When searching for trout in these southern mountains, the ability to navigate your way through laurel slicks and over slippery boulders the size of Volkswagens is just as important as your angling skills. The farther you find yourself from a paved road, the more aware you become of potential danger: a broken leg, head trauma, a nasty cut across your forearm, with massive blood loss, or God forbid, the bite from a timber rattler. Somehow, though, the desire to find and catch just one more fish is far greater than any sense of self-preservation. Maybe it's the eerie silence surrounding you each time you stop to get your bearings that causes you to keep pushing on. The white noise of fast flowing water over the backs of moss-covered rocks is calming, yet unnerving at the same time. The idea that you're not the only living creature in this deep cove keeps you looking back over your shoulder as the mountains close in all around. The cold headwaters of the Middle Saluda
Reflections on life in the Great Outdoors