
I had the morning to myself. While on a family trip in Northern Virginia, I could have easily found my way to some amazing fly fishing opportunities. Feisty mountain brook trout. River smallies on topwater flies. Thick spring creek browns. While there is no such thing as a done deal in fly fishing, each of those options probably would have yielded fish. I’m familiar with all of them. I know the flies, the pools, and the fish.
But something else was on my mind.
Three years prior, while living in the area, I had hiked up a muddy river bank to access a small spring creek in search of wild trout. I failed. That failure had been camping out in the back of my mind all this time. It stood out from fish that I had missed or casts that I had messed up. Those memories were just moments I couldn’t get back. This little spring creek was still there. I had another shot.
So that was my choice on that morning. The challenge outweighed the familiar.
The hike was the same. A hot, humid Virginia morning. A muddy, slick riverbank. Dense weeds and posted property kept me along the water. I had to climb over fallen trees and their accompanying jams. Dried in the summer sun, anything thinner than a man’s wrist would snap under any weight. Add in a few snakes, and it was slightly harrowing while carrying two rods.
One rod was for spring creek trout. The other was for anything swimming in the river. There was a lot swimming in that river. Panfish cracked at dragonflies. Bass sent baitfish skittering across the surface. And there were more common carp than I have ever seen in my entire life. I’m glad I brought the larger rod, but I quickly realized that it was a distraction that was going to keep me from making upstream progress.









