Field Note #4

A Day for Me

July 9, 2026 | 7:31 am

I pulled into Elkmont just after sunrise. The air was cool, 66 degrees, and for the first time in a while, it was just me. No group to teach. No schedule to follow. Just a quiet morning on Little River Trail with a fly rod in hand.

As I stepped onto the trail, the first thing that caught my eye wasn't the river. It was the bright green tips on the eastern hemlocks. Every year I look forward to seeing them. They're soft, citrusy, surprisingly high in vitamin C, and they tell me something even more important: the tree is healthy. After everything our hemlocks have been through, those fresh green tips always feel like good news.

I debated whether today was going to be a "grand slam" kind of day—catching a rainbow, brown, and brook trout—but I stopped myself. The minute I put expectations on a fishing trip, I usually leave disappointed. So today wasn't about checking boxes. It was simply about fishing.

Truthfully, I haven't spent much time fishing for myself this year. Most of my days in the Smokies have been spent teaching kids, introducing women to fly fishing, or helping someone else catch their first trout. I wouldn't trade those experiences for anything, but they also mean my own skills haven't gotten much practice. Today wasn't about proving anything. It was about remembering what I love.

When my alarm went off at 5:30 that morning, I almost stayed home. As I slowly got ready, Greg woke up and said, "You're late." I didn't particularly appreciate the comment, especially since I had dreamed all night that I'd forget something and didn't feel completely prepared. Turns out my dreams weren't entirely wrong. I forgot my hat.

For today's hike I committed to euro nymphing. I brought my Orvis 30L waterproof backpack, and after years of carrying a single-shoulder sling pack that left my shoulder aching on longer hikes, it already feels like one of the better gear upgrades I've made, yet it was big and I always carry too much.

Inside was everything I hoped I wouldn't need but always carry anyway:

• My net.

• Water shoes (hanging from the front of the bag)

• Bear spray. I actually had it in my hand during a bear encounter last month. Thankfully I never had to use it.

• Flies, tippet, nippers, forceps, thermometer

• Plenty of snacks

• Nalgene bottle & water purifier. If I were to catch a brown then I'd be hiking higher to find brookies so I needed to be prepared to stay out all day.

• Rain jacket

• A small first aid kit that's probably more herbs & tinctures than Band-Aids.

• Dental floss, a needle & a tiny can opener...You never know.

About twenty minutes into the hike I was reminded that I rarely walk through the woods without stopping every few minutes to observe plants (aka talk to them). Wood nettle lined the trail and like I always do, I brushed the back of my hand across a leaf. Why? Honestly, I don't know. Maybe just to confirm my identification. Maybe because I'm fascinated by how plants interact with us. The sting wasn't terrible, just enough to make me smile at myself.

Not far away was jewelweed, one of my favorite native plants. Its orange or yellow, cornucopia-shaped flowers were just beginning to bloom. Nature has an incredible sense of humor, wood nettle and jewelweed often grow side by side. One irritates your skin, while the juicy stems of the other help soothe it. HA! If you've ever had poison ivy, jewelweed can also provide temporary relief from the itch when you snap the stem and rub the juice over the affected area.

Later I spotted self-heal growing along the trail, another remarkable little plant traditionally used for everything from cuts and scrapes to summertime sore throats.

Some people see weeds. I see an entire medicine cabinet.

A turkey suddenly appeared ahead of me on the trail.

We startled each other equally.

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As I walked deeper into the valley, my thoughts drifted west. Growing up in Missouri, I never imagined I'd one day call East Tennessee home. Back then, everyone dreamed of Colorado. That was where adventure lived. Instead, I spent years becoming a Missouri Master Naturalist, volunteering with the Department of Conservation, paddling the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers, and driving forty minutes just to hike three miles through the countryside. Most of my paddling partners & naturalist friends were retirees. I had a hard time finding people my age who wanted to spend their free time outdoors.

Now I drive forty minutes and find myself inside one of the most beautiful national parks in the country. Sometimes I wonder if all those years in Missouri were quietly preparing me for this life.

I've met people who've lived near the Smokies for decades and rarely visit because they're crowded. I still can't believe this place is my backyard.

Finally, I made it to the stretch of river I'd been looking forward to fishing. I tied on the new pheasant tail nymph I'd tied the day before, but it just wasn't getting deep enough without a tungsten bead. It would probably make a better dropper beneath a dry fly. Greg had given me a few light weight beads to practice with since tungsten have become so expensive, and I was excited to try them but they weren't doing the trick.. Reluctantly, I switched to an old, mangled nymph that had definitely seen better days.

The first spot I didn't have much luck so I moved down the trail. I noticed what looked like fresh bear tracks in the mud. Maybe they belonged to a large dog (which aren't allowed in the Smokies). Maybe they didn't. Either way, I kept walking.

By 10:20 I'd hooked two tiny rainbows that flung themselves free before I could slide the net underneath them. Missed several takes. Botched more hook sets than I'd like to admit.

Then I lost my last pink Frenchie with a tungsten bead. High in a tree. The pool below looked perfect, but I couldn't reach it without spooking every fish. I was so frustrated that I started to cried. My glasses fogged over.

Then I laughed at myself.

Why am I crying?

It's just fishing.

Take a breath.

Try again.

Eventually I tied on one of my own flies again. It still wasn't getting quite as deep as I wanted, but it worked! A rainbow in the net!! Then another. And just before noon, the biggest rainbow of the day. Sometimes persistence is enough.

Near the end of the stretch, another angler approached. He smiled and asked how much farther upstream I planned to fish because he didn't want to high-hole me. I laughed and told him I wasn't headed upriver and was about finished since I still hadn't caught my brown. He immediately knew what I meant. We chatted for a few minutes about fishing before going our separate ways. Whether he was simply being courteous or quietly making sure I was okay fishing alone, I appreciated it all the same. There are good people on the river.

Walking back to the van, the tiny black flies finally became impossible to ignore.

Normally I wear a hat and give it a quick spritz of natural bug spray. Of course, today was the day I forgot it.

By 1:20 I was heading home. My coffee had been sitting in the hot van all morning. The cream had reached that questionable, buttermilk-like stage that would probably horrify most people. I drank it anyway.

I didn't catch a grand slam.

I lost flies.

I cried over a snag.

I forgot my hat.

I missed more fish than I landed.

But somewhere between the hemlock tips, the jewelweed, the bear tracks, and that final rainbow, I remembered something I'd almost forgotten.

I don't always need to accomplish something when I come to the mountains. Sometimes I just need to spend a few quiet hours letting them remind me why I fell in love with this place in the first place.

Today's Notes

Outside: 66° at Elkmont

Water Temperature: 65°

Technique: Euro nymphing

Caught: Several rainbows, including one on a fly I tied myself.

Noticed: Hemlock tips, wood nettle, jewelweed, self-heal, a wild turkey, and what may have been fresh bear tracks.

Packed: Too many snacks, not enough hats.

Grateful for: A quiet trail, a forgiving river, and finally taking a day to fish for myself.