Colorful though they may be with their blue and crimson markings, these rainbows are not enough to lure many anglers to the stream. In fact, I was probably the first to trek up that tiny creek in the week or so since the trout season opened.

But on this day, Bear Den Creek proved a magical place. The new buds just beginning to appear, mixed with the evergreen of the hemlocks and rhododendron, to be occasionally nudged by gentle winds. The sun's rays picked their way through the maze of overhead limbs to bathe the carpet of last year's decaying leaf litter and ricochet off the stream's surface. All the while, water tumbling over rocks provided a soundtrack for the pristine scenery. All of this could easily have been found on dozens of other small creeks throughout the region. But when the trout joined in the performance, the magic began.

For perhaps two hours, a No. 14 Parachute Adams plopped on the surface where the churning bubbles of shoals and cascades began to fade into the body of small pools drew instant attention from trout hiding below. Sometimes they rose slowly to sip the insect imitation from the surface film but more often, rocketed from the turbulent water to smack at their supposed morsel. These rainbows, between 8 and 9 inches each, seemed stamped from a cookie cutter, their sides blazing with vivid colors attained only in a cold mountain stream.

Pushing farther upstream, my count of these natural jewels rose to 10, then 15, and then surpassed 20. Along the way, I skirted the last remnant of civilization -- a wooden sign on the streamside trail announcing the edge of the Mark Trail Wilderness Area. Finally, when my catch numbered 30 taken and released, I rested on a rock overlooking a small waterfall, basking in the fresh smell of new greenery, the rush of the water and the true magic of spring trout fishing.

It's just such conditions that assure me that opening day can never completely lose its special appeal. It falls at a period of generally fine weather affecting areas of great beauty, and at a time when the trout are often hungry and careless. That my quarries were diminutive failed to lessen their value.

As with many situations in life, a seemingly unrelated circumstance added the final touch to this unique morning. The location in the Mark Trail Wilderness Area created a special connection. A couple of years earlier, I had accepted an invitation to drive from Atlanta over to Covington and spend an afternoon with Charlie Elliott. At the time, the self-effacing 92-year-old outdoorsman had long since crossed from being the dean of Southern outdoor writers into the realm of legend. From his days as a forester both out West and here in his home state, he had risen to head the state's old Georgia Game and Fish Commission twice, before pursuing a 50-year career as a field editor for Outdoor Life magazine. During that span, he hunted big game across several continents and fished around the world.

The tales of his outdoor exploits were populated with a cast of characters who were often mythical in stature. He bass-fished with his cousin Bobby Jones, of golf fame.