As we started to climb down the embankment we could see a multitude of fish swimming in the clear water.   At first they came to the  wollybooger but after a few fish they got wise to the game and things slowed considerably.   Carey reported catching wild fish, more colorful and without the clipped fin.   I called to him, asking if he though they'd hit on a beetle?   He replied in the positive so I switched to a  little brown foam beetle.

After another "learning experience" for one of the little 9 1/2" stockers.  I cast into a shadow line along the far bank and was rewarded with an 11 1/2" fish -- one of my better fish of the day.

Lunch was at "Micky D's."  (My grandmother used to say, "Dun or raw, fills the craw.")  I told Carey I needed to gas up and would turn left out of the driveway and look for a gas station.  He'd follow me.  Two cars got between us and as I pulled on the street I saw a gas station on the right, so turned there.   Carey figured I'd do what I said, and not go off on a tangent, so, not seeing me, he turned left.  It took a few seconds for him to realize I wasn't in front of him anymore and return to my sheepish grin.  "Well, we've got something to laugh about," I said. 

For the afternoon, Carey lead  me to a spot called Curtis Bridge.  I switched back to the 7ft rod I'd used the day before.

A couple was just coming out of the stream when we approached. 
"Any luck?"  

We divided the water, upstream and down stream of the bridge.  I moved upstream and Carey moved down.  I'd switched back to the wollybooger again, but wasn't having much luck.   After about an hour of casting and wading practice,  I started to head back to the point I'd entered the water.  I saw a fish rise directly under the bridge.  It was a fairly long cast with a driftwood obstruction just down stream, but what the hell.   I cast, the WB drifted and the fish took!   I was afraid the fish would head to the drift and break me off, I had way to much line out to come close to controlling the fish.  But he didn't and I landed and released another 11 1/2" fish.

We decided to swap.  We'd walk across the bridge and Carey would fish up stream, I'd fish down.  As we crossed the bridge, Carey said,  "Look at that!"  Below us were a number of  large fish, holding just upstream of the bridge.  These fish were at least 15in and may have been larger.  I'd been fishing over them the whole time.

I waded down a gravel bar, that's to the left in the above picture.   The stones are what appears to be an Indian fish trap, set in a V. There's a fairly good run to the right of the river and I remembered what Hector Macedo taught me on the White, years ago. I waded near the end of the run and cast across and down, the swing ending just at the end of the run.  I started getting hits, but missed the fish.  Finally a take!   It was a nice fish.  I could see sunlight flashing off it's side.  I decided to be a Dave Lewis and get a picture of this fish.   I started backing toward the bank, planning how I'd take the picture.   And of course,  not paying attention to the fish, I lost it.  So much for Ego.

It was getting late,  I tied on the little beetle and started fishing up stream, back to the entry point.  To add insult to injury I caught two fingerling about 4 in long each. 

Carey and I each drank a beer, discussed the day's adventures and said our goodbyes.   While the fish I caught weren't large, it was a wonderful day on some beautiful waters. 

Thursday Marge and I went to Murphy.   Murphy is tucked down at the very bottom of NC, next to TN and GA.  It's also at the junction of the Nantahala, Cherokee and Chattahoochee National Forests.  Murphy is the place where the "Atlanta Bomber" was caught and rumor has it that more than one of the locals probably helped him evade capture for a year.   It's a fun game to watch the pickups roll by and guess if they might be one of those people   In reality the people of Murphy are all extremely friendly and courteous.  It's a nice town to visit.   I dropped off a rod at H&H sporting goods and Marge picked up some presents for our nephew.

Friday was the last chance for fishing.  I'd scouted out Fires Creek the last time I was in NC but hadn't had a chance to actually try my hand.  I parked in a campground run by the US Forest Service.  I knew that this stram was at least a 6 1/2 ft rod.  I should have gone donwn to the 6ft 2wt.  I fished down stream for about a quarter mile, then back up to the parking lot.

I did a lot better wading, but still not stealthy enough, to catch any real fish.  I saw a couple and caught one small fish and missed a few others on a beetle.  I just didn't take the time to fish the creek the way it should have been fished.

Saturday morning we packed the car and headed out.  as we left the cabin I notice that a rosebud was opening and ask marge if she wanted to take it home.  We put it in a bottle of water and put the bottle in the cup holder between us.  It road just fine all the way home.