For those who love small streams, wild trout, and life...in their simplest form
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
Maine 2012, Part Two
In this photo is a lake that can be seen through the trees. This lake has several streams flowing into it that enable the lake dwelling brook trout to spawn. Many of the streams have permanent residents that will live out their lives in the stream but many that return to the lake to grow large feeding on the smelt that live in the lake.
This one tributary starts high above the lake in the mountains. It's several miles long and is quite thick and brushy in areas. I have fished a good portion of the stream over the years.
On this morning I decided to fish an area that is close to where the stream accesses the lake. It's about a half mile or so from the lake. There were several good holding pools along this stretch and I was going to try them. The choice of flies would be streamers, and the choice would be narrowed down to two patterns the Gray Ghost and the Black Ghost.
I tie streamers as many of you who read this blog know. So I was well prepared with a streamer box full of flies ready for action. The only problem was that they were on my desk back in Connecticut. I had forgot to pack them. I had one or two in my wet fly box but I found it necessary to purchase a few locally.
Of the two patterns the Black Ghost was the streamer they hit with gusto. Most of the brook trout were taken on this pattern.
In this run leading to a deep pool I cast the streamer. As the fly drifted to just beyond the fallen log towards the stone. The fly ended its drift. As it lay there in the current for a second or two a brook trout came up an took the fly. A battle took place with the trout heading for the bottom, he stood his ground and it felt has if I had hooked a large log. I knew this was a large fish. Several minutes passed and the pressure was taking its toll on the trout. I retrieved my net has the fish came to the surface. My first glance at him was breath taking. The thing I remember most was the deep orange of his belly. He flipped and made another run for the deep hole which was his lie. I brought him back towards me and as I slid the net into the water I realized I'm going to need a bigger net. Well I managed to get him in, he was folded like a pretzel. I lay the net in the water and he rested there as I reached for my camera. As I brought the camera the trout just turned in the net and swam off. The streamer had come loose and that was it. I estimate the brook trout weighed about four pounds. I do not have a photo of him, but that memory is etched in my mind.
A brook trout in spawning colors. Incomparable beauty.
The drive is almost as beautiful as the brook trout.
Clam "chowdah" served to us in the beautiful Rangeley Inn. Elegance in the Maine woods.