The River Moves, Always
We are simply a crew that loves to fish. No formal name to call our group of three. Only the youngest goes by a nickname. It has evolved over the years, starting with “fish holder” when he was six and liked to do just what the name suggests; to “fish assassin” at fifteen, recognizing his lightning-quick response to trout strikes that elude his old man.
In my 2019 story for Blue Ridge Outdoors, I called our annual pilgrimage, Fly Fishing the Space Between Seasons, a reflection of how quickly my then 9-year-old son, Noah, was growing up benchmarked against chasing trout down an eastern Tennessee river with our friend and guide, Max Beck. It is on these trips I’ve found that time stands still – at least temporarily – despite whatever might be happening on shore. Metaphysics at work in the shadow of the Blue Ridge Mountains if you subscribe to that belief like me.
As the early morning sun starts to peak out over Watauga Dam, I need more than ever for time to stand still. The once-squirmy little boy in the boat of yesterday whose casts sometimes resulted in flies becoming hopelessly tangled is now a young man casting with confidence; his 6-foot frame leaving a shadow upon the water where he patiently waits with an eagle eye.
“They’ve been fast lately,” Max advises. “When you see the bobber move, it might be too late so you gotta watch closely.”
The waterfall’s mist is chilly as Max rows vigorously against the current at the dam’s base where our opponents congregate before making their way down river. He has hardly secured the boat when Noah casts, line whipping above his head before placing his fly a few feet from the massive wall that is Watauga Dam. And, before he can mend the line, the day’s first trout strikes, too late to flee as Noah sets the hook, reeling the feisty rainbow into Max’s outstretched net.
“That’s one,” he says, stoically. The score is officially being kept, at least for now.
Max and I both grin irreverently at the rather serious angler, but he pays us no mind while releasing the trout back safely before casting again. Almost as soon as his fly hits the water, another strikes. This one a large brown that fiercely spars with him, replacing his earlier stoicism with childlike delight.
“That’s another,” he playfully reminds us; the score now stands at two-nil.
All I can think is, kid, we’ve only been on the water ten minutes! But I keep it to myself as we leave the dam behind. I’m down a couple of trout and should keep my eye on the water if I’m to put any points on the board.
On every float trip we’ve taken, there are always herons. In some Native American traditions, the heron symbolizes wisdom and good judgement, and since learning that beautiful insight, I am convinced these wise sentries provide us exactly that as we make our way.
Today’s heron stands tall along the river’s first bend where rising morning mist meets calmer water; poised ready to make a catch. It does not need to wait long. With precision, its harpoon-like beak plunges, pulling back before devouring the fish. For a moment, we pause, impressed with what just happened.
“Hey, dad!” Noah says, making sure I hear him. “Even the bird’s caught a fish... unlike you!”
Max chuckles at the quip. He’s used to his comedic banter and knows him well; having taught Noah lessons in fly fishing and life over these many years that now move faster than the current carrying our boat.
Indeed, nine years ago when this tradition began, Max was a new guide for Due South Outfitters; now he is owner. And when I last checked in six years ago, he was getting up the courage to ask his girlfriend to marry him; now they are expecting their first child, a son due any day. Before we left, he proudly showed me a photo of the boat crib he crafted in anticipation. Fatherhood will suite him well.
Like I am sure it has been for Max, the past several months has been one of introspection. I turned fifty, and getting into the boat this morning was determined to not only reflect but experience the river for myself. In the past I’ve not done it enough; instead choosing to live the day vicariously through my son. Admittedly, there were times when I felt a tinge of regret, but not today. Perhaps it is the vibrancy of this place; or maybe I’m finally letting go.
As I cast, I realize it’s the latter guiding my line. Where I once held tightly to the familiar, I’ve now found growth in release. It is much like catching trout, pausing for admiration of their beauty before setting them back in the water so we both may continue our respective courses. And, like the trout, I am finally allowing myself to move with the river, rather than against it. So true how fly fishing’s lessons follow those on land!
With ease, I mend the line with a quick flick of my wrist. Everything Max has taught over the years is now coming naturally, and I find myself lost in enjoyment. It’s a lot of fun enticing the trout to surface with what they believe is a well-placed morsel! The mend immediately pays off. Before the bobber moves, I see the trout in pursuit; a split-second later we connect, the fish leaping vigorously from the water. Oh, how I love this sport!
“That’s one,” I announce, mimicking Noah - at least a little bit. “Looks like I’m catching up!”
As expected, crickets from the teenage angler, not even an eye roll. Max gives me a fist bump and back into the rapids we go; the Watauga never stays too calm for long. The trout come alive here, energized by increased oxygen, and perhaps even a false sense of security as it is easier for them to glide by unseen. But at this time of day, their folly is hunger and our flies are ready. Here comes the blitz!
Max anchors. From our position, I notice the heron watching us intently from the bank’s muddy flats. It appears wisdom and good judgement just might be on our side.
“Ok, you’re going to want to get your lines into that break near the rocks,” Max says pointing to a space about twenty feet away where the water is protected from the rapid’s chaos.
It’s a challenging spot to get at. Noah and I cast, our lines both hitting the target.
“Nice!” Max says encouragingly. “Now you’re putting all the pieces together!”
His instinct is spot on as I feel a familiar tug, pull back, the trout fighting with intensity.
“Got it!” I start to reel and then hear Noah up front.
“Dad! Max! I got one, too!”
Max prepares the net to secure the double catch as Noah and I enjoy the moment’s synchronicity. As we both reel, my son gives an enthusiastic yawp that echoes off the valley walls, and the heron takes flight. Yet, instead of leaving us, it passes over the boat as if to admire the fish now lying calmly in our hands.
“This is awesome!” Noah yawps again as I notice a smile on Max’s face knowing in the not-so-distant future, he will be sharing a similar moment with his son.
We’ve covered several miles this morning; the only boat on the Watauga. Solitude is a rare treat appreciated by anglers and we’ve certainly made the most of it. Feeling the mid-morning sun’s warmth upon my shoulders, I become aware of time again knowing we will make landfall soon. Instead of taking one more cast, I take a moment to look upriver, content with how far I’ve come today, and in the years since our trips began.
Not many words are spoken as we disembark; smiles and fist bumps are better anyway. Great float trips are always over too fast, and we’ve never been on one that wasn’t. When we next gather, we’ll undoubtedly celebrate our crew’s tenth journey. And like any self-respecting fishermen, we’ll add to our collection of stories, most of course with a side of embellishment as the best typically have.
For now, we head home; winding our way through deep hollers before crossing back into North Carolina. As Noah nods off, my thoughts are drawn back to the Watauga and inherent clarity it brought me this morning. Getting lost in the timeless art of fly fishing is empowering. For in that space, I find my own person again while connecting with the young man I’m so very proud of. I am grateful for this tradition our crew of three shares.
Until next year, the river moves, always.
- 🍇 -
Photo Credit: Nate Goetz
