Whitewashed
A rare December snow in Richmond was a welcome surprise on Saturday afternoon, which meant REAL accumulation in the mountains and the promise of outstanding scenery even if the brookies weren’t in the mood to eat. The rain a few days before pushed stream levels up and with air temps hovering around freezing the fish would likely be stuck on the bottom, but since when did cold and a lock-jawed quarry get a fishin addict down? No, the brookie brigade pulled into the lower boundary lot undeterred and also unaccompanied by another soul. Just a few weeks before, this idiot and a trusty friend blitzed up a nearby crick (same parking lot) with no trail, armed with boo sticks, a handful of flies and a head of steam. Sadly, sound judgment and brains (along with food, water and headlamps) remained back at the car. For brevity’s sake, we looked for a fire road way on up the crick, didn’t find it and turned around way too late. Hiked a couple miles back to the trail with only stars and the light from our digital camera LCD screens to illuminate the leaf-covered off-camber way…and required 7 hours to cover an estimated 4 miles, most of which was a slow plod over thick undergrowth. I’d be remiss not to mention the frequent interruption of a rock to the knee or a fall square on the backside. So long story short this new trip was our redemption song.
This time around the water was high again but the air was crisper, and of note there were inches of snow covering the leaves and sticks that were covering the rocks. In other words, easy walking….er…yeah.
In the end, we made our way up to what could just be the ultimate brookie hole in all of the Shenandoah NP, a pool that’s been generous to me and at least one other fella. Seems like the brook trout that spawned all brook trout across the world would live in this deep, narrow gorge plunge pool, and I’m pretty sure I’ve brought a couple close descendants to hand there that would go an easy 12 inches. For this trip, the char were scattered, though we each managed a half-dozen apiece for 4 hours’ effort. The snow got deeper as we climbed through the hollow and was really an amazing sight, so early in the season and so unperturbed. Water was warmer than air up there, and I doubt we even saw 35 degrees in the sun. But there’s something about standing quietly in an absolutely idyllic spot that holds its own corner of your desire. And that’s more than enough, any day. Doesn’t hurt than my buddy Dan managed himself a fine specimen out of the honey hole, but - you know, added bonus.
