"There's A Stream On That Mountain"

"There's a stream on that mountain" that's what I said to Jeanette as we were walking one day last week. Yesterday I found that stream as well as another little blue line that runs very close to it. The morning broke clear on a day that was to turn hot and a bit on the humid side. The last few days had been very comfortable and I was anxious to test this new stream. The moon was full and just loosing that brilliant shine as I was heading up the mountain. As I crossed a very weathered old iron bridge that crossed a stream I was greeted buy a very large group of turkey's, they had just flown down from their roost and seemed to be getting it all together. There were lot's of little ones and a few mother hens trying to get some order in place. The wild world in the morning is so wonderful.

Well I finally found a little cut-off along the road where I could park. The stream was close and I could hear the water flowing. I geared up and started my way for the sound and eventually the stream. The first place I saw was a nice run with a deep pool. The stream was in super shape. The first cast produced a nice swirl behind the fly just at the surface.

The second cast produced this fine male brook trout. His colors were that of an autumn fish, and he had what was the start of that hook jaw.

When I brought that first fish to hand the water felt pretty cold. I reached in my pack and retrieved my thermometer. Placing it in the water and checking I was pleased to see a 57 degree temp.

I continued to fish up and down the stream. Beautiful runs and pools along the way. Some of them quite easy to fish and some downright nasty. I took my share of strikes and many a miss.

But I am happy to say I connected several times and was rewarded with spunky wild trout.

This was the pool of the day. It is where I had my lunch and just listened to the sounds of this wild spot. The water was insanely clear and I could not see a fish, but I just knew there had to be one there. A classic New England stream and a classic New England fly was in order. I tied on a "Bomber" and cast it near the boulder. A few inches of drift and a violent rise. The fish was on and he did not want to surrender. Several leaps and a few strong runs and he was about to come to hand.

I placed my hand under his belly and gently lifted him up. If this was to be the only fish I took today I would be well satisfied. The beauty of a wild brook trout, taken in a cold New England stream on a classic fly is beyond words.

As I drove up the dirt road to find a place to turn around I came upon this mountain meadow. Where the tree line begins I know the stream is back there, perhaps there is another brook trout waiting.