A Tale Of What Was To Be, Or Not To Be

Thursday morning 6 am found us on the road heading to one of our favorite places. The area is that where a couple of unique streams which flow into the sea and our home to special friends of ours called the "salters"....By a few ticks after 8 we were pulling into the parking lot of Leo's restaurant in Buzzards Bay. This is the home of the best blueberry muffins south of Maine. We enjoyed those lovely muffins along with several cups of coffee and off we were to Red Brook.

Crossing the bridge I gazed down into the pool below, hoping to spot a salter but it was not to be. Well being there I said toss the streamer in and lets find out for sure. The streamer was a top producer of mine in this stream and if there was a trout there I could get it to strike. Cast after cast and nothing, even a change in flies brought the same result. At that time a thought entered my mind and at the end of my day it would prove itself.

We moved up Red Brook to a beautiful area with several nice runs and pools. The stretch has lots of cover that hold the brook trout. A hour later and I was facing the realization that there were no fish to be had. I decided to drive to a second stream which was a short drive from Red Brook. On or way back to the car I stopped to fish the pool under the bridge again. On the second cast the streamer took a vicious hit, I pulled and the fish was on, then off. I felt its weight for a moment and I knew it was a good fish. Several more casts and nothing.....so on we went to stream 2.

We pulled into the parking area of the second stream and the sight that greeted us was mind clearing. This is such a beautiful peaceful area that all you need do is just walk the woods trails and your day would be fulfilled. This stream is without question a Hornberg stream. I have never fished here without taking fish on that Honrberg.

I don't know if this pool has a name, but I'll call it "Frustration Pool"....I fished here and several flies were used. The result was the same and that result was nothing. I spent a good amount of time working streamers without a strike. After some thought I guessed that the fish were where I wasn't, they were probably much further upstream tending to other necessities. I chose to make this the final place to fish this day. I tied on a big heavily hackled wingless dry fly and sent it off on a drift. I could see it begin to swing near a large log. The fish rose and grabbed that fly. He was on and going downstream. It's been some time that I have had a trout run line form my reel but this one did. I managed to turn him only to loose him to some slack line. A fifteen minute period went by and I managed to bring another trout to the surface, only without a hookup. It was getting late and we said lets head back and have something to eat and choose what was next.

"When all else fails have a bowl of hot chicken soup"...I chose to call it a day, while not a single fish came to hand a lasting memory was entered into my minds journal. Perhaps next time my friend we will meet face to face...