Four o’clock Friday after noon I picked my wife up from her office in southern Maine. The fall colors blurred by as we wound our way along trout filled river valleys, both knowing that the best spots are furthur down the road. We arrived after nightfall settled into camp and proceded to rig our rods, repair leaders and discuss the morning attack. We went to bed with thoughts of fall salmon and trout swimming in dark pools in our minds. We awoke at 5 am to a low fog rolling across the lake as we brewed up some thick coffee to fuel our quest. We motored across the lake and cast into the fog both hooking a few small but beautiful Maine brook trout. After catching our share of smaller fish I could tell it was time to seek out the big dogs! We motored back to camp jumped in the truck and took a quick bumpy ride down the road to my favorite pool on the river. We rigged up in seconds flat and beat down the trail. We broke throught the brush and silently slipped into the pool barely able to see the other side throught the fog.”Marabou” Emilia giggled as she tied on her favorite streamer I had tied for her. We began working the water methodically covering every lie until a half hour had passed. We regrouped after fishing hard without a strike, and decided to try another spot. After bushwacking through blowdowns mudholes and alder groves we came to the river’s edge. “Wow” was the only word spoken as we quietly waded into postion in silence. Before I could even get good position Emilia was already making her third cast! A tight loop going long landed softly near the other bank…strip strip BANG! A big salmon shattered the morning calm and took to the air of the colorful fall sky. Her rod doubled over and bounced as he fought to throw the hook running and leaping five times before finally tiring and coming to hand. She held that bright beatuiful salmon up with pure joy as I snapped a quick photo. grinning ear to ear she gently slid him back into the water to swim off and seek out a spawning partner. We continued to work the slick hooking and landing salmon after salmon until finally it was time for a break. We sat streamside soaking in the sweet September rays as the trees swayed in the breeze we decided to try another spot that holds some nice Brook trout. Another brutal bushwack put us at the tailout of a deep cut in the granite boulders at our feet. Four casts later just as she was lifting her rod to cast again he took! A eighteen inch native brook trout bulldogged for the bottom putting her five weight to work. He fought desperately trying to throw the hook fighting harder and harder as she angled him into the shallows. I scooped him up and managed to get one quick picture before he flipped out of the net and was swimming back to his hole.I stood breathing in the crisp fall morning air beside my smiling wife I thought that good fishing is always better when you share it.