But the following day, the temperatures warm up. By the time I’m in my boots and waders and in the water, it’s warm enough to leave the pink fleece in the truck. Thankfully, my chocolate turtleneck will suffice.

Gone Fishin'

We are in rural western North Carolina. Than, short for Nathaniel, is schooling us on casting techniques; he’s the Headwaters’ director of fly-fishing programs and a 25-year trout fisherman. “I’m not really interested in anything else,” he says, when I ask him about fishing for salmon or bass. He’s one-fish kind of guy.

We’re thigh-deep in the rock-strewn north fork of the French Broad River on a lovely private farm. It’s just us and the fish under sun-dappled skies. There’s a great deal of overgrowth on the shores as opposed to the wide, open spaces of Wyoming or Montana. So it’s no surprise that a number of our casting attempts land in the bushes. Than patiently unhooks us every time, without comment. I ask him if he likes fishing with “girls.”

“Better than men, actually. Women listen.”

And we do, when we are not peppering him with questions and observations. (Can the fish hear us?)

Than explains that 75% of the water is stocked with rainbow and brown trout, while 25% is wild. I ask him if he takes many kids out. Younger ones he situates at a nearby pond, while ‘tweens hit the river.

“They have great reflexes from playing video games,” he says. Over three hours, between us—and with lots of help from Than who changes the flies frequently—we catch and release a dozen fish, some up to 13 inches long. It’s a thrill when Than scoops the wriggling fish into his net, shiny and slick. We also see evidence of beavers and identify otter scat flecked with iridescent fish scales.

Greystone Inn

When we get back to home base, the Greystone Inn at Lake Toxaway, Craig Grimshawe, the director of sales, asks about our haul. Like all fisherpeople, we boast and tell fish tales. “Eighty percent of trout fishing is entomology,” says Grimshawe. “Than knows his bugs.”

The historic Greystone commands a peak on the largest private lake in North Carolina. Long a pocket of civility, the community of Lake Toxaway dates back to the early 1900s; the inn was once the Moltz mansion and temporary clubhouse for the community. The original Toxaway Inn, located across the lake, hosted such swells as Henry Ford, Thomas Edison, Harvey Firestone and John D. Rockefeller. They were drawn to this mountain lake for its spectacular natural beauty, cool summers and plethora of outdoor activities. Today, it attracts an equally illustrious group of homeowners and visitors, including Home Depot’s Bernie Marcus who owns a sprawling compound just up from the inn.

The inn, listed on the National Register of Historic Places, opened in 1985; it’s a family-run business. Every evening at 5 p.m, general manager Clark Lovelace captains the hand-built Miss Lucy for an hour-long champagne cruise. He explains that the lake is shaped like the capitol letter “H,” and has more than 14 miles of shoreline. With an elevation of just over 3,000 feet in the Southern Appalachian mountains —- the oldest in the world -— the setting is tranquil. Says Lovelace, “We have two types of guests, those who want to do everything and those who want to do nothing.”

Erin and I are in the former camp, wanting to squeeze as much as possible into our getaway. After post-cruise canapés (mini crabcakes) and drinks in the library and a game of tabletop shuffleboard, we retire to our condo-like double-queen room in the Hillmont. There’s a fireplace, a Jacuzzi tub and wooden steps to scale the high beds. The staffers are all very accommodating, especially Tommy, who de-mystifies the operation of our DVD player and organizes our schedule.

Things are casual here, so we head to the dining room in corduroys and pullovers to ward off the late spring chill. The dining room has a charming oversized screen door and a sophisticated decor. Dusk is setting on the lake as we dine, tinting it a brilliant mauve. At our request, Kayla cheerfully speeds the six-course meal prepared by chef Michael MacDonald: cornmeal-dusted scallop with zesty black-eyed pea salad, hearty vegetable minestrone with pasta, flavorful sautéed parmesan flounder in a lemon buerre blanc sauce and the inn’s signature buttermilk pie.

After a restful sleep, we arise to a gourmet breakfast (included along with dinner in the room rate) of eggs Benedict, fruit, juice and a Belgian waffle topped with pecans and strawberries. All guests of the Greystone Inn are temporary members of the Lake Toxaway Country Club, so we are tour the newly redesigned golf course. Course pro Lou Biago whisks us via cart through the gorgeous $9 million course.

Lake Toxaway Country Club

“Designer Kris Spence changed the course to increase the scenery by 50%,” says Biago. “The back holes are now better holes,” he adds. Open seasonally from April to Thanksgiving, the 18-hole, Audubon International course is designed to be both playable for members and challenging for guests. The mountain views are truly staggering, especially the signature hole, #4, which offers sweeping views of the Mills Creek waterfall. There’s also a 5,300 square-foot health and fitness center that overlooks the new 20-acre Tom Fazio-designed driving range. The pro shop features clothing with a red bird on it, a nod to the Native American red chief Toxaway.

The regulation-sized croquet lawn overlooking the lake opened in August 2008 and the president of the U.S. Croquet Association has already played here. Its members are often seen in whites, though Erin and I are, once again, not in possession of the proper attire. George Enochs, founding member of Lake Toxaway Mallet Club, is nonetheless, gracious. “Croquet is similar to golf in putting, similar to pool in geometry and similar to chess in strategy,” he says. “Best of all, women and kids are on equal footing here.”

He gives us a quick tutorial. The wickets are nothing like the wide wire ones we played as kids. These are much narrower and the ball can get easily get wedged if you don’t have enough power behind your shoot. We have a fine time playing under the clear cornflower blue sky.

Tea with light savories and sweets is served every afternoon at 3 p.m. As we nibble, sitting in wooden rockers overlooking the lake, a leaf blower blasts through the silence of the manicured grounds. Motorized equipment seems antithetical to the spirit of Lake Toxaway. With that in mind, later on we keep our voices hushed as we leisurely paddle the placid lake in a two-person kayak.

Exhausted from our day’s exertions, we order dinner in our room and enjoy the fireplace’s glow. The following morning, before begrudgingly returning to Atlanta, we take the pontoon boat out. The lake is glassy, the air is cool and there’s not another boat in sight. Erin does the steering and I happily sit at the bow, stretching toward the warming sun.

Words are unnecessary.