We were sitting in the Mountain Layers Brewing Company enjoying a local craft brew when the call came through. My son, Dan, and I had come to Bryson City for a fly-fishing trip with Fly Fishing the Smokies, and when I saw the call was from a North Carolina number, I quickly answered.

Our fly-fishing guide, M.J., introduced himself and asked what my “vision” was for our trip the following day. To be honest, I was a bit caught off guard by the question. My vision was to catch my first brook trout, which I presumed was clear since the trip that I had booked was a backcountry brook trout trip.

As we talked, M.J. explained that drought conditions in the area meant that there wasn’t enough water in the upper elevations to make fishing for brookies a viable option. “There’s just no current up there,” he said. I began to understand more clearly.

There’s a simple rule that I use in these situations—trust your guide. I’ve always reasoned that if I’m hiring a guide or an outfitter, there must be a reason. I need their knowledge. They know the lay of the land or, in this case, the creek, which means that they know best, and unless given good reason to believe otherwise, I follow their recommendations.

“What are our options?” I asked. “What I would like to do is take you to Hazel Creek,” he explained, adding, “it’s my favorite trip that we offer.” We would take his boat across Lake Fontana and hike in two to three miles to fish the creek. I was sold.

He could have just said “Hazel Creek” and I would have been in as I’m currently on a Harry Middleton reading binge that has me spending a lot of time on the storied Smoky Mountain stream.

When M.J. finished giving us the rundown of our day, he sent me a pin with our meeting location—Mountain View Rest Stop, just outside Bryson City. He had chosen the spot because it was “the last place that has any cell service.”

If I hadn’t already bought in at that point, his last comment would have certainly convinced me. The thought of no cell service for an entire day sounded like a slice of heaven. Couple that with the fact that we would be wet wading rather than wearing waders, and I was elated.

The fact that Dan and I would be fishing Middleton’s beloved Hazel Creek the next morning made it hard for me to fall asleep that night. I lied in bed imagining what it would be like to walk in the famed fisherman and writer’s steps.

Middleton had a knack for capturing the essence of fly fishing, especially fly fishing in the mountains. For me, there has always been something special about the combination of mountains and water. In his words, “there is a comfort deep and lasting in the sound of mountain creeks moving undeniably over the backs of dark stones.”

When I set foot into a mountain creek or river, I am transported. The worries of the world disappear, however, it’s far more. I feel a sense of oneness with the natural world, and I become lost in it, lost in the rhythm of casting, mending the line and watching the drift.

According to Middleton, “The attraction of moving water is often overpowering, as is the urge to be in it, to be completely mixed with what is totally and unquestionably alive.”

In light of this, when M.J. mentioned that we would be wet wading, my level of excitement increased exponentially. What boy doesn’t like playing in the water?

Some of my earliest outdoor memories are also some of my favorite and those memories are of times spent wading in the creeks near my childhood home with family and friends. Perhaps that’s one of the reasons why I have fallen in love with fly fishing, it releases my inner child.

Again, Middleton’s words are apropos: “Fly fishing has many attributes, but none more pleasing than its ability to find and liberate the young boy that still hides within me and to let that boy live again without embarrassment or regret, sorrow or anguish.”

He goes on to say that “this is more selfishness on my part because I come to the mountains and to mountain streams, all this way, to let my youth rise with the trout, to feel the water and the light, to taste high country air.”

I am at a loss to conjure a better description of my reasons for returning to mountain streams and rivers time and time again.

I find reassurance in my overwhelming desire to return to the mountains as it means that the boy still resides somewhere inside of me. When the pressures and stresses of life begin to mount, he surfaces and urges me toward the high-country waters. For that, I am ever grateful.

Until next time, here’s to the mystery and magic of mountain air and water, and here’s to seeing you out there in our great outdoors.