Yesterday morning I headed east over the Connecticut river. The sun was just on its way up and starting to show signs of a beautiful day. I continued to drive into the sun for some time, with coffee in place, and thoughts of the stream I was to fish this day. The stream is a true gem, and it's runs through woodlands of pine, hemlock and hardwood. At places it's a fast paced freestone, and others it's very placid. These waters get almost no visitors, that is angling visitors. Once I ran into a turkey hunter, and another a mountain biker. Solitude, kind of what I treasure most.
This stream is dark, sort of like a rich tea color. Its rocks and banks are lined with moss, and in places the streamside foliage is so thick it's almost impossible to fish. Then there are those wonderful sections where a backcast will not get tangled in the trees. But the true treasure of these waters are the wild brook trout that call it home. These brook trout are by far the darkest I've seen any where in Connecticut. Some of them are almost black. These native char have adapted well to there home.
Like brook trout everywhere they are always hungry and fly choice is not a major process. They do like a bit of color to the flies and yellow seems to be one of them. Come spend a day with me as I fish the stream in a place I call "brook trout forest".
A yellow winged Picket Pin. A dark brook trout.
Behind these rocks, in the deeper runs a streamer fished with a little speed can bring hard responses.
They say a picture is worth a 1000 words. Well this one has that but still lacks the true beauty of these special fish. Black, blue, red, a deep orange, green,....it gos on and on.
These guys kept me busy this day, so busy I did not mind the biting bugs about.
The stream with it's dark waters was a crisp 56 degrees.
To take fish like such after the brutal winter we experienced is tribute to the tenacity for life they posses. All is well in "brook trout forest".
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