One of the thrills of fishing on a new river is that there is no historical bias to places where you caught trout before.
Every pocket and run of the river is new and full of unlimited potential as to the fish that lie below.

Sometimes a bad day of fishing can leave a sore opinion of a usually great trout stream but after my failed attempt in January, I returned with help in May. Maybe the reason we were so eager to return was because of the view of the gorge, or the ease of being able to read the currents, rapids, and clear water for fish.
Certainly a large proponent of our return was due to the fact that this was Charlie Vance’s favorite river and the stories that accompanied his time fishing it. It was a river of promise and we knew that the legendary trout would be here. It would be up to us to find it.
My sister, Olivia Jordan, was to graduate from Winthrop in May and Dawson Jordan, Ryan Stephens, and I planned to double it as a fishing weekend too. The logistics were not on our side.
Dawson and I flew in from a trip with work into Charlotte on Friday afternoon.
The plan was to catch supper before dark, camp by the river, fish for 4 hours on Saturday morning before cleaning up and driving to Charlotte for Olivia’s graduation, then to be joined by Ryan, return to the mountains to camp Saturday night, and fish on Sunday before returning home.
My car was already packed with camping and fishing gear and we drove into the NC mountains to catch a trout before nightfall.
We sprang into action on the Wilson Creek and caught five trout, cooking them whole on sticks over the fire before going to sleep.
We were exhausted from the day of travel and slept calmly all night until first light. Dawson and I woke, suited up in fishing gear and took to the river.

The trout were active and we caught rainbow, Brook, and brown trout alike until it was time to go back near Charlotte for my sister Olivia’s graduation.
We left our supplies in the tent and dressed to be back among civilization again.
While at Olivia’s graduation, I could see through the auditorium window that a great storm blew in, and I hoped that our tent would be safe facing such intense wind. We went out to dinner after graduation which is a rare occasion when on a camping trip.
Meanwhile, Ryan was driving up to Rock Hill after finishing his weekend obligations.
His flies meticulously organized, vest stuffed with gear, and a fishing log with no trout entries since June of 2016, he was set on catching a trout and reclaiming the sport.
We met Ryan after dinner and made our way to camp when an unexpected predicament was thrown onto Dawson.
His wife’s flight was cancelled, and she was trapped at the Charlotte airport overnight with her parents, and the nearest flight to Greenville was in the morning.
After running through the options of picking them up and having only one car at this point, Ryan, Dawson, and I continued into the mountains.
We lost cell service and reached the river to find the tent strewn with water and everything inside soaked.
The rain fly blew away and the dry rotted sides of the tent were tattered and torn but we still slipped into our sleeping bags hoping that the storm had passed.
The clear skies would not last the night and as our eyes drooped shut, the storm clouds swept in with the rain. Water was flowing into the tent from above and below.
Dawson was the first to get up and leave the tent to sleep in the car.
Ryan and I stayed in the tent trying to use the sleeping bags as a wet suit and at least warm the water absorbed in the bag.
I gave up and left to find Dawson sitting against the trunk of the 4runner with the trunk door open for shelter.
“I’ve been checkmated Lawrence,” he told me. “I should have gone to the airport tonight.”
There was little I could say to help when we were spending the night in the rain seeking shelter under the trunk door of the car. The only thing we could do is to make the next day a good day of fishing. Ryan joined us under the back of the car, and we waited in the rain for sunrise.
Sunday morning came, and we took to the river as soon as we had enough light to thread the eye of a hook. A tiny fly used for trout can be so small that it can be difficult to thread even in broad daylight but we managed. Even though the rain continued, being in the river and actively fishing erased the misery of being cold and wet.
The fish were active and a nymph drifting in the current stood no chance against the watchful trout.
Ryan, Dawson, and I worked our way upstream, bend by bend, thoroughly fishing in each fast rapid and slow water hole. Dawson and I were neck and neck hooking up with trout while Ryan had a slightly rusty start.
There was some frustration and confusion as to why the fish weren’t biting when he was doing the same as we were.
Ryan continued to focus and read the current and in short time, he was catching trout.
We hiked up river to a great rock formation beneath a rapid and began to catch the fish that were gathered and resting in the slow currents behind the rapid.
Ryan and I were on one side of the river and Dawson was alone on the other side.

We lost count of the number of fish and spirits were high when Ryan spotted a great shadow with his eagle eyes.
A rare trout that looked like a 5 pounder loomed in the deep and everyone wanted to catch it.
The trout was too deep to reach with a nymph and the giants don’t usually exert much effort to rise.
Dawson and Ryan like a western duel raced to tie on their streamers to cast at the fish and Dawson’s line was the first in the water.
The rod bowed and the reel screemed, “zzzzzzz!” The small fish will often snatch a fly from in front of the real target which is the only time that I am mad about hooking a fish but in this case, Dawson had hooked the beast
Ryan stood beside Dawson with his net drawn and I tipped my waders while crossing the river for a better view.
Dawson fought the fish for over three minutes, and the brown trout occasionally broke the surface showing his size.
Ryan and I were so nervous for the fish that we were telling Dawson what to do and how to play the fish before he assured us that he knew what he was doing.
Knowing that he had all the time in the world and that the trout was the one on the clock,
Dawson was careful never to exert too much force on the line and his tactic was starting to wear on the trout.
Ryan and I were both ready with our nets drawn and the trout evaded our first attempt to land him.
The trout made a second pass and being too large for our nets, Ryan netted his head and I netted the tail.
Dawson was beaming with pride as he measured the trout to be 24” long.
We had time for only a few pictures before the trout flopped out of his hands to escape.
We were going to release the trout anyways and Dawson was thankful that for once, friends could be there with him to witness one of his great catches.
The bite seemed to slow after Dawson’s great catch and we realized how hungry we were after skipping breakfast.
Luckily Betsey’s Ole Country Store was open, and after trashing the tent remains in the dumpster, we sat on the porch eating hot dogs and reliving the stories of the day.
Dawson and I wondered if our effort to make the trip happen with so little time was too far, but concluded that it is worth being irrational to explore new places with good friends and to land a trophy trout along the way.
We all had a great day of fishing and too many trout were caught and released to recall the numbers.
Dawson came out of the day as the winner with his giant brown trout and just being able to witness such a catch was exciting.
I would say that Wilson Creek is a world class fly fishing river between the scenery and the fishing and am thankful that we have this in our region to be able to experience.