A few weeks ago a new friend of ours, Capt. Kent Klewein (I believe he is a Captain much like Captain Kangaroo only with out all the alcoholism and child molesting...well at least the molesting part), called up and invited us down to shoot some film on what was supposed to be the best river for hopper fishing anywhere east of the Mississippi. The name of the creek is Noontootlah Creek. At first I thought Noontootlah had way too many o's in it, but I looked past my "o" caused anxiety, packed the truck up and headed out, for what turned out to be some of the best fishing any red blooded fly flinger could hope for.
Before you boys get out the Georgia gazetteer and start planning a Sherman like march to Georgia, this river is strictly pay to play. I am not a man that frequents the various trophy private water's our area has to offer, as I am of meager means (I do, however, where tweeds, use silk line, and only fish upstream with a dry fly) and these waters are not something that I can pass off to my wife as necessary spending. Due to my not atypical socioeconomic situation I have always looked at the guys who fish private waters exclusively as the sort of folks who would hand me there car keys at the hotel assuming I am the valet and then expect me to park their Jag. This usually results in a wild night of me stunt driving a Jag. I have not been a fan of private water guys. After two days on Noontootlah I plan on getting a fourth job in order to fish this creek as much as humanly possible. See, these private water guys aren't only rich but they are also smarter than you and me. Who needs to put up with the bullshit of dealing with tubers, bait chuckers, poachers, swamp things, and wookies on public waters when you can pony up your hard (or not so hard..whatever the case may be) earned loot and fish to trout that see a tenth of the pressure and have the whole creek to yourself. At Noontootlah Creek Farms this also means fishing to trout up to 30" with 80% of the population being wild. If this isn't enough to make you wanna throw up your nose at public water, they also love to eat huge foam.
These facts have seriously made me consider changing my name to Robin Leach, tattooing, "...champagne dreams, and caviar wishes," on my ass and calling it a day.
I won't bore you with all the details of the trip because I don't want to ruin the video we are making from the trip, but we all caught and landed multiple fish over twenty inches, with Ryan proving once again that there is no rhyme or reason as to why good things happen to bad people hoisting two over twenty five inches.
All but a few of the fish landed were taken on top with size 8 or bigger hoppers, beetles, and ants. That my friends is sicky, sicky, gnar, gnar any way you add it up.
Till next time,