For many years I dreamed of catching a Smoky Mountain trophy brown trout. A dream that started when I first fly fished Hazel Creek many years ago. There, an old man told me that he’d caught a 5-pound brown trout on a spinner earlier in the day. Which planted the seed–my own dream–of catching a Smoky Mountain trophy brown trout on a fly rod.
Unfortunately, the very next day, it started to rain. And rain and rain. In fact, it rained, nonstop, for the next three days, pushing Hazel Creek up to flood stage. And so, at the end of the deluge, my girlfriend and I, somewhat dejected, packed up our gear, headed back down the trail, and across Lake Fontana. Returning to civilization and a hotel, where we finally dried out.
But my dream of catching a Smoky Mountain trophy brown trout was born.
Then, a few years later, that lovely gal and I returned to the Smokies. And this time, I was sure that I was gonna land a big one. On this trip, we were fly fishing Abrams Creek in Cades Cove. But we only had a short half-day to fish it. And truthfully, the water was a bit high and pushy, so we only caught a few small rainbow trout.
But my dream of catching a large trophy brown trout was still very much on my mind.
So I returned to Hazel Creek again a few years later. But again, unbelievably, despite the sunny forecast, it began to rain and rain. In fact, it rained so hard on my second Hazel Creek trip that I had to dig a trench around my tent to prevent it from being flooded. Still, I was able to fly fish a bit. And did, indeed, land a bigger 14-inch rainbow trout. A fine fish at that, but nothing like the big fat trophy brown trout that I dreamed of catching.
Of course, the same story repeated on a subsequent trip that same summer to Forney Creek. In that, we got some rain and no big trophy brown trout.
However, I knew my luck had finally changed when I embarked on a fly fishing backpacking trip to Bradley Fork two years ago.
There, I managed to land a fine 14-15” brown trout on my very first day of fly fishing. In only the second hole I fly fished!
So things were looking up. But I still dreamed of an even bigger brown trout than this. A real Smoky Mountain trophy brown trout.
And yes, those brown trout do, in fact, exist in the Smokies. I know this for sure because one of my friends used to work for the National Park Service in GSMNP.
And he told me that they’d shock up big brown trout, trophy browns, quite often.
How big? You ask.
Bigger than you can imagine.
So, indeed, that trip to Bradley Fork only doubled my resolve, my dream, of someday catching a trophy brown trout in the heart of the Smokies.
So I returned to the Smokies again last year and backpacked into Deep Creek for a six-day fly fishing camping extravaganza.
And this time, I did it all right. Checking those water levels, insuring that I’d get the exact levels that I like. Moreover, I also made reservations to move my camp downstream, as those water levels fell. And so, after hiking over two of the most backbreaking, brutal, and steep ridges that I’ve ever encountered, and backpacking around six to seven miles into the Deep Creek backcountry. I set up my camp and fly rods.
Preparing to land my very first trophy brown trout in the Smokies that very same evening.
Oh, you should’ve seen the hole, folks. Through the trees. It was deep. The rapids flowed smoothly in from the headwaters, pushing all those nymphs, crayfish, and small fish fry deep into the channels of that hole, where a huge brown trout was undoubtedly lurking. Moreover, this fine hole wasn’t very visible from the trail. Indeed, I was sure that many fly fishermen had missed it, as the trail to it was nearly imperceptible.
But I saw it. Clear as the day. And this was where I was gonna fish. And catch my very first trophy brown trout in the Smokies. It was just that I didn’t have much time to do it, since the day was fast coming to a close… And so, I carefully trudged down the steep embankment. Then, I stepped into the stream.
Stumbling slightly. No, I wasn’t going to fall. But my left hand instinctively reached out. Clutching a rhododendron limb to fully stabilize my balance.
Suddenly, electric burning sensations shocked my hand. Hollering, I staggered through the water away from the pain.
I was being swarmed. Yellow jackets! Son of a guns!
Not sure how many times, I was stung. Maybe six. Maybe seven. Or even eight. It happened so fast… So fast, I just ran away.
Yes, I did. Fleeing downstream. Slapping, smashing at them. Trying not to stumble and fall in the creek. You bass turds!
And then, I just headed back to camp. Beaten and broken. But upon further examination of my face and hands in camp, I soon discovered that almost no damage had been done. As there were just a few red welts. And hardly any swelling. Which was unusual for me. Because, in the past, just a single yellow jacket sting had really made my skin swell up, like a balloon. But here I was standing, practically unscathed, after a real yellow jacket beatdown.
So I congratulated myself on my good fortune. And laughed at those foolish yellow jackets. Figuring that the joke was on them. After all, I was the one still standing strong. While, no doubt, I’d struck more than a few of them down with my smashing of them against my face and scalp.
And, with that in mind, I fixed my supper, did my nightly clean up routine, and retired for the evening, expecting a peaceful night of sleep.
Unfortunately, it was a restless sleep, filled with dreams of impending doom and dread. And, somehow, in that anxious sleep, I could feel my limbs begin twitching. Then the nightmare came… It was no good. The darkness was all around. It was hopeless to carry on. As the evil forces underlying this world were all chasing me down, like wolves. So no matter how fast I ran, it just seemed like I kept losing ground to them.
Then, suddenly, I awoke, gasping. Trembling. A cold sweat drenching me.
And I needed to pee. To drink. In a delirium, I emerged from my tent. Found a tree. Took a pee. Somehow knowing, the whole time, there was something sinister out there in the woods, stalking me along the edge of the clearing…
Scurrying back to my tent, I grabbed my knife. Took a nervous gulp of water. Then another. With my hand shaking, like a leaf in the wind, I finished the bottle. Staring around at the dark shadows, clutching my knife.. But something inside told me that it was useless against whatever it was that I couldn’t see.
For what were stalking me now were dark forces. Evil entities, which could not be killed by traditional means. And then, I saw them, emerging into the clearing…
Surrounding me.
My body shook. Sweat poured down my face. My heart racing.
My head spinning, I fell to my knees. The demons swarming in. And I was inexorably being dragged down into the dirt toward their dark spaces. And they were ripping away the very flesh on my ankles and tearing at the bones in my feet. But it my soul they wanted to reap…
And then, I did something that just came to me out of nowhere. I prayed aloud, reciting the 23rd Psalm.
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want…
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me…
And suddenly, just like that, all those demons just disappeared, vanishing into thin air. As if they never existed at all in the first place.
My God, what just happened, I asked myself, bewildered, momentarily. But then, it just hit me that those yellow jackets must’ve put one serious hex on me. And all this–the nightmare, the delirium, and the distortions of reality–was all just their venom slowly being neutralized by my body. But now, it seemed like my mind and body were recovering. Indeed, I no longer trembled. Felt fear. Or terror. And my breathing was back to normal. Calm. And Relaxed.
So I returned to my tent. Got inside my warm and comfortable sleeping bag. And then, I just stared up at those beautiful stars through the mesh netting of my tent. Until I eventually fell into a deep peaceful sleep.
And, you know, the next day, the last thing that was on my mind was catching a trophy brown trout.
In fact, I was feeling a bit hungover from the whole ordeal. But I decided to make the best of my situation and go fly fishing, anyway. And maybe that would clear the cobwebs from my brain. So I ate breakfast, got my fly gear together. Then, headed upstream toward some good drift waters.
But the only problem was that once I got upstream to those drift waters. Go into the stream. And started fly fishing, just hoping to get back on my game. Well, I soon discovered that I’d miscalculated the water levels. In other words, the water was just a bit too high and brisk. And so, every time that I’d cast my indicator nymph rig into the water, it would just get blown back downstream too fast for any trout to take a legitimate swipe at it…
So what to do to save the day?
Head upstream to higher elevations, I figured. Where there might be some slower waters. However, the big problem with that decision was that… After hiking upstream for a mile, or so, I soon came to a MAJOR washout along the trail. And beyond this, I could only see an overgrown trail with a load of thorns and stickers blocking my way. Moreover, after last night’s yellow jacket beating, I was in no mood to try to pass through this tangled mess.
So what to do? Head back to camp, set up my hammock, and enjoy the rest of the day? Or try fly fishing right here?
And I’m telling you that it was a real chore to get down to the stream from this high point on the trail. But when I finally did reach the creek. I discovered a huge hole. Still, these waters were also quite brisk. Certainly, too fast for my indicator rig. But I did have one other trick up my sleeve… A new fly fishing technique that I’d just learned the year before. And so, I got busy re-rigging my line.
And when, my line was all set up. Ready to go. No, I didn’t just cast the whole rig in. Rather, I stared at the water currents. And into the depths of Deep Creek. And, it seemed to me that this was one of the deepest holes on Deep Creek. In fact, I would’ve guessed that it was about eight-feet deep.
And to my utter disbelief, I also swore that I saw the distinct shape of a VERY BIG BROWN trout lying at the bottom of that hole. In an unmistakable feeding position.
But just as soon as I caught a glimpse of it, the image just as suddenly vanished, like a mirage, in the ever-changing surface currents. So I stared deep again. But just couldn’t make out anything. Nada. Nothing.
But was it real? I asked myself. That fleeting image of that big brown trout.
Or, was it just my mind still playing tricks on me, like it had last night? That I couldn’t be sure of. But I did know that it didn’t hurt to try to catch something that I’d thought I’d seen. Real, or not?
And so, I began to work the seam. Work the seam? Yeah, when bottom-dragging, which was effectively what I was doing, you need to find a seam in the current. Then, cast, or chuck, your weighted nymph into it. So it’ll sink deep. Because, if you just cast your weighted nymph haphazardly into most fast currents, it won’t sink much at all. Maybe only two, or three feet. And not to the depth of seven to eight feet, which was where I’d thought that I’d seen that brown trout.
So, to catch a fish you have to get your fly, your nymph, right in front of its face. Directly into its feeding lane. Not way above it.
And so, I worked the seam. For how long? Until I eventually hooked a fish at the end of my downstream drift. But this was just a small 11-inch rainbow trout. And I knew it. So I jerked it quickly to the near shore, pulling it out of the water downstream, not wanting to disturb the waters in front of me. Perhaps, scaring the behemoth that just might be lurking beneath. Then, I tossed the rainbow trout downstream.
So, was this all I was going to catch, today? I asked myself. Just one small rainbow trout.
But I really didn’t even care anymore. Cause, all of the sudden, I just sort of lost myself in an exquisite awareness of everything, which was all around me. Like, the pink and white mountain laurel blooms at the head of the pool. The blue cloudless sky. The sound of the rushing water. The red-tail hawk screeching from its high perch on the mountain peak. The smell of those southern pines. And the crystal clear mountain waters, in which I stood, ankle deep. And I was so grateful just to be standing here at this very moment.
Then, I came to another realization, which was this. That reality is what we make of it. And how we shape it. And that consciousness directs what happens in our world. So that an awakened being can compress energy into matter, itself. Dreams into reality. Through awareness. And man, I was just so happy to be in this dream reality right now.
In the heart of the Smoky Mountains. Fly fishing Deep Creek. For that dream fish, which had eluded me for years. But it wasn’t the fish I was actually chasing. Rather, it was everything I was a part of now…
And then, I just went back to fly fishing that seam. No, I wouldn’t have kept doing it all day. No, that’s not me. So I give it about ten to twenty minutes at each hole. And then, I’m gone. But, it just so happened on that day. That lightening finally struck. On my very best drift into that seam. When my nymph dove deep, ticking a rock, or two, along the bottom. Then, I felt a slackness in my line for a split-second. And, a heavy yank. That’s when I set the hook. Deep.
And she ran. Deep. Strong and hard. All around that pool. It was magic. As the tug truly is the drug. And, if so, well then, she was pure heroin, you know. Fighting hard. Across the pool. Then, downstream. And back up again. So close to me.
Heck, she even veered behind me. Forcing me to do an impromptu 360-degree turn to prevent my line from wrapping around my body. Breaking. But finally, I did drag her to shore.
Landing the brown trout at last. After so many years. A real Smoky mountain trophy brown trout was in my grasp.
And I held her up. All golden and brown. Heaving. Glorious. Glowing.
Taking a few pictures of her, on my smartphone. Then, you know, I just let her go. Back to her home. The depths of Deep Creek for another catch-and-release angler with a dream of landing a big one, too, to catch again, someday soon. Maybe even me. And that’s my story of how I finally landed a big brown trout in the Smokies, fulfilling another humble dream of mine.
But the story doesn’t just end there, because it’s been about nine months since that amazing fly fishing experience. And tonight, I found myself, staring at a map of the Smoky Mountains, once again. Wondering, of course, where I’ll go fly fishing once it finally gets warm enough this Spring. And I can assure you that there are many fine streams inside the park where you might catch a trophy brown trout, like the Little, Noland, Deep, Forney, Hazel, Abrams, Cataloochee, Oconoluftee, and so on.
But more important than that to me is the lessons that I’d learned from my quest to catch that trophy brown trout. And from some of the other dreams that I’ve pursued, too, through the years. Lessons, which I’ll gladly share with you. To hopefully serve as a source of inspiration for whatever goal you wish to achieve.
So, first, of course, is to never give up on your dreams.
It could take you many years to achieve them. And, I believe, it is said that genius takes about twenty years to develop. To refine. So get cracking. Cause, you might just need it to achieve your dream.
Second is that you’ll have to overcome many obstacles to reach your goals, just as I did, hiking over all those ridges, mountains, and steeps into all those streams over the years. No, it wasn’t easy at all. It’s backbreaking, brutal work, getting to where you need to be in life. And, by the way, know that when it rains; it pours.
Three, you’re going to go through some serious pain and despair along your journey. And it’s going to sting–to hurt–beyond belief, sometimes. Yes, life can also make you feel like you’re going crazy, or even losing your mind. But you’ll get it back. Through faith, belief, resilience, and strength, which will also help you to overcome your demons in life…
And finally, and most importantly, you don’t want to be so focused on your dream, your passions, work, and aspirations, that you lose sight of the beauty, the miracle of the moment, and the spirituality and love that surrounds and guides you in your life.
So no, it wasn’t just a humble dream that I achieved in catching that big Smoky Mountain trophy brown trout that fateful day last Spring. Rather, it was a moment in time that crystallized my vision of where I was in the world. And where I’m going to be.
So that’s my dream of catching a Smoky Mountain trophy brown trout.
And I can only hope that you’ll find the inspiration to pursue your own goals and dreams, too. So don’t let those obstacles along your path, those steep mountains, get in your way. Or deter you on your journey. Besides, if you truly believed in you and what you are a part of; well then, you could simply just move those mountains right out of your way.
..you can say to this mountain,
‘Move from here to there,’ and it will move.
Nothing will be impossible for you.
So that’s how you turn your dreams into a dream reality…
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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'.