Every so often I find myself in a particularly lousy mood without knowing exactly why. In 99 percent of these cases, I have discovered the answer. It’s because I haven’t been up in north Georgia or east Tennessee recently enough, chasing the trout around.
With equal frequency, my non-angling friends ask me what’s the big about fly-fishing? While the adventure, the testing of one’s skills and the prospect of learning new things is allure enough, I have discovered that the answer for me is simple. It is the most restorative thing for my soul.
It all starts with getting there: at least out of Atlanta on a day or weekend trip. The smooth, speed limit transition out of the urban areas, through the suburbs, exurbs, and the gradual climb farther up into the southern Appalachian mountains is one long exhale after another into a slower heart rate and a clearer mind. Ah, there’s the Forest Service road. Six more miles at 15 miles per hour to go.