OutdoorSC.com

After writing hundreds of columns touting the wonders of the Lowcountry, I hope you won't think of me as a turncoat when I say that my visit to the mountains of North Carolina this past week has me drooling for a shanty in that area.

I don't mean a year-round residence, maybe just July and August when the temperatures here have the trees chasing the dogs. I do love the Lowcountry but when I start changing my sweat-drenched shirt four times a day, it really gets old.

My longtime friend and neighbor Rodger Keyes had purchased a second home up on Lake Toxoway in the mountains of western North Carolina and every time we bumped into each other he would try to coax me out of my house to come up for a visit. Last weekend, feeling a bit better after all the slicing and dicing surgeons have been doing on me, I finally gave in and my wife, Karen, and I headed for the mountains.

I'm never a big planner when it comes to trips; I prefer taking a map, drawing a straight line from point A to point B and then following the secondary roads that come closest to that line. It really is a neat way to travel even though you might not get there as fast. I'm a lot like Clark Griswald when traveling and usually by the end of any trip, the similarities are uncanny.

Loaded down with every fly, fly rod and object that had to do with fly fishing, we were off. As strange as it may seem, the first thing that caught my fancy happened near Columbia. It was seeing all those rocks. Yep, big rocks, small rocks, rocks everywhere! "Karen! Look, rocks! Stop, let's get some!" I know how silly this may seem but living here all my life, you won't see a rock unless it was brought here from somewhere else. She promised that we would get them on the way home.

Now Rodger told me we had a house that belonged to a friend of his all to ourselves that was right on the lake. As we went through Brevard and headed up the mountain to Lake Toxoway, the temperature and humidity dropped with every elevation change. It was like someone slipped me an energy drink. Over the years I have spent quite a bit of time in the mountains but for some reason this time was like my very first time there.

Winding through the mountains, we finally arrived at the driveway to our temporary home and we both got out and were stunned at what we saw. This wasn't a house, it was a mansion -- no, more like a castle it was so big. Thank the Lord for Rodger!

The house came complete with a waterslide that snaked down the hill and into the lake, and decks nearly as long as a football field. We were definitely in hog heaven. Just about that time, Rodger and his wife, Shannon, drove up with one of those "What's the big deal" look on their faces. Trying to act like the house was no big deal, Rodger and I sat down and planned our fishing adventures while the gals discussed their hiking excursions. Life all of sudden was very, very good.

Like oh so many men who are hooked on fishing, when I go to a new place and see water, all I can think about is fishing. Thankfully, my wife knows me well enough to know that either I get to go fishing or I turn into a miserable whining baby so she is usually glad to let me go. Up with the roosters, Rodger and I hit various trout streams every morning. With water levels extremely low due to the drought, many of the streams I had fished before on other trips didn't even resemble their former selves, making it more challenging to bring home the bacon. But after years of trout fishing, I still find it amazing that a big ol' trout can go undetected in a stream no wider than a bike path.

I kept that fact in mind and worked every drop and pool, knowing that at least one nice trout was there. Though most of the trout we got were 10 to 12 inches, I did manage to catch the mac daddy of the stream, a brook trout around 18 inches, from the tail end of a pool. Life wasn't good, it was great!

Totally relaxed after days of fishing, napping and hanging with Rodger and Shannon, it was time for Karen and I to head home. Both of us wanted to stay in the cool climes but grudgingly we packed the car. When our hosts stopped by to say goodbye they noticed the back end of our car was sitting mighty low. Thinking that we had a flat, Rodger walked to the back and looked in. With a shake of his head he looked at me and I just shrugged my shoulders. I had my rocks. Big ones, little ones, blue ones, red ones...