Old Dog with New Tricks Part 2

We woke early the next morning at around 6:30 to a beautiful sunny day. We got dressed, cooked some breakfast and slowly packed up our campsite. Once finished at camp, Dad and I walked down over the hardwood ridge, through the small trail between balsam fir and reached the "home pool". We peered through the thin line of hardwoods as the fog was burnt off the stillwater, and saw a few trout rise. We planned on not staying long, unless there was a hatch. By the time we both got geared up it was about quarter to eight. I let Dad fish the pool first and before I knew he was into a trout on a #8 Bead-head Black Woolly Bugger with Grizzly hackle, it was a fine trout and a great landing job.

Before I knew it he was into another one, but with a different fly (he had lost the killer fly on a dropped tree that lay at the edge of the pool) He got it in and released the beautiful specimen like a seasoned pro. I was quite impressed with the progress he had made in just in that first day of fly fishing for him in almost a year and a half. He backed out of the pool and let me at a few. I waded to the run from our "rotation rock" and fished the outside of the run with a hot head bugger right on bottom. Landed a nice 13 3/4 inch fish in just a few casts, what a beautiful fighting fish to bring to hand. A photo and a quick release, after taking a few more casts and catching a few more trout we both decide that it was time to return home.

About the middle of June, Dad and I decide to head to a backwoods brook we fished last Septemeber and did well at. This time we decide to walk a longer stretch and fish the long headwater stream down to where it meanders nearest the road. It wasn't easy walking and the black fly were thick, but we did our best to keep our mind on fishing and forget about the flies. As we fished down through, the stream was only wide enough for one person. Dad had decided that I would fish and see what was to be caught, as we walked down I caught quite a few fish but decided it was dads turn to try his luck. 

Dad shot his line out and was fishing in no time, but no luck for him at this hole. We moved downstream to a wide long flat with a channel on each side. I took the right and Dad took the left, No hook ups until the channels met and we both struck two fish. His being the biggest of the day.... He was pretty proud of himself, and rightly so.

We both continued to brave the black flies and the mosquitos and catch nice trout. From my recollection one deep hole produced two trout of 13 inches each fat and very great fighters.. As we moved to the longest and widest section of the stream which was a long "s" shaped stillwater, the walking got traitorous and the bugs even worse. So dad had stopped fishing and was walking along the sphagnum shoreline where stunted black spruce, lamb kill (Sheep-Laurel) and other thick brushy shrubs that just tend to line these trout (and black fly) producing stillwaters. I tried to get him to walk along the bank but the bottom was far too soft . So he was forced to walk through the toughest parts alone, As I was walking along a gravel bar near the channel catching trout cast after cast. 

Eventually we made it halfway down the long stillwater. I then said to myself that was enough as I hooked two nice fish near a large Eastern White Pine shadowing a narrow section of the river. I had put him through (in his eyes) hell I thought, we made our way through the densely vegetated rocky ground and back onto the road. I knew as much as he was complaining that he really enjoyed himself and that I could convince him to come back so he can show me up again. 

Dad; the old dog of this story, knows his way around the woods. Which is starting to get to know his way around a fly rod and the tea stained waters that we cast them in. I am eager to see him progress every year and gain a strong conservation minded attitude toward the flora and fauna of this beautiful province. 

Chris