Although I call the Rapid River my "home" waters, it takes me about 3
1/2 hours to get there. It's a boring drive, one that I have made
innumerable times. However, for my third trip to Lakewood this year I
brought Joanne. She made the driving time pass very quickly by playing
a Father's Day gift, the cd "Songs of the Civil War." Of course,
knowing Joanne, there had to be a narrative. Before each song she read
the album's narrative about that song. Very interesting stuff. The
album is an eclectic collection of artists from Hoyt Axton to the U.S.
Military Academy Band, with several Negro spiritual pieces by the group
Sweet Honey in the Rock. One piece and its narrative was of particular
interest. Paradoxically, "Dixie's Land", better known by its Southern
anthem "Dixie" was written by a damn Yankee in New York, of all places.
It was not only played at Jefferson Davis' inauguration, but also at
Lincoln's, and Lincoln had it played after Lee's surrender to Grant.
Like I said, "interesting stuff".

The cd lasted all the way to South Arm thanks to the pauses for
Joanne's narrative and our discussion of it. Whit was there with the
new boat to ferry us to Lakewood. As usual when I arrive, a rain storm
was setting it and it would be pouring by the time we got to our cabin.
We sat on the porch and watched and listened to the storm. There is
something about a rustic primitive cabin in the woods during a thunder
storm. Its good for the soul. Joanne and I have been at some of the
best hotels of the world in London, Paris, Davos Switzerland, Rio, New
York, etc, but none can compare to the peacefulness, the secure feeling
you get while witnessing a loud and boisterous thunderstorm at one of
Lakewood's camps.

Fishing remained good. Big fish, both salmon and brook trout, were
being taken at the dam and down-river at Pond in the River. Even Lower
Dam was coughing up some big brookies, mostly on dries and itty-bitty
nymphs. A particular brook trout that I have haunted for a couple of
years resides in what I call "The Aquarium" at the wingdam. If he sees
you he'll never take your fly, and unless it is an itty-bitty thing, he
will turn up his nose. I put on a size 22 soft hackle pt (no pt
involved in the tying of it - just brown thread and very small wire for
its rib). I stood back and got just the tip of my 9 foot 6 weight near
the hole and let the fly wash into his water. When the leader moved I
set the hook. He was on, and he took his normal route -- straight into
the deepest part of the Wingdam Pool. There is no stopping this
freight train. He's going to go where he wants to and if you give him
the slightest bit of resistance, he'll break you off and discard you
like yesterday's newspaper. His usual trick is to make this franticly
strong run into the deep of the pool and then play like the shark in
"Jaws" by coming back at you as fast as he can. If you try to reel him
in, you will lose. If you strip line like crazy, you will probably
lose, but it is the only thing you can do. You have *got* to get all
the line in without even an inch of slack, because when he turns and
runs back into the pool, he'll use that slack line to break you off.
Which he did.

Landing this fish is not part of the game. Just hooking him puts you
in a very special group of fishermen - not many do it. I've landed him
twice in the past three years - last year he was my best ever and folks
estimated his size at 6+ pounds. He's even bigger this year. At
dinner that night, I "estimated" his size at 9 pounds. Of course he
was probably closer to 7 or a bigger 6+, but hey, whatcha gonna do?
d;o)

Because of my health I doubt I will be seeing much of the down-river
haunts on the Rapid. I made it back to my bike that afternoon, but
could go no farther. A friend passed by and informed Whit that I
needed help. He and Joanne came down to get me (the second time in
two years!). I happily fished Middle Dam for the rest of the week,
still managing to land some wonderful fish. Whit has offered me use of
the old unregistered camp pick-up to get me down-river. We'll see.
But until then, I will limit my fishing to the dam. Easy in - easy
out. And the fishing is good.

What else does a sick old man need besides great fishing, a wonderful
wife, and a rocking chair on a cabin's porch. Maybe a see-through?
With an olive. d;o)

Dave