In a moment of madness.
So I stared with tears in my eyes at my own reflection in the rear view mirror. Now my heart had opened again. That much I knew. Still, I wasn’t even sure if I’d actually died back at the creek. I mean. I’d seen that body with the face of me, lying dead in the creek. Deceased. For all time. So had I really died in the creek during the day? Was it really me, who’d been beaten bloody, mauled beyond belief, and murdered back there? And could it be that I was now really just a ghost–an unbreathing shadow of my former tangible self? And not even alive?
And what was real? Or was it all just fake? This reality?
For the life of me, I just couldn’t find the answers. Figure it all out.
So I raised that bloody pen in my hand, once again. And stabbed it as hard as I could into the crook of my arm. And when my blood suddenly spurted out, flowing from my veins, I knew that I was, indeed, alive. And actually here on this earth. And whole, as a conscious being. Not dead at all.
And all of me, from A to Z, beginning to end, was finally free to live in reality. Seeing things clearly.
Through the web of lies and deceit, intricately woven by media, those in control, and our society. And yes, I was free at last to just be me. Nothing more; nothing less. But also, to bleed and weep for the body that I’d buried during the day, somewhere beneath the chilly headwaters of that immaculate creek. So it’d been quite the day of fly fishing in The Headwaters of Rocky Fork, where a man had vanished underneath the crystal clear waters of that mountain stream. And now, only his essence and a skeleton remains.
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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'.