On 9/14/2010 7:15 AM, D. LaCourse wrote:
On November 22, 1963, I was driving my 1961 Corvair Monza on Terciera,
the Azores, with my young daughter strapped in a car seat, when I heard
the news. She was too young to realize what a terrible day that was, and
she couldn't understand later that evening why her mommy and daddy were
crying. Most people remember where they were on that terrible day.

Nine years ago yesterday, September 11, 2001, I was at Lakewood fishing
the dam pool when the dam keeper's wife, April, came running down to me
screaming something about "Tauruses." I finally figured out that she
meant "terrorists" The rest is history. The Second Maine Clave was going
on that week but there were only a few participants in camp. The
representatives from NC were in transit. Jeff Miller and Injun Joe got
stranded in Baltimore (I believe), and took charge of the last available
rental vehicle, an 8 passenger mini-van. They made it to the Clave.
Unfortunately, our boy lawyer, wayno, got stranded in Cincinnati. No one
should *ever* get stranded in Cincinnati (or Cleveland for that matter),
Wayno never made it to the clave. It was a good clave, with lots of nice
brookies and landlocked salmon landed. However, it was overshadowed by
the events of that week. Most people remember where they were on that
terrible day.

I am at Lakewood once again, remembering the bad and good things about
that week in 2001. I hope this week will be less traumatic and more
therapeutic.

I don't like the heat of summer. Spring and autumn are my favorite times
of year. Cool days and chilly nights warm the heart of this old man. I
am loving it now in north-western Maine and the Rapid River. I would
have said northern Maine, but Myron would jump on me about the *real*
northern Maine. smile A fire in the stove, Joanne and I are on the
porch of Trail's End watching a befuddled Jenny trying her best to
outwit the red squirrels. It is cool, a bit overcast, but it is right
now the loveliest place on earth.

The lake is very low, the result of an untypically dry summer. However,
the flow is still cool at 400 cfs, and the river wadeable where it
counts. I will be able to wade to *all* of my favorite haunts, so I
expect lots of good fish this week if I can find out what they want.
d;o) Wading means getting wet, very wet, so I will ensure I have my
proper undies on - no cotton. Someone in this nuthouse turned me on to
capilene many years ago. I swear by the stuff. Whenever I wade, I have
capilene next to my skin and in chilly weather, merlino wool layered
with fleece. I used to wear jeans when I waded, but if they got wet they
remained wet and clammy the rest of the day. That is no way for an old
man to survive.

Monday, 13th:

The Lakewood alarm clock went off at 0600 hours, as usual. One minute I
am sound asleep, and then Whit turns on the generator and on come the
room lights, including the reading lamp just above our heads. Jenny
whines for her breakfast, while my coffee is brewing. Outside it is
cool. We had rain overnight, heavy enough to awaken us with its euphony
on the roof of our cabin. A slight breeze from the east could mean a bad
day fishing. We shall see. There are low lying clouds to the east -
strange looking grey clouds. They hug the farthest shore. Hopefully they
will burn off during the day and not come across the lake.

An excellent breakfast in my gullet and I am off to the river. Friends
are headed down river to the Pond in the River, and a couple of
new-to-the-Rapid guests are talking about following them. I headed to
the dam, my old haunts, with easier access.

I spent an hour at one of the most productive runs at the dam. Nothing.
I threw everything I *knew* would catch a fish, Nothing. I tied on
Harry's caddis and managed to fool one little landlocked salmon. He rose
and struck. I set the hook and missed. Back to muttering about
"what-the-hell-do-they-want." A change of venue was in order, so I
packed up and carefully negotiated the rocks and took up station on the
far side of the pool. First cast with a size 20 PT and I had a 12+ inch
brook trout on. However, I had put my raincoat on *over* my landing net.
Duh! Old man mistake. I played the fish close enough to get ahold of
him, when he thankfully spit the hook. Off with the raincoat. I need
that rubber basket net.

I successfully waded out to "Flat Top" a hugh rock that is usually
underwater, but at 400 cfs can be reached by very careful wading. At 900
cfs the water comes to the very tip top of my waders. At 400, there is
an inch or two to spare. For the first time this year I did not get wet.
From this fishing station I have excellent access to several feeding
runs. Once again, however, the fish were being very picky. They didn't
want the PT. I tried several soft hackle nymphs and still nothing. I was
happy to be fishing, but the catching was kind of bothersome. Finally,
with Harry's caddis, I hooked up with a small salmon. He jumped, and
jumped, and jumped again, and then he skittered across the top of the
water towards me. I've never seen a salmon act that way on this river.
I've seen whitefish do that in Labrador trying to get away from a
northern pike. I can only imagine a larger fish was after him. Perhaps a
togue (laketrout that has made its way into the river via the dam).
There have been some very large (26 inch) togue taken in the river by
streamers.

That was it at Flat Top, a little salmon scared to death, skimming the
top of the water for his very life, knowing his horrible fate if he
faltered. The wade ashore was filled with apprehension. To get off of
Flat Top you must commit yourself to stepping down about three feet to
another flat stone about 3 feet square and water deep enough to get
totally soaked. Next is one giant step to the rock filled bottom of the
river. This is usually where I take on water, do a Full Reid, or
otherwise just plain get wet! Success! I made it off of the rock and
waded ashore, stumbling old man style along the way. The inside of my
waders will not get washed on this day.

Fortunately for me there was no one at the dam. I found out later that
everyone in camp save me was at PiR, along with another 12 or so
fishermen. Glad I didn't go with my buddies.

It was only 1100 hours, plenty of time to try the first crib of the dam.
This spot has evolved into one of the best spots on the river, with
feeding lanes to the left, straight ahead, and to the right. The only
problem is getting down to it. I have to lift my tired legs and sorry
ass over the railing, and then step blindly down the side of the crib,
finally onto the rocks. That's the easy part. At that point I am still
about five feet above the water and no way possible to land a fish. So,
rock hopping begins. It isn't much fun for me getting to the bottom of
the rocks, but it must be hilarious watching. I have taken some bad
falls at this spot and have scars to show for my efforts. Slowly,
carefully, I make my way, rock by rock, to the spot were I can cast AND
land fish.

There were still a couple of items in my fly armory that I hadn't tried,
and when checking one of my fly boxes I discovered a size 20 orange body
and orange glass bead head nymph with a black soft hackle and some
flashaboo tied in. On the first cast to my left, into the deepest water,
I got a strike, set the hook and landed a marvelous 16 inch brookie, all
turned out in his handsome spawning colors. Two more casts into the same
run and I had another brookie, smaller in size but no less marvelous. I
think I have found what they want! I fished for the next hour and landed
two more small brookies and a couple of 14 inch salmon. Joanne and the
pup showed up at the apple tree next to the dam, and I managed my way
back to them and camp, tired but with a good feeling inside. My wife, my
pup, and some fishing memories make for a good day.

Today I broke a new rule I had set; I took a 2 hour nap after lunch,
lulled to sleep by a fire crackling in the stove, and rain drops
hammering the roof. happy sigh

More to follow........

Dave


bittersweet memories of that 9/11 gathering... thanks for sharing this
visit too. a much happier sense of the place. is that odd guide,
aldro?, still downriver? by happenstance, i'm now wearing my dizzy fish
co. t-shirt acquired during that last visit to lakewood and his tiny fly
shop with no attendant and an honor code, leave your money in the box,
system of payment for stuff.

jeff