With the closing of some of the streams I frequent, choices now are limited. I chose to fish this section, one that has not been favorable to me in some years. With the last few years, summers have been dry and I think it's had an effect on the trout. Well this day this section was going to get a through going over to find out what's in there.
As I crossed the field to access the stream I saw something quite out of place, "a rabbit flying". A hawk had the struggling rabbit clutched tight in its talons. I followed the hawks flight to the point where it landed in a tree. There was a second or two of activity and my thought was the rabbit had been dispatched. I took a few steps over to the tree and the hawk did not want company and took flight with the rabbit with him to a sanctuary where I could no longer see.
The stream was as I remembered, changes were in a few of the runs and the heavy wood jams that occur in winter. The one constant was the fact that the briars were as thick as ever. You know the thorns hurt like heck. I selected several flies I would fish this day, dries, wets, and a bugger or two.
Yes the blood is worth giving for the wild trout who live here.
I had taken a few brook trout over the few hours of fishing. I had a good feeling about the streams recovery, for that was more then I had caught in the last two years combined. This pool is a favorite. Over the years it has given up some beautiful brook trout in all times of the year. I cast the fly, the Bomber to be exact. As the fly drifted to the half-way point a good size fish rose and missed. I could feel that the steel had poked him so my hopes of him repeating were not good. Several more casts and the thought was realized. I changed flies and again cast to the fish I believed was still there. As the white marabou did its seductive dance the fish struck and struck hard. I knew it was a good fish for he took me into every possible wood jam he could. The glass rod worked him out of his plan so his next trick was to shoot upstream and he did that with impressive speed.
Finally the brook trout which had fought so hard was at streams edge. As I reached in the water to slide my hand under his belly I soon realized he was not done. That fellow ran up and down several more times before I calmed him down.
I could not pick him up and decided to just photograph him in the stream. It was a great day and to see that the stream had rebounded was the frosting on the cake.