Autumn of the Rapid, part III

Thursday, 16th:

I headed for the dam after breakfast. I would love to go down-stream,
but fear having to be "saved" by Whit and Joanne. The dam is easier on
my old bones, although it is the place were I take my worse falls.

Two friends beat me to the spots I wanted to fish, so I took up station
on one of the less desirable spots (at least for this trip it has not
proven too good). I managed to get a very nice male brookie with not a
hook mark on him. He fell for Harry Killer Caddis pattern, size #18.
Hard for these old eyes to see, so I just reacted to the "boil" I saw
in the feeding lane I was floating.

When landing another brookie, I slipped off a rock and went into the
river feet first in about 3 feet of water. I tried and tried to get
back on the rock but kept slipping. Got my trusty wading staff out and
moved over to another rock but I still couldn't get out of the water.
Really frustrating. After much straining and cursing, I managed to get
half way out when I again slipped doing a number on my left shin. Why
is that bone there? To cause us pain? Finally, again with much
cursing, I got back on the rock.

After a small salmon I decided to move. My two friends George and
Mike also moved - so the three of us traded places. I, however, took
up station on Flat Top, again gaining access without getting wet.
Miracles of miracles. Nothing on nymphs, so I switched to Harry's fly.

Letting the fly drift downstream with lots of slack so as to avoid
drag, I was into five brookies and a small salmon in less than 30
minutes. They must have been all bunched together because as the fly
drifted by a particular spot, I would usually get a rise or a boil.
After I exhausted that little pod, I fished upstream in the rougher
water. It was difficult to see the fly. A wind came up and played
havoc with trying to see where the fly landed. I had to adjust my cast
and make it stronger to get the fly where I wanted it. A couple of
more salmon, and I noticed Joanne and the pup by the apple tree.
George and Mike had gone back to camp for lunch, so I made my way back
to shore off of Flat Top without getting wet. The pup was happy to see
me. So was the wife. d;o)

I somehow broke my Abel reel used on my Winston LT5 (five weight).
It is my favorite rod and reel. I will have my local fly shop look at
it on Monday. In the meantime I will fish with an Orvis 6 weight and
Orvis reel. The fish have not been big enough to warrant the six
weight, but it is all I have with me. Who knows.... maybe there is a 5
or 7 pound monster waiting for me.

Friday, 17th:

It rained all night. What a pleasant sound on the cabin's roof. An
insomniac should have such pleasures. Rain is suppose to taper off,
but the wind has come up and is blowing quite a gale out of the
north-east.

This is our last day in camp until next May, so I want to make the most
of it. My two friends George and Mike went downstream to PiR yesterday
after lunch and were skunked. As much as I would like to fish the
island and the wing dam, I will stick to the dam again today. George
and Mike are headed back to Massachusetts and the only other guest in
camp is going below the Lower Dam to "explore" the river with a guide.
I should be able to move around the dam and its many fishing spots, and
the south side of Harbeck's Pool (the first pool after the Dam Pool).

Sissy me! It was too cold and windy to venture out of the warm cabin.
The wind had shifted from north and was very cold. It put a fairly
good chop on the lake, and the leaves were falling off the birches
surrounding the cabin. Sooooo, I stoked the fire and went back to bed
like any sane fisherman would do.

The storm blew itself out and by lunch time (pea soup and BLTs), I was
ready to fish. I hurried down to the dam on my bike only to find the
place invaded by six locals. The spots I wanted were all taken, but no
one had made it out to Flat Top. My third or fourth trip out to this
rock this week again resulted in no falls, immersions, or Full Reids.
Hell, I hadn't even wet a fly and I was happy. I think the six
invaders were a bit surprised when I stood up on Flat Top. I may have
revealed a secret by going to this wonderful rock in the middle of the
pool. I had Harry's CDC caddis already on my line, so I made a couple
of casts and picked up a very small salmon and a small 10 inch brookie.
It was difficult to keep track of my fly because the wind was very
gusty.

I switched over to nymphs and never got a hit. After about an hour,
the guy on the short crib left. I literally jumped off of Flat Top
onto the smaller flat submerged rock, and then a mighty leap off of it
into chest high water. No Reids nor immersions. A rush up the grass
path to the top of the dam, down the stairs and out onto the crib where
I rested for a good five minutes. There was a woman guide by the name
of Betty (not her real name) with two clients and she wanted the spot.
I beat her to it and we exchanged grins. Another spot opened and she
put one of her sports there nymphing.

The water off of this crib is very deep to the left, and very fast to
the right. I added one more split shot to my rig and cast a cream
colored soft hackle, about an 18, into the deep part. About three cast
later I was into a very big fish that broke me off, fly and tippet. I
never saw the fish but I think it was a brookie. Rerigged with the
same fly pattern and weights and cast again into the deep part. On the
very first cast I had my best brookie of the week, about 17 inches and
brightly colored. There were no hook marks on his jaws, but there was
a PT dangling from a fin. I removed it and put him back in the water.
As far as I was concerned, I could have stopped fishing at that point.
But, I continued. I still had the fast water to my right to explore.
I removed a split shot and with the same cream colored soft hackle I
began a systematic sweep of this bubbly highly oxygenated water by
adding a few more inches to each cast into the bubbles. I would sweep
the distance across, about 20 feet, and start all over again. Usually
in one of these cast during the "sweep" I would get a strike or hook
up. After a couple of small brookies, I saw a very large brook trout
rising in the water almost directly in front of me, about 25 feet away.

Armed with Harry's cdc caddis, I cast to this rising fish. I could
only get a 2 or 3 second drift because of the currents I had to cross
with my cast. I must have worked on this fish for thirty minutes
before I put the fly right in front of him. He came up and sipped it,
and I did nothing. Just stood there dumbfounded. Betty the guide saw
it and smiled at me while shaking her head. It would have been the
prize of the week, and very possibly of the year, and to have hooked it
with a dry fly would have added to the stories that were sure to come
from landing him. But it was not to be.

At that point I gave up and reeled in and stopped fishing for the year.
It would have been wonderful to have landed or even *hooked* that
brook trout, but I was happy just to have seen him. I was and still am
tired. It was an exciting and wonderful year on the Rapid, probably my
best. God willing I will return in May.

There is a chill in the air tonight. The fire in the stove is roaring,
the pup is asleep at my feet, and my beautiful wife is working on a
family photo album. Life is good.

"Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it. And if I were a bird
I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns." (George
Eliot)

Dave