I tied on one more streamer, the same pattern, and made a few more casts. One more time I felt the tug and saw a glimpse of a hint of butter colored brown trout. But that fish wasn’t hooked solid, something I take full blame for as who could blame a trout for not hooking itself well enough? It was a quick chance meeting, more like the time it takes two people to pass each other on a side walk, and then it was over. And then I came to the realization that my fingers stung from the heat that the cold rain had removed from them, and I left the river.
The same thing played out over and over for the next half hour or so. A good cast, a good drift, a rise and inspection, and a refusal by a dumb nine inch stocked brown trout. I looked closely at the small caddis imitation between my thumb and index finger several times. Each time I thought to myself that it looked real enough to me, that it should look even better to a dumb animal, and that neither one really mattered since it was the only one I had.
The stream’s last defense was the thick alders that lined it, so thick that I doubt thorn bushes could have done much better at all to keep us out. The Lost Boys had told me no waders, you’ll destroy them in there in two minutes. I left my waders behind but questioned it of course, but now I could see, I could confirm. Pushing though the undergrowth, I felt a stinging on the back of my left calf, and then the same on my right thigh as alder branches that were intertwined better than the fibers in a rope held me back as I tried to push through. They grabbed fly rods, slashed at faces, pulled hats from heads, but in the end the will of the fly fishermen was more than they could hold back, and we stood at the water’s edge.
- Tags: 3wt, Adirondack brook trout, adirondacks, beaver meadow, black flies, bluegill on the fly, Brook trout, Camp Sagamore, catch and release, fish bum, fish stories, fishing lessons, fishing memories, fly fishing, Fly Fishing Adventure, glass is not dead, in search of, life experience, life lessons, north country, small stream fly fishing, trout, Trout bum, trout power, trout season, trout stream, wild brook trout, wild trout, zen and the river
But this morning I came across some pictures from up on the towers, and it lead to me thinking about things that I took away from my short time in that industry. Mostly fly fishing, and a pair of old friends. In the picture I’m looking down past my boots at the featureless landscape four-hundred and fifty some odd feet below. But it wasn’t the height, and it wasn’t the memory of that specific job that made the picture special. It was my boots supporting me up on the narrow, cold steel up in the wind. They’re my wading boots.
- Tags: Adirondack brook trout, adirondacks, bass fishing, Bass on the fly, bluegill on the fly, Brook trout, Brown Trout, catch and release, fish bum, fish stories, fishing gear, fishing lessons, fishing memories, fishing stories, Fly Fishing Adventure, fly fishing lessons, fly gear, learning to fly fish, life experience, life lessons, mental health, one more cast, oriskany creek, small stream fly fishing, tower climber, tower dawg, tower dog, tower hand, tower rigger, trout season, wader review, waders, wading boots, wild brook trout