A couple of weeks ago, my buddy flyfisher77 gave me a call. “Dude, what are you doing in three weeks?” My wife is leaving town for four days. You know what that means.” I did. Amy and the kids were going to a college girl weekend leaving mine free. I simply just hadn’t called him yet. After a couple of weeks of scrutinization, the kind you get when you have an enormous amount of opportunities but not sure quite what you want to do, we decided to head up to the Davidson River. We had talked about going up together for a long time but hadn’t found time until now. This time of year, you have to travel a little bit to get to the streams that are wild or are catch and release only. As time went by, we gave each other a few calls here and there with exclamatories on why the week wasn’t going fast enough, discussed campsites, and of course shared visions of monster trout. Flyfish77 have many trips under our belt but we both knew the Davison is special. With a weekof seemingly long work hours and many twiddled thumbs, the Friday we were leaving was here. The plan was to head out by 1pm. Of course, this didn’t happen and by 4:00, we were on the road. Normally this is almost a 4 hour trip but not this time. Have you heard the term “bat out of hell?” Well, we couldn’t see the bat we passed him so fast. So by 7:00 we had thrown a few items at a campsite and were off to some water. We parked at the hatchery right before sundown. We had enough light to gear up and get a feel for the surroundings before it got dark. Right off the bat, we hooked a few small fish. By now it was dark and I decided to go fish with Otis for awhile. While I was walking, I started to feel a bunch of small bugs starting to hit my skin. By the time I was in the water again, it appeared to be snowing on every inch of the stream. Large march browns, BWO’s, caddis, stones, tricos, midges, you-name-it was hatching. The fish were going nuts. We were so unprepared for this many bugs. It was amazing. People always say that there are no really good hatches in NC. Those people can kiss it. You couldn’t breathe without getting an airway full of bugs. Midnight hit and we went back to set up camp. Everything we laid out was still there. Flyfish77 got the fire going, we relaxed a bit, and hit the sack. Next morning, despite our pounding heads (you can put the pieces together); we were on the river by 6:30. Flyfish stayed at the hatchery most of the day while Mr. Bright Idea decided to keep moving on the stream. We caught some nice fish all day. Mostly on streamers with an occasional midge. The Davidson fish are known to be midge feeders but are still territorial and aggressive enough to bite big streamers. After 8 hours of fishing, I used my radio and asked Fly-fish to pick me up down stream at a large stone bridge. I felt for sure that I was near it. Not even close. I didn’t realize how far the Davidson gets away from the road before it juts back to it. I had a disoriented feeling that I had gone down the wrong part of the river or something. I would keep thinking “OK, this is it. Just one more bend and I’ll see the bridge”. About thirty bends later, I admitted I didn’t know crap. Finally, I came to a campsite up on the bank of the river. I was tired, thirsty, and sick of walking in the water so I climbed up and was going to find the occupier of the site and ask if I was in the right direction. As soon as I got out of the water, I noticed two Labrador mixes looking downstream. I decided without much hesitation to get back in the water with fears of startling them. As soon as they heard my sloshing, they tore off after me. They were not huge dogs but I was in water and there were two of them. I dropped my rod and took a ready stance. Not to say that I have made a sport of wrestling attack dogs, but I have worked with dogs my entire life and have had some boughts, believe me. Well, I wasn’t ready for what happened next. I heard a third dog growl. Out from behind the first two, blazes a mastiff/pit bullmix. I pooped myself. He was at full charge with saliva flying and snout snarling. I got out of my stance and turned to run but there was drop off in the water that was deep enough not to see the bottom and behind it, a 30 foot rock face. For a lack of better terms, I was SOL. Fortunately, as soon as the dogs hit the water, they were yanked back by thick wire leads the owners restrained them with. They sat there growling and barking and spraying saliva not less that six feet from me. I have to say, it took awhile to regain my composure, pick up my rod and start back on my journey. What pisses me off more than the dogs is that the owners were not at the site. They left the dogs to guard their belongings. I didn’t touch a thing. After a little more hiking and a lot more sweating, I found the road, radioed that despite our radio silence, I was still alive, and he picked me up. Exhausted, we traveled back into town for some grub then back to our site for a little mid afternoon rest before the action picked back up. I decided to tie up some flies during our chill session and while were sitting there, a Ranger pulled up and basically told us to get lost. Apparently there was a no camping sign facing opposite from where we were facing. Though we had been there through the night before, we had to pack up and head out. The ranger was not the friendliest guy we had ever met either. When we asked him where we should go, he said “fellas, its 5:00 on a summer Saturday. There’s nothing open this time of day” and drove off. You can imagine our colorful language as he drove off. We had a couple of options at this point. We could go ahead and try and find a site then fish, or fish then figure out where to crash. Naturally, FISH ON! We got a few casts, a couple of fish and then the wrath of the river gods crashed down. It rained harder and there was about as much lightning as I had ever seen. We sat in the car and cursed as it would not let up. We waited until dark and it still was raining. We thought we’d cruise around the park and try to find a place to set up camp but I still cannot believe the amount of people still camping in the storm. I thought for sure someone, somewhere would have left. Nope. Now its 8:30 and we had some rumbling stomachs we had to take care of. We hit a local pizza shop, had some beers and woefully stared out the restraint window. Since fishing was a wash for the evening, I decided to call my aunt and uncle that live in the middle of nowhere, 10 miles away. They have a mansion that has a basement with two bedrooms (one was converted into a hunting trophy room and the other a weight room). The only dilemma was that we knew we were going to get up early and my aunt was sure to throw out hospitality that neither Flyfish nor I were willing to take because of our short (selfish) stay. With the throws of the storm blowing, the call was made, the road was traveled and we arrived at my aunt’s around 11:00pm. As thought, she tried to insist that we slept in beds, ate her food, and took showers. I explained that as quickly as we showed up, we would be gone in the morning. Through a little negotiation, she let us sleep on the floor of the weight room. She didn’t want us too, but she could see we wanted to sit outside, stare at the valley, wear our two day old funk, and get friendly with and old friend I call Jack Daniels. We hit the road the next morning at 5:00am. On the stream by 5:30 and had tight lines a few minutes after that. From the effects of the storm, the water was about a foot and a half higher than the day before and also that sweet color of chocolate milk that is just perfect for streamers. As I thumbed my way around my streamer box through all the colors of wooly buggers, muddlers, and other various ties, I decided to tie on a Mickey Finn. I had never fished one before and my hunch was that the fish probably haven’t seen one in awhile. My fly had barely hit the water before my first strike. Second cast, fish. Third cast, fish. On the fourth cast, I landed a nice 20+ inch rainbow. Fishing was incredible for about three hours. After that you had to step on a fish to get it to move. Crazy how the bite turns on and off. We decided that we were beat and walked up to the hatchery before we headed home. Three fourths of NC streams are stocked by this facility. It was amazing how many fish were swimming in those tanks. Sore and tired, we loaded up the gear and headed home. Flyfish and I have definitely had some adventures since we first started to fish together. This may not have been one of our more dangerous missions, but it did not disappoint.