CLAYTON, Ga. — When an outdoors writer goes on vacation, you might think he or she would like to take a break from fishing, hunting, paddling, camping or hiking. Maybe go to a spa, visit an art museum or take in a live musical.

Nah.

The vacationing outdoors writer usually opts for someplace outdoorsy where he or she has never been before, featuring activities that are not available in the writer's home territory. In my case, that would be the Blue Ridge Mountains of northeast Georgia.

Here, it is possible — in a single week — to get almost lost in a mountainous state park; bounce your guide out of a raft in white-water rapids twice in two days; and catch and release a trophy-size rainbow trout.

Releasing the trout was the least dangerous and strenuous activity of the journey, but that's probably because I fished a private stretch of river with an experienced guide. Accompanied by Andy Brackett, a retired Navy commander and part-time Key West tarpon guide, I donned felt-bottomed boots and waded the Soque River near Clarkesville, Ga. This winding mountain stream features a two-mile stretch where both sides are owned by John and Abby Jackson, operators of Blackhawk Fly Fishing — a full-service outfitter and lodge. They manage their section of river for trophy browns and rainbows and restrict access to groups of no more than eight anglers at a time.

The Blackhawk website is filled with photos of anglers holding trout up to 30 inches long — fish you would have little chance of catching in Georgia's crowded, public water bodies.

A lot to learn

If you're like me and you're used to catching pugilistic tarpon, jacks and snook on fly rod, then you have a lot to learn about fly fishing for trout.

Brackett and I were fishing a double-nymph setup on a 5-weight rod — something I've never done before. The best way I can describe it for nonfly anglers is an ultralight, stealth version of a chicken rig: one fly above the other with tiny, lead split shots to keep them below the surface without becoming lodged in the rocks. A small, fluorescent strike indicator on the surface — really a miniature bobber — registers the trout's gentle take.

And boy, is the take ever gentle — so soft that I probably missed 10 strikes in the first half-hour of fishing. And I found out the hard way you don't strip-strike these trout like a bonefish; instead, you pull the rod to one side to hook them.

After years of strip-striking, I had a lot of trouble setting the tiny, barbless hooks.

I wish I had a nickel for every time Brackett told me, "There he is!" and I attempted to set the hook moments too late.