Sirens, Squirmy Worms, and the Fine Art of Knowing When to Leave

There’s something deeply optimistic about a 6:15 a.m. departure. At that hour, you genuinely believe today is going to be the day. The coffee is hot, the truck is quiet, and your fly boxes are organized in a way that suggests personal growth.

Clyde and I rolled into the Hiwassee around 7:00 a.m., geared up, and slid into the river with that familiar mix of confidence and delusion that only fly anglers truly understand. Waders zipped. Rods rigged. First cast imminent.

And then—

WOOOOOOOOOOOOO.

The sirens at the power station fired up like an air-raid warning, politely informing us that two generators were coming online and the river was about to do what tailwaters do best: ruin a carefully chosen wading plan.

If you’ve never heard those sirens before, here’s the translation: You have approximately ten minutes before this spot becomes sporty.

So we did the smart thing—which is rare enough to be worth mentioning—and moved downstream to a section with a promising ledge. Safe-ish footing. Good current seams. Just enough depth to make you think, Yeah… fish live here.

They did.

Enter the Squirmy Wormy (Judge Me Later)

We tied on Squirmy Wormies, because sometimes you’re not here to impress Instagram—you’re here to catch fish.

And catch fish we did.

I landed five solid rainbows and donated at least that many back to the river gods via poor timing, overconfidence, or trout simply deciding they had better things to do. Clyde stuck three, lost four-ish, and provided a steady stream of commentary that somehow made losing fish more entertaining.

The conditions were about as good as it gets:

• Overcast
• Around 60°
• No wind worth mentioning
• Just enough current to keep things honest

Classic tailwater stuff. The fish were feeding, the drifts were right, and the takes ranged from polite suggestions to absolutely disrespectful.

A Quick Educational Moment

When the water comes up unexpectedly:

• Move—don’t negotiate
• Look for ledges, softer seams, and consistent depth
• Fish patterns that get noticed fast in changing flows

Also, if your index finger starts screaming, congratulations—you’re tending line correctly. Fewer congratulations if you ignore it and carve a groove into your knuckle (ask me how I know).

Two Hours, Zero Regrets

After about two hours, we called it. Not because the fishing died, but because sometimes the smartest move is leaving while you’re still smiling. Fish caught. Laughs had. No swims taken. That’s a win.

We packed up, stood around for a minute doing that thing anglers do where we pretend we’re definitely done fishing, and headed home.

Early start. Sirens. Rising water. Squirmy worms.

Exactly the kind of morning that reminds you why fly fishing is equal parts planning, improvisation, and accepting that the river is always in charge.

And honestly? I wouldn’t change a thing.