Old ghosts and venison pasta..."forget about it"

A ghostly photo of Mooselookmeguntic Lake as it nears the Upperdam. The little gray cottage that was a summer home to Carrie and Wallace Stevens sits on the carry road. Below the concrete, wood and stone piers stretch out into the fast and swirling waters that make up the upperdam pool. In these waters the brook trout and salmon swim. They become very strong from the constant currents. In these waters the food is plentiful they include insects in all stages, and plenty of fish in the size that can be easily dined on by the larger predators.

A morning in July of 1924 the "Ghost" was sent into the swirling waters of upperdam, the brook trout that took the fly was a giant 6 pound 13 ounce specimen. Since that day anglers have fished the Gray Ghost in these same waters. The actual amount probably can't be calculated. I for one have fished this fly here annually since the 1980's.

Here are a few of the Gray Ghost's that have searched the waters of upperdam. They have struck several times, and perhaps someday will be fixed in the jaw of another giant.

Venison meat sauce with shell macaroni. Another wonderful dish made with deer meat.

To make use a pound and a half ground venison. Some onion, garlic, fried in olive oil. When softened and the venison browned you add 1 large can of crushed tomatoes. Into the mix add salt, black and red pepper some crushed oregano, and parsley. Bring up to the boil and remove from heat. Stir and return to a very low heat and simmer an hour. Ladle over shell macaroni and eat, "forget about it".

A "Respite"

My first post in this month, March the time when we welcome in the season of Spring. Well this is a story of a brook I fish often through out the year. It flows through some magnificent hemlock, and large hardwoods. The forest floor remains wet almost all year from the tree canopy. The trail in to the stream can be walked upon a carpet of moss quieting your every step. The smells of hemlock and pine are strong here and they are to be savored.

The stream is a typical freestone, with that dark tea colored water found in the conifer woods. Its flow is pretty stable and cool for most of the year. These waters are home to the brook trout. I love fishing the plunge pools, and the back eddies behind the boulders, this is where I've found most of the bigger brookies.

A pool under a bridge. It seems they always hold a surprise. This one was no different. Over the years I have taken my share of brookies from here. A sunfish from time to time, and even a pickerel, where he came from I don't know.

These rough spots, in front of and behind of those boulders are prime "Bomber" water. That fly can bring them to the surface.

One of this streams wild jewels. A small stream trophy.

Good Day Sunshine

In the days before the brown trout found its way into the waters of the east our only trout, native to the east was the brook trout. This fellow had the reputation of being easily fooled and some of the flies tied for his capture were very colorful. While looking through the book "Forgotten Flies" I was taken with the amount of colorful flies that were tied and used in a day when high tech flies were "what are you talking about"..not needed. Some of the wet flies of Ray Bergman, Charles DeFeo, and Mary Orvis Marbury were works of art with colors galore, all with the purpose of taking this wonderful char.

With some semi soft hackles, various tinsel and colored floss, with peacock herl I have tied some stylish colorful brook trout flies. These are the first four in the series of "BT's Flies".

These flies will go to work in the better days to follow on various brook trout waters.

When?

I sat down last night and brought out a couple of maps and started looking for small streams that I might want to fish come the time we have better weather here in New England. While looking the song "Summertime" played by Kenny G was in the background and for a second I was along side a swift flowing, laurel thick, moss covered stream with so much green other colors were blocked from sight. I lifted up the cup to have a sip of coffee and reality time. Still February, still cold, so much snow on the ground and more coming. "Where's the light"?

I'm tired of this....snow, wet feet, soaked jeans, ice in the guides, and that awful gray sky.

Perhaps there's hope. I saw this the other day along a spring seep. WOW did I just say "Spring"