FISHING A TROUT BROOK IN MAINE
FISHING A TROUT BROOK IN MAINE
By E. A. Douglas
I had planned to make a trip after the speckled beauties as soon as they commenced to get up in the brooks, so one evening early in May I decided that the coming morning would k just the chance I was looking for. After eating an early breakfast I looked over my pack U see that nothing had been left out. Reel, five hooks, a box of worms for bait and a lunch, a frying pan put with the rest of the tack!; Should I succeed in getting a few, they would go good with my lunch.
Taking my rod, I threw the small pack over my shoulder and started for the brook, ten miles away. As I hurried along it gradually grew light and the singing of the birds, the green shoots and buds, tell us that spring has set in, in earnest. It is now light enough H see in good shape. A few steps farther on ! hear the sharp crack of a dry limb. I glanced up, I see a large doe looking toward the edge of the woods. Just at the edge she stops looks back for a minute; then jumps out of sight, in the woods.
After turning another point of the road, I look across the country and trace the brook from its headwaters to the meadow below, and I wonder if there are any trout waiting in that pool below the quick water.
On reaching the stream the rod is jointed together. Clamping the reel on and running out five or six feet of small black line, a worm is put on the hook, then with a careful step to the edge of the brook the line is dropped into the water. As the line drifts by a sunken log without any strike, I make up my mind that there are no fish in that pool. Another deep bole is tried without any better results. The water remaining one fairly comes to the top of water for the bait, so fierce is he to bite. This one is easily taken. The brook now comes down from the side of a large hill. A few more good places are visited; from one of these pools two good ones are taken from under an over-hanging rock.
The next place that I stop is where the water falls over a small cliff into a deep pool. As soon as the bait touches the foaming surface, a large one seizes it, running straight for bottom and bending the slender rod in a perfect circle, then back to the surface, jumps clean out of water, perhaps to shake the hook from his mouth. A few minutes of fierce struggling in that foaming, boiling water and the trout is tuckered out. I have now fished the last good pool on the stream. Taking my catch out of the pack, the largest are sorted out, washed clean, and put back in the pack in a damp cloth. A half dozen of the smaller ones are left out. On the edge of the brook a few flat rocks are placed together to hold the frying pan over the fire. Just a small fire is started, the pan allowed to get hot, then a few slices of bacon are tried out. In the meantime the trout I left out have been dressed and the heads left on the bank for some sly mink, or perhaps a prowling wildcat. After eating my lunch of trout bread and bacon, the ground is soaked with water, so that there will be no chance for fire. Then I go across the brook and lie down in the sun for a few minutes rest. Thus ends the trip on a trout brook in Maine.
Hancock Co., Me.
E. A. Douglas.
Fur, News. Fur News, January 1916.
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