Fly Fishing and Fighting the Wind

Getting to the Spot

A few weeks back, I braved the cold(for us southerners) and blustering winds to attempt to fly fish a new spot, the Chattahoochee National Recreation Area.  I kept my anticipation and excitement to a bare minimum due to the close proximity of Atlanta to this new fishing spot.  As I navigated through the maze of the metro Atlanta interstate system, I began to let me hope slowly rise as urban concrete and mayhem gave way to more spacious neighborhoods.  All of a sudden, BOOM, there is the entrance to the recreation area, seemingly out of place considering the concrete monstrosities we just left in the rear view mirror. 

I found a spot to park and went into information center to get some insight into the layout of the area.

I Get Schooled

Little did I know the size and scope of the recreation area.  The very knowledgeable and helpful ranger explained the recreation area actual encompasses approximately 40 miles along the Chattahoochee River just north of Metro Atlanta and that this particular section was just one of many municipal, county, state, and federal parks and recreation areas that make up the entirety of the Chattahoochee Recreation Area.  She gave me a map, pointed out a few "secret" spots, and wished me well.  She was careful to explain the various areas and to make sure I had a clear understanding of the regulations in the delayed harvest areas along the river.

Let the Journey Begin!

I grabbed my gear from the parking lot and headed to the pathway located behind the information center.  The first thing that hit me like a brick was how in the world could this much forestry and seclusion be hidden mere minutes(literally) from downtown Atlanta?  It was almost too much to wrap your brain around.  There was a gradual decline from the back of the information center to the shore of the river and the path meandered in turns to make sure you relaxed and enjoyed the journey and not just rushed for the destination.  Once at the edge of the river, the next thing that caught me off guard was the clarity of the 'Hooch along this stretch of the river.  Closer to my house, it is more of a rust colored tea from the steep clay banks.  This, of course, was a welcome surprise.  Although the ranger mentioned shoals, there were none immediately visible, so I proceeded down stream in search of shoals I could hop onto, since I did not bring any waders and the thought of going in that water unprotected made my teeth begin to chatter.

Along my journey downstream, I was still utterly amazed at the amount of seclusion and isolation I was able to feel so close to a large metropolitan area and thought what a safe haven this must be for the local residents.  I came across several rock outcroppings that tool on the appearance of primitive caves and I had to fight the little kid in me not to go running through them pretending to be part of the ancient civilization that must have adored this area.

With trees being on both sides of the trail and the river just poking through at several intervals, I was shielded from the fury of the winter winds.  As I begin to venture further downstream, the wooded area on the river side begin to thin a bit and I was able to find the much needed shoal areas I was hoping and searching for.  Without the cover of the trees though, I found myself battling the full fury of the winds that day and apparently I had made them mad about something!  I hopped on several outcroppings and fought like a madman with my fly rod against the winds whose very existence seemed to depend on defeating me........and defeat me they did!  

After several hours of casting, a shoulder that seemed on fire, and red cheeks to rival that of Santa, I made my way back along this majestic river to the parking lot.  I was defeated by the winds and fishing gods, but I felt truly blessed to have been a connected, if only for a brief moment,to this ancient river and all those who have enjoyed it's shores before me.