BOB KORNEGAY: In fishing, where and how really don’t matter

It is well documented that I harbor a powerful fondness for trout fishing in the Southern Appalachians.

No one loves better than I being butt-deep in a favorite trout stream or hiking through the Chattahoochee National Forest simply enjoying the pristine solitude in the midst of some of the oldest geological formations on the planet.

Now, with the opening of trout season just days away, I find myself, as happens every year, dwelling on it.

Right now, however, it isn’t the anticipation of communing with nature or recollections of wonderful, wild angling adventures that commands my attention. It is a remembrance altogether different. It is also a lesson I have never forgotten.

Mountain trout fishing can be a strenuous undertaking. Success often depends on a combination of luck, skill and the whims of Mother Nature. Perhaps it is the uncertainty of it that makes it the great attraction it is.

On the other hand, there is a trout farm near Dillard. There one can simply drive up, walk to the pond of his choice and dangle a live earthworm or other such offering before the gullible nose of a captive hatchery-bred rainbow. Just pay by the pound. Success is assured.

I do not fish for trout in farm ponds. In fact, for years I felt a little smugly superior to those who do.

During one of my past angling excursions, however, that attitude changed. I still will not fish at a trout farm myself, but those who do I now consider brother (or sister) anglers who are in no way my inferiors.

I was happily roaming the north Georgia highlands that season when I ran into Bob Epstein, a fellow freelance writer and at the time a representative for a major camera manufacturer. Bob, who once owned and operated his own pay-to-fish trout-pond operation, made the trout farm one of his photo stops. He button-holed me one morn­ing to show me his prints.

The photos were excellent, of course. Good photographers shooting good equipment gener­ally take good pictures. I was baffled, however, at my friend’s fascination with them. Out­door photographers normally get excited over wild settings and sportsmen in pursuit of elusive quarry, not tourists snatching “livestock” from a trout pond. I questioned his enthusiasm.

“Well, it made me feel a little nostalgic,” Bob said. “The people there reminded me of those folks who used to come to my place up north.”

He called my attention to a particu­lar series of pictures.

“Just look at this kid here with his dad,” he beckoned.” They brought along their bass tackle. Probably never saw a trout before.”

In the photos, the boy was wrestling a big rainbow that gave him all he could han­dle on a hank of line at the end of a cane pole. Water flew as the fish thrashed on the sur­face. Father and son grinned like Cheshire cats. One classic shot showed Dad, arm draped around his son’s shoulder, with a look of genuine pride in his eyes.

There were other pictures too, like those of three teenage girls drawing straws to see who got to catch the last trout of the day. At several bucks a pound, their father had told them one more was the limit. Judging from the fish at their feet, Pop already might have to pawn his watch to pay his way out the gate. This group was all smiles, as well.

“I know none of these are potential magazine cover pics,” Bob said, indicat­ing the huge stack of photos. “You know, though, this kind of fishing is just as rewarding to those people as any you and I’ll ever do.”

Given a moment to think, I said, “I see your point. Sure looks like they’re having fun.”

“Right,” he continued. “Can you think of a better reason to go fishing? What does it really matter if it’s a wild and scenic river or a pay-to-fish trout pond?”

I took pause for one more thought. That’s when it hit me. It’s fishing, period. When it’s all said and done, does the where and how really make any difference?

By golly, it doesn’t matter, does it? Not one little bit.

Thanks, Bob.

Contact outdoors columnist and writer Bob Kornegay at [email protected].