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 Sometimes You Can Go Back: Maine Brook Trout
Posted by mike-c on January 27, 2005
Find the Fish. Usually, this means I am at the river casting to lies for the elusive Brook Trout. Well, this was the bigger picture. We are at the cabin on the lake for the family summer vacation. A big Maine lake famous for it’s Native Brookies. Big ones. Nearby are the rivers I have dreamed to fish; again for the big, native Brookies. I am in Heaven itself and I must merely pick my Paradise. One problem. It is the height and the heat of summer. The Brookies – the big, beautiful
Brookies – are deep. Real deep. As in, “you need a boat, a motor, and a downrigger to get ‘em,” say the wise. But, at heart, I am a fly fisher, and to boot, I was born
such on this very lake.
Let me take you back while I take myself back. It was four years ago when my wife and I first and last came to this lake. She was 8 months pregnant with our son, and I had my spinning gear packed. A casual conversation at work prompted a buddy to lend me his 6 wt and a few flies “just to play around with. Give this flyfishing thing a try. See what you think.” Dubbing around the rocks in my kayak, I managed to catch some fish – real shiny fish – I had no idea what they were, but I knew that this lake we had come to had Brook Trout, and I had heard that they were a nice looking fish. The guy at the local fly shop the next day said they
were probably Chub, a type of sucker. Not brook trout, to be sure – “they are deep – real deep.” Oh well. On the last day of camp, I went out in the kayak again, this time more interested in paddling and exploring; see what Nature would show me. I left the spinning gear, but the flyrod seemed to belong in the kayak. "Who knows?", I thought.
I decided to paddle up into a creek. This was nice, and fishing just wasn’t on my mind. At a spot barely wide enough to turn the boat around, I spotted an overhanging tree with half it’s root mass in the water and an undercut bank. Something spoke to me that day and I said to myself. “If I was a fish, I would hang out right there – right in that dark patch of water at the base of that tree.” I was quiet and sure – picked up the fly rod with the tiny elk hair caddis attached and cast cleanly and accurately to the spot. Before I could even be proud about hitting the spot I wanted, the line was immediately tight from the slurp of a fish. I knew this was not a Chub. This fish fought like it meant it. It was a spirited fight that lasted only a few seconds before I brought the fish to my hand. It was beautiful. A colorful fish with yellow, blue and red spots and lines on its back that seemed like they were painted by the brush of the Gods. It was a Brook Trout. I knew it beyond a doubt. And it was about 4 inches long. And we were both hooked.
That day I went back to camp with an energy and experience that was hard to explain. But when you have married the right Woman, there are some things that you do not need to explain. For my son’s first Christmas, he gave me the reel and she gave me the rod; the greatest material gift I believe I shall ever receive. The four years since then have seen me at many rivers and ponds. I have caught more and bigger brook trout; a few would make fine subjects for this story. But we are back at the lake, and the big Brookies are deep. I had been out with my sinking line. I drove an hour and hiked another to the famed river. The week’s end was a day away and my net had seen no brook trout. I knew where I was going to go at first light on the last day of camp. I paddled up the creek. The tree was still there. I tied on a tiny elk hair caddis and cast to my spot. Fish on. Fish on, and 4 years gone.
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Re: Sometimes You Can Go Back: Maine Brook Trout
by jeremy on January 27, 2005 http://www.ineedasimplesolution.com | mike-c,
what a great read and a great photo. that's the greatest thing about fly fishing. size of fish is relative to where what you are pursuing. i remember living in Virginia for a few years and my normal stomping grounds were in West Virginia - all throughout the Blue Ridge Mountains. I would drive way up the ridges and hike down - There were beautiful waterfalls and streams that twisted and winded down the mountains. There were no stocked fish and only Wild/Native Brook Trout. A 12" fish was a monster and I swear when I caught one of those it was relative to hooking into a big steelhead.
I have not been back to those streams since I left - but when I look back to those days and those trout waters - I have such fond memories. Beautiful creeks that could easily be hopped across, waterfalls, moss covered rocks and wild brookies. No big fish, to even speak of - but arguably some of the best trout water I have ever fished.
Seeing the picture of your fish and reading your story reminded me so much of those streams and that time period in my life. Thanks for triggering those memories.
Your right! "Sometimes You Can Go Back" |
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