THE GREAT FISHERMAN

Yesterday I took some time off and went fly fishing.  I love to take a lightweight flyrod that I built, a 8' #2 weight and fish the myriad of small feeder streams that feed into the Bouquet River.  I started by going to the stream that feeds the waterfalls I have published pictures of and began casting a dry fly into one of the pools of deeper water there.  I got fish to rise to the fly but no takers, so I changed to a different fly with the same result, rises to the fly but no takers, the next pool producing the same results, and the next.  I thought maybe later in the day they will be more into taking top water offerings and walked on to the deepest pool just below the first waterfall near the top of the mountain.

Now, this pool has constantly produced nice Browns and Rainbows for me but the same thing happened there, the rises to the flies but none of them where willing to take it, just a rise and a look and a no thank you and off they went.  I sat down a little bit away from the stream and just watched nature for awhile, thinking of where I would go next to try, or if I should change techniques and try some nymphs.  While setting there I saw another angler walking down towards me (my land abuts a State Park Campground and I have the land in the Public Fishing Stream Program) and so as not to startle him I stood up and walked from the woods to the path by the stream.  As he approached I greeted him and asked if he felt like a part Mountain Goat, and he laughed and replied that whoever made this a public fishing stream had a weird sense of humor.  Knowing that he had come from the campgrounds area I asked if he had walked far, and he replied "not far, but I felt like it was straight up!"  We both walked back to the fallen tree I had been setting on to rest and talk some more.  I asked where he was from and he was from Montana and had heard of the Ausable River, had had the chance to combine the Memorial Day weekend and a business trip and had taken advantage of it.  I said "I don't think I would want to go on anything but the West Branch with the way the weather has been."  This statement in 85 degree weather with brilliant sunshine, and I could tell from the way he looked at me that he was wondering what I had been smoking or if he should simply bolt a few hundred yards down the mountainside.  I laughed and explained that we had had heavy rains and the Ausable takes a tremendous amount of rain feedoff, along with the fact that it had been near or below freezing in some of the higher altitudes above us and he relaxed, visibly.  I gave him a few spots I know hold fish and he thanked me and saying he didn't want to interfer with my fishing ( A courtesy to seldom granted on small trout streams these days) he would go down a few holes and try his luck in a bit.  As the conversation continued I asked him what his occupation was, turns out he was a outdoors writer and was rather upset that he had only booked the weekend before he had to go on to his business meetings.  He said he had no idea of the beauty and the nature of the mountain park site, when I told him there are 6 million acres in the park he was really astounded.  He asked me if I had any idea who owned the land we were on now, I thought of saying nope, no idea but I replied I did and he was full of questions.  He thinks he would like to move here after he gathers more information, we exchanged addresses and I moved on to the next spot I wanted to fish.

It is said that fishing is relaxing.  I agree there are forms of fishing that are relaxing, bobber fishing being one.  Tie a hook and bait on, cast it out and get comfortable, watch the bobber and when it goes under the water stop doing what you were and pull on the pole to set the hook and land the fish.  Fishing small streams with a fly rod is not designed to be relaxing, but it also can be damn frustrating.  I arrived at the next spot, about a half hour hike on trails, and tried the same flies and techniques, with the same results=fish rose but they would not hit the fly.  I turned some rocks on the streams edge and identified the bugs and flies that were in and around the stream.  The top water flies I had been offering were imitations of the real ones but the trout just would not take them.  I retied a nymph (floats below the surface, not on top) and cast to a ripple and let it begin to float.  Bang, I had the first hit of the day and a nice Rainbow, very pretty, was the reward.  I landed and quickly got him back into the water.  I don't eat a lot of the fish I catch, so I am careful to return them to the water as quickly as I can, and often fish with barbless hooks.  It's not because I feel sorry for the fish, it's more exciting with barbless hooks, and if I land it it is a hell of a lot easier to get the fish off the hook.  I continued to fish the stream, catching and releasing a few as I walked down the stream.  When I reached the road I decided to go home and get some different flies and go back for a while later.

As I was walking along the road a D.E.C. truck passed me heading towards the hatchery and I thought "great, they stocked Deep Pond for the kids fishing derby Monday."  Every year as a part of the Memorial Day celebration the town, of course, has the big parade, and after have a fishing derby for kids in "Deep Pond" and the D.E.C. contributes some bigger Brown and Rainbows that have been raised in the hatchery, and some regular stocking size also.  The pond is stocked with enough fish that it is pretty assured that any youngster with the least bit of patience will have a fish, and some of the ones they bring in I wouldn't mind hooking into myself.  When I arrived at home my wife asked if I had any luck and I told her nothing spectacular but I hooked a few.  She said "Oh, and I was thinking a nice Rainbow or Brown trout dinner would be good tonight."  Well, I had intended to go back out later in the day...

I got some more nymphs and larger dry flies ready, and asked if she would like to fish with me but she said she was going to go with a friend of hers and do some shopping and be back in a couple of hours.  When she left I decided to go across the street to the Bouquet River and try the holes over there.  Every once in a while the river will give up a very nice Rainbow or Brown, along with a fair population of Brook trout.  I have kayaked the river this spring but I hadn't fished it, so I knew the changes in the pools but not the changes in the fish populations tastes.  Last year they would hit anything that had green in it so I had put a few dry flies and nymphs in my fly box in case their tastes hadn't changed. Arriving at my first spot, "the ole swimming hole", I opened my fly box and found I had picked up a red and yellow salmon fly accidentally while getting the nymphs and dry flies.  The ole swimming hole is a natural depression in the river where locals used to gather and swim in times gone by.  It's quite wide and 11 to 14 feet deep, which is unusual for rivers here, most of them are fully wadeable with chest waders and wading staff.  Being that wide I decided to tie the salmon fly on and cast upstream and let it float down with the current and see if I got any results fishing in the current.

First cast, the fly had bearly hit the water and bang!  A fish hit and took off with the fly on an upstream run that caught me totally offguard.  I had extra line from the cast out floating downstream, the fish running upstream, and I knew I had hooked it by reflex action it had so surprised me.  Having a light leader tippet on I walked along the bank until I could get things arranged and then began to play the fish, which was now pretty pissed about the whole situation, shaking its head back and forth and generally lookeng for anything that it could use to snap the light tippet I had on.  I kept playing it and gradually brought it close enough to shore to net it, and had a nice, fat 12" Brook Trout for the effort.  I wet down my creel and put some grass into it and deposited the Brookie, thinking a few more of those and I have Lizas' supper.  Walking back to my original spot I cast again and the same almost immediate response, only this time it was a smaller brookie that I quickly let slip back into the water.  I decided to walk back up towards the bridge where I knew there was another pool and thought it might be holding either Browns or Rainbows.  I was puzzled to tell the truth, I had never caught many Brookies in the river, and the size and plumpness of the first wasn't ordinary at all.  I changed flies to a brown and yellow "Chernoble Ant" and presented that with immedate results again.  The fly hit the water, righted itself and I mended line and had the first top water hit of the day, another Brookie, larger than the second but not as big as the one in the creel, and it went back into the water.  I casted five or six more times and had another Brookie with each cast, all between 9 to 11 inches!  I thought I had found a real honey hole and was busily planning the rest of the summer along the banks of the Bouquet when I was hailed from the bridge.  "Hey Thom, are they biting?"

Quick assesment, nothing visible, no not a thing hitting!  I looked up to the bridge and there stood Don, the local DEC officer and his assistant, both chuckling no both laughing their heads off.  I said "Yes this is fantastic Don, c'mon down" and they both came down the bank.  I showed them the nice Brookie in the creel saying I don't think the fly even had a chance to hit the water and the fish hit it.  Don asked me how long I had been fishing and I told him of the day, the walk up the stream in back of my house, meeting the guy from Montana, fishing down the stream and then over here.  Then he told me of his day, with his assistant.  Up at 4:30 A.M. and off to the hatchery to pick up the Trout for Deep Pond and back to stock it, then back to the hatchery and being asked if they minded making another run with a mix of Brooks and Browns, and if they wanted to use the hatcheries tank truck they could spread some Rainbows too.  I was beginning to see what I thought was going to be said. They had agreed and had come back with the hatchery truck and parked on the bridge, opened the Brookie tank and couldn't get the shut off to work right away so they had dumped the entire tank from the bridge!  So the water had been salted with Brook trout and some were up to 24" in length, Trophy Fish!  And then on upstream they had unloaded the Rainbows and Browns at another bridge about 4 miles away.  When they came back from the hatchery they had pulled onto the bridge to see how the fish were dispersing and saw me land two or three before they had taken mercy to tell me of the stocking.  So I stayed and caught dinner for the wife and Sam and I and left the rest for some other day.