It doesn’t take a lot to make an
adventure. How about a spot on a map and time to go find it? That’s what we
had.
The spot was a stream that drains a mammoth softwood bog before joining another
stream to flow together into a lake. In satellite images of the upper reaches there appeared to be white water or rapids where the stream tumbled from the large swamp. And a complete lack of easy access made the goal so much sweeter. The quarry was wild brook trout.
Early morning rising means wet foliage, so with pants soon-to-be soaked we headed off, trekking generally northeast. After only a short distance we heard the stream off to our left.
It wasn’t easy following the stream. Over the eons it had carved what was more or less a canyon or gulley. Approaching the banks, it was often ten or fifteen feet below us, so following the stream bank closely was
Maggie was guiding the way. |
Eventually the land started to flatten so we followed along the stream’s edge, trying to find a place that looked “fishable”. The water was almost as dark as coffee, stained with tannin leached from the softwood bog upstream. In places the water squeezed between rocks or rattled down riffles. As the land leveled out it started to slow and meander. Soon after a hard zigzag in its course we found a pool half the size of a tennis court. Along the right-hand side three rocks protruded from shore, creating an easy place to cast a fly from. Beneath the glassy center of the pool the water looked dark and deep.
A bulging dimple in the surface grew into an expanding ring…trout were there.
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