Maine Fly Fishing's 2005 Fall Outing
by Trout Hunter aka. Capt. Nemo, Karl

Day One

I'm nervous. This will only be the second time that I have been on a real fishing trip with other guys that I do not know. Oh sure, I know them from the message boards but I have only met a few of them once. That outing did not go well for me. My back hurt, I was tired and grumpy because I had not slept much, and I was using, what I felt everyone was sure to point out, gear that was inferior to what all the other guys would be using. Now that I look back on that first trip, I see that it was doomed from the start. Stolen Mojo had nothing to do with it. I simply was in the wrong frame of mind. What I had, was the opportunity to commune with like minded individuals in an outdoor setting that some men never see. What I turned it into, was something ugly and regretful.

I sit with my coffee and look over the list I made last night. Three and a half hours is too far away to go to realize you've forgotten something. The sun is beginning to lighten the sky in the east and I am already "reflecting" on this upcoming trip. That big Salmon I will finally catch, and brook trout so big that I'll truly need both hands to hold him while Kim snaps a photo. I am looking forward to the trip with such excitement that I feel like a 5 year old on Christmas Eve. To be able to meet a bunch of guys and hang around the cabin and listen to the stories from days both present and past, to finally see the Big Lake in Maine, to share laughter and coffee, take in the cool air, maybe see a Moose; just to be excites me. But I am nervous. What if I don't do well? What if I make an ass of myself? What if I snore and keep my cabin mates up at night? (Sorry guys) What if... The clock is ticking and I have a long way to go. I finish my now cold coffee as reflection, even in the future tense, takes time. I get up to pack.

My List, capitalized here because of its profound importance, is broken down into three sections. First is the gear column. Fishing first, everything else, like binoculars, sleeping bag, and flashlights at the end. Next I list clothing and toiletries. Not that anyone ever needs or uses such things on a trip such as this, except Geoff, but more because it is something that is brought out of civility and in the hopes of maintaining such to a high enough degree to be invited back. Finally I list the food. I heard once that pilgrims planted fish under the corn to help it grow. I never met a fisherman that had time to plant corn. Usually, although you wouldn't know it to look at me, I don't make time to eat in the morning. I suppose that I will be hungry enough to stop and eat a little something on the stream, but I know from experience that I won't leave time for such foolishness beforehand. (For which I will pay a price later on a very cold Saturday morning.)

Forty minutes later the gear is checked and rechecked. The cooler is full and strategically stowed. My truck's fluids topped off. The List is on the passenger seat with everything neatly crossed off. I am smiling with the supreme confidence that I have forgotten nothing. (Drinking sugarless coffee all weekend will remind me on the next trip that I ALWAYS forget something.) Leaving Sunny Saco Maine I calculate the time needed to get where I am going and wonder if I will be the first to arrive. It is 7:00 am and I am on the road. I should be there by ten thirty at the latest. I'll have time to stow my gear and get what little food I am bringing situated before anyone gets there. I can then just sit on the porch and help others as they arrive.

I mentally recall my fly boxes and what is in them. About 60 or so dries, 60 or so streamers, 100 or so nymphs and a bunch of assorted flies that I have accumulated through various folks that know how sick I am with the fly fishing bug. Lost in my thoughts, I hit a snag. I suddenly realize that 300 or so flies can't possibly be enough for two and a half days. This is not good. Frantic, I think what will I do? I could stop at LL Bean and get some but that will put me behind schedule and I might not get a good spot in the cabin, and won't be able to greet folks and help them get set up as they arrive. Reluctantly, and with great effort, I force myself to calm down. I have plenty of flies. I have checked and rechecked what I am bringing and it will work. They all have a purpose and have caught fish for me in the past. Slowly, my confidence returns. I sigh a little and turn on the radio.

As I pull into LL Bean, (at the first Freeport sign I realize again that my supply is woefully inadequate), I start to recalculate my ETA at Rockwood. It really won't take me that long, ten minutes at most. I just need a couple more streamers, some leaders and maybe a small box to put the streamers into. Also a couple indicator flies for nymphing; something I am sure Kevin will say is what works on the big fish in these parts. I could be back on the road by ten minutes to eight and be able to get there at quarter to eleven.

Any of you who have gone into Bean's for "just a few flies" and for "only ten minutes", know that it is impossible on both accounts. First off, the East Outlet has BIG fish and your 6x and 7x leaders will snap almost before you even feel the fish, you will most certainly need some 4x and 5x. You select these and head for the fly section. You stop and hesitate. You go back and get a 3x just in case. You then see that there are seven and a half and nine foot lengths. Unsure which the fish will prefer, you get one of each.

Beans has THOUSANDS of flies. You can't possibly just go and grab the "few" that you know you need. You have to look, and handle a few that you would never use, ever, just because they are there. I select a few streamers and go to the nymph boxes. One hundred can't be enough to cover all the variations that I may need.

"Help you find something"? A kind voice asks, with a hint of "this guy must be a tourist" in his voice.

"Well, I am heading to the East Outlet with a bunch of guys and am not sure what I should bring for flies. I have a ton but can't help think I don't have the right one."

"Let's see what you got there," he says. "Ayuh, only thing you need up there is a gray ghost. Marabou, not that other one. Makes it look alive."

He says this last part with dollar signs in his eyes and I know that he is just trying to get me to spend more money. I politely pick up two of the marabou grey ghosts but put back two others that I had never heard of but were certain to catch more fishermen than fish. Wood s... something if I remember right.

At eight fifteen, about eighty bucks lighter and 45 minutes later than it would have been had I not stopped, I am back on the road. Not too bad, but certainly not the ten minutes and a few bucks I had planned either.

The sun is bright and there are few clouds as I hum steadily along just under 80mph. I look in all the fields as I pass but see no deer. Just south of Gardiner I do happen to catch two turkeys just heading into the woods. As my eyes return to the road I happen to catch sight of a hawk sitting in a tree at the edge of a field across the highway from the turkeys. I wonder if hawks eat their young? I suppose they would. I look again and there are more clouds ahead of me, to the north. I wonder what the weather will be in Rockwood this weekend and realize that since it never occurred to me that I wouldn't go on this trip, I never looked.

Panic strikes again as my mind thinks about Rockwood and the cottages and the fact that I have absolutely no idea where I am going. I know I am going to Rockwood and that I am staying at some cottages and even, I suppose, that it might be Rockwood Cottages, but I have no address. I also have no phone number, which, I could have gotten off the website had I had the foresight to look. Damn. If I turn around and go home, no, that would be stupid. I am not going to waste what would be the three hours I need to get there just to get back to where I am physically now for a phone number and a little assurance that I know exactly where I am going. I look at the map. Good, there are only a couple of roads and I know that it is on the lake. I can find it without an address or phone number. I could, if I got lost, ask for directions, although I would never share this with anyone.

After sailing along so effortlessly for a couple of hours the slowness of town makes me want to scream. I am behind my self-appointed schedule and the idea of funding Dexter P.D.s annual BBQ has me doing exactly the speed limit. I am really glad I got that inspection sticker last week that was due in august. That would have really sucked to get pulled over with an inspection that was 30 days expired. I stop and think for a minute. Oh crap. My registration was a month after the inspection when I had it done last year. So if my inspection ran out in August, then my registration runs out in September. Great, I now get to look forward to driving home with an unregistered truck. At least I know it is safe. I will have to do that next week sometime before heading to Grand Lake Stream for my birthday weekend.

If town made me want to scream then the subsequent detour due to construction makes me want to just give up and sit there and cry. I'll never get there at this rate. It's pretty bad. I am behind a guy who is leaning so far forward to see that his steering wheel is under his chin and he keeps speeding up and then jacking on the brakes. This causes me to hang back but, since I am in a place where I've never been and am looking around a bit, I sometimes don't see the brake lights when they first come on. I end up standing on my brakes a few times as well. The guy behind me, is in an eighteen wheeler and is from Quebec. A blast of his horn and the fact that I cannot see even his grill, alert me to the fact that I must be more alert. I finally pull into a parking lot, one of those fancy big chain drug stores, to calm my nerves and see if I can figure out where the detour will put me. It's not that I don't trust the signs; I just want to look and see if there is a better route I can take to avoid all traffic, incompetent in front of me and insanely mad behind. Phew, the route they have apparently picked is actually shorter than going through town.

After awhile I begin to move a little faster and am in open country again. Soon I see signs that I remember from my last look at the Gazetteer as towns close to my final destination. Again looking around more than one should when operating a motor vehicle, I notice all the color. It would seem that the trees have been changing for a couple of weeks at least up here and it is really beautiful. I see mountains as a backdrop to the trees and think how cool it must have been for God to come up with all these colors. Not to mention the fact that only some areas of the world would have the opportunity to see them.

A little further on is a sign pointing to Rockwood Village. Without looking at the map I decide that this might be a good idea. After all, how big can a town with only a couple of roads be? The road goes slightly down hill and before long I can see the lake. What a nice sight. There is a post office on my left that looks as though it could serve as other things as well. Bean suppers and town meetings come to mind. A little further along and the road goes up and to the left. Just as I am thinking that this might not be the road I want I see a stop sign and realize it was just a loop and I am back on the Rockwood road. Now which way? Do I go left, back where I came from to make sure I didn't miss it? I think for a second. If the cottages are on the lake then it has to be further along the road. I elect to go right. Maybe a mile or so further along I find a sign that says Rockwood Cottage and. And what? I think. Oh well, it doesn't matter. What matters is I have arrived. This directionally challenged, phone numberless, address lacking boy has found what I have set out to find. I have arrived.

After negotiating what is probably the worst right hand turn driveway I will ever see, (I find out later that there is another one. I had to actually back and fill to make it.) I park at the front door and meet Bonnie. We exchange pleasantries and how-do-you-do's and then get down to business. "Is anyone else here yet", I ask.

"There is one car down at the last cabin that I think might be Kim but I am not sure."

She walks down after giving me instructions on the "other" driveway and where to park. The tour is short but complete. I am now the expert of our cabin. This comes with being the first to arrive. The accommodations are far superior to what I had even hoped for and I wonder, not for the first time, if Kevin got the prices wrong. No big deal, I have brought some cash and will just give him the difference if that is the case. During the 300 foot drive to the cabin I notice that it is about 11:40, not that far off from the 10:30 that I had hoped for.

I am in cabin 6. It has a living room/dinning area, a bathroom and two bedrooms. It is set up to sleep 5 people. There is a double bed that I suppose you could argue would sleep two but this is a "guy's only" trip and only.... Come to think of it, nothing could happen that would necessitate that. Although I am sure that Caleb would offer to share it with Feta. In addition to the fridge and stove, there are filters for the coffee maker, pots and pans, (with utensils), the beds all have sheets and blankets and pillows, and there are towels in the bathroom. Nothing has been overlooked. This place would be comfortable for an entire summer. The porch has a table and chairs and is screened in to keep out black flies and the mosquitous monstrositous that is native only to Maine and parts of Alaska according to Russ.

After putting my meager provisions in the refrigerator, I head over to cabin 7 and am met by Kim and Alan. Both happen to be guys I have met before and so I am a bit relieved. They offer coffee and I accept. There is no sugar so I have it black. I used to drink it like that and so it is not that much of a stretch. The company is good. We talk about what the plans might be for the weekend and who has yet to arrive. The cabin is decorated in 50's stuff and I remember that this is Kim's birthday party so to speak. The brainchild of Kevin and a few others I suppose. I wish Kim a happy one and thank them for the coffee. I then head over to see who just pulled up to my cabin.

Stepping through the door I am greeted by another face that I recognize although at the time I can not remember the name. Jason and I were involved in the famous D"D outing that had "pretty girls" posing for pictures with about 14 guys on a beach at 7 am waving long rods. I still have that picture in my computer room. We had fished side by side for a while that morning at Pine Point during one of the most brilliant sunrises I can recall. We make introductions and I offer to help him carry in some stuff. He says he doesn't have all that much and he gets it in one trip. We both then head over to Kim's cabin, (funny how the group had three cabins but only two of them were identified by a name, Kevin's cabin, Kim's cabin and ours.) to mooch more coffee and wait for others to arrive.

Not long after noontime there were about 12 guys in front of Rockwood cabin number 6 trying to figure out which pond to fish. Local rumor had it that Stevens Pond, (the name is changed to protect this legendary fishery), was bursting with 15 inch plus brook trout. Some chit chat followed and maps came out. There was talk of the best route and more rehashing of days gone by. I had discussed with Jason the cost savings of carpooling earlier and so my gear was stowed in his truck. He gave me a look and we got in and headed out. "I like to sit around and shoot the shit too," he said. "But I didn't drive all this way to do it. We can talk on the water, I came here to fish." I heartily agreed that I too, had come to fish.

The idea that Stevens was about 30 minutes away is just plain bunk. After having to drive all the way back past Greenville and down several side and dirt roads it would be closer to 45 at a minimum. Then there was the little issue of finding the pond. Jason and I navigated as best we could and after one false start arrived at what we were sure must be the path to the pond. Both of us having done a fair amount of fishing spot scouting in our day, we agreed that the map and path corresponded correctly. There was little if any regard to the fact that I am the most "directionally challenged" person that I, and now Jason, knows. I can read a map though and it did look right. Parking the truck we decided to hike in and see how far it was before dragging his pontoon boat and my float tube. Hiking in waders is not always pleasant and we wanted to have some idea how far it was before deciding whether or not to do so. After about a 5 minute walk we came upon a dead end at a campsite. There was a nice flat area for a tent and a fire pit all ready for wood and flame. The problem was, from where we stood, there was no pond in sight. Not having a GPS, and not wanting to bushwhack blindly in hopes that we would stumble onto the pond, we determined that we had been wrong about the path and that it must be further down the road. That being determined with utmost certainty, we hiked back out.

I don't know how long we drove that road looking at likely and unlikely paths, but after a while we decided we had to have passed it. Turning back and retracing our previous steps we met up with the others who had finally decided to get off the pot and fish. They seemed just as perplexed as us, but having seen that they had caught up to us about 90 minutes after we had left them, and the fact that we were still looking for the pond lifted their spirits. There was some question as to where it was and where we had been. Another path was tried, (for the second time), but this time a bit further. Then there was talk of a road a little ways back that seemed right according to the map. Jason and I knew that they were talking about the campsite path. We informed them that it had been searched already and was not the one we wanted. "Dead end, just a campsite."

At some point, (it is all a blur now almost three days later and I shudder to think of my memory in the future), we tried yet another road. With Jason and I in the lead, we ran into first, a truck with plates from some mid-western state, and further along, its owner. Windows were rolled down and greetings exchanged. Then there was the question of do you know where Stevens Pond is?" The fact that two, really fourteen since we were all together and looking, Mainers were asking an out-of-stater directions to a remote trout pond is ridiculously funny never occurred to me until now. And now I am laughing so hard at that fact that I have to just shake my head. Anyway, there we were asking this guy to show us the way and he says. "You go back the way you came and take the next right."

"You mean the one with the campsite at the end?" Jason and I both asked.

"Yep. That's it."

"Naw, can't be. We hiked in there and it just dead ends. There is nothing there."

"You guys hiked all the way to the campsite?" he asked.

"Yeah, nice little spot" Jason said. "But we didn't see the pond."

"Well," he says, "you were only about 30 yard from it."

Jason and I were almost as dumbfounded as we were disbelieving. We thanked the kind gentleman from away and relayed the news to the others. Turning the truck around and then getting back up the muddy lane proved entertaining, but we made it out. Back at the place where this whole search started some two hours before, Jason and I waited in the truck for the others to find what we had found. Nothing. Imagine our surprise when one of the guys, David I think, hollered out that he had found the pond. We just sort of looked at each other in utter amazement. It wasn't as if one of us had gone down and not found it, we both had. We had hiked in together and found the camp site. We had both stood on the edge of the campsite and been absolutely positive that there was not a path continuing on the other side. We had looked around and not seen water. This struck us as pretty funny and we would have loved to sit there and have a good chuckle about it but time was getting short. We decided to gear up.

Hiking in last instead of first like we had originally planned, we finally got to the camp site we had found earlier. Again, the path just ended with no visible outlet. Knowing that the others would not go to such lengths just to poke fun at us, we took a few steps into the camp site. (5 to be exact) Lo and behold, off to the right was a path. Through the path, about 45 yards away, was water. We could not believe how we had missed it. We just kind of laughed and kept going.

Still in the process of actually getting into our water craft to fish, Dave yells out "fish on!" I stopped and watched from shore as he landed what appeared to be a nice little brookie. He later described it as "just this much shy of seven inches". Kevin made him tell how big it was several times later that night, much to the delight of the rest of us. The fish were there, and it appeared they would just about jump on our hooks. We got our craft in the water and headed out.

I would like to tell you that the fish did jump into our nets that night but I can't. Dave got the one brookie that was, "just this much shy of seven inches", and Geoff got one that was about 14 I think. And as far as I know, that was it. We pounded that small pond for about two hours, covering damn near every inch of it in the process and those, to my knowledge, were the only fish caught.

Later that night we all gathered to feast on Kim's chili and hear Dave tell about that one trout, again. There was talk of fish not caught by otherwise very good fishermen. This was all chalked up to the fact that Kevin steals your mojo. When Kevin is around, certain people can not catch fish. Kevin explained it as sucking everyone's mojo so that he catches their fish. After a nearly fishless weekend I would begin to believe this. Images of Caleb and Feta cozying on the couch are hard to shake and still make me laugh. The company was grand and I realized as I looked at all the tired but happy faces around the room, that I need not have worried about "fitting in" at all. We all had the same sickness.

Day Two

Saturday dawned cold and early. Jason woke me up and headed out to make the coffee. It was a very short time later that we scraped our windshields of frost and headed out to the East Outlet. Upon arrival we found that we were the first to arrive. This was no surprise as it was still pretty dark out and with overcast and fog we'd have to be crazy to be out there. We were both; crazy and out there. The fog was so thick that one could not see the other side of the river. The sound of rushing water hung in the air and seemed to echo off the trees. For me, the feeling was almost electric, I had been anticipating this for a long time. Entering the water at beach pool was a little tricky. First, the water was cold. Second my brain had yet to tell my legs that they were awake. And third, there was some current; a really, strong, current. Tentatively stepping out to waist level I witnessed Jason in the act of falling in. He came up ok but he got pretty wet. He took it all in stride though and went right back to casting. We fished that pool for over an hour and caught no fish. I had a couple takes on the surface but nothing brought to hand. Jason and I were joined Jarod and helped him with some leader material and fly selection and he was casting away with the rest of us soon enough.

A while later Jason moved off down river and I moved to his spot. You never know what the other guy missed. Nothing, apparently as I fished that spot without a hit for another 45 minutes or so. It was at this point that I noticed that I was shivering, freezing in fact so bad that I could no longer concentrate on anything. It took me a minute to realize that I had not eaten since Kim's chili the night before. I had no fuel and my body was telling me to get some. I stuck it out for a little longer but finally went to the truck to warm up and eat a fruit bar. Jason came up about the same time as he was not only cold but wet as well, compounding the issue. With some fuel on board we gave it the old college try for a little longer but still I got nothing. Jason had found some nice water a little further down and I think he got one salmon.

Lunch brought many of us back together at the cabins. We hung out a bit and got warm as we ate. The afternoon session it was decided, we should all fish together. After some more discussion about what flies and at what depth we should all be fishing we headed out. Some guys were getting fish on large streamers and some on nymphs.

Nymphing is not for the normal fly-fisherman. Oh, it's a great way to take fish and some good one's too. But it involves none of the traditional casting one thinks of when talking of fly fishing. Kevin was sure that this was the way to big fish. Casting large streamers and letting them swing in the current was another technique that was used, as was ripping these same streamers through the current in a rather rapid cadence fashion. Kim was convinced that this was the way to big fish. Turns out, they both were right. The afternoon was perfect. Sunny, warmer than it had been in the morning and folks getting to know each other. I spent the afternoon fishing next to Kim. I figured he was older and wiser than I in the ways of trout and salmon. I hoped to pick up a few tips from him. Little did I know how often, and for how long, this would come back to haunt me. I was tossing and drifting a Woods Special. You know, the one I didn't buy at Beans? It turns out this was one of the "magic" flies that happened to be working. Thanks Jason for tying that up for me. After what must have been 45 minutes or so, I began to get discouraged. No fish had been caught anywhere near where Kim and I were standing. I had not even had any hits. Could it be that the fish were somewhere else? Could it be that I was that bad? Could it be that Kim was just going through the motions with me next to him in the hopes that I would go away so he could tie on the real fly and start catching fish? Was he protecting some secret fly? Ten minutes later I voiced these concerns to him. He assured me that I wasn't doing anything wrong and that he was throwing a large streamer he was sure would work. I felt little comfort in all of that since I was still catching nothing. I was beginning to think that maybe it was just the Kevin curse and that he had sucked all my mojo as well.

Another ten minutes later I had had enough and was going to go somewhere else. I cast out my line and began reeling it back onto the spool as I said the words I have regretted and heard echoed to me over and over and over again. "There are no fish here". Kim politely said nothing. Having my line reeled in I turned to get out of the water just as Kim set the hook on what would be the biggest brookie I had seen to that point. "There's no fish here..." he mocked me. Standing that close and looking at the beautiful large fish I was now convinced I had been wrong and that there were indeed fish there. I stuck around for "a few more casts". Kim's next cast landed a nice Salmon. Again he mocked me, "there's no fish here" he said. (For those of you who don't know where the "no fish here" comment came from, this is it. It is also impossible to relay in words just how perfect the timing was from me saying that to him hooking that first fish. I will eat those words for the rest of my life.)

The rest of the day was a blur. I caught no fish but met a bunch of guys along the river. Fished a bit with some of them and just generally felt good to be there. I would have preferred to catch a few of these large Salmon but figured since it was picking up as the day wore on, I would get one eventually. The day ended without me having caught one. I was still having the time of my life though. Russ had shared some smoked salmon from Alaska that was out of this world. I had met and chatted with Brian, a traveling nurse who spends half his year in Colorado just so he can ski on days off. I fished a bit with Alan and began what will be lasting friendships with several people. Fish or no fish, it was a good day.

Dinner was prepared by Al, a firefighter from "Away". Let me tell you, had I been told I would have turkey dinner with all the trimmings with a bunch of guys up in the woods, I'd have said your crazy. (I'd also have been just as wrong as to the location of fish to my proximity earlier in the day.) Everything was perfect. We all sat and ate and talked for hours. Young Tom showed up and he and I sat next to each other much to the dismay of the others. Most of them tried to get served before us as they were worried there wouldn't be enough left once it got by us. We all had a good laugh at the table about this and the final tally was that there was plenty of food to go around. We were all what my friend Kirk likes to say, "fat, dumb and happy", after such a great meal. Thanks Al, that was the best.

Having been a long day, sleep would come early that night. My fellow cabin mates pointed out, rather politely I might add, that I was a bit "loud" the night before. Seems my bed had some squeaky springs and every time I moved the whole cabin knew it. This was compounded by the fact that I tend to snore on occasion. (Sorry again guys). I think though, that everyone was so tired that we all slept without hearing a thing that second night.

Day Three

Dawn was cold again but not anywhere near as bad. I slept in a little since early did no good the day before. I went a little further down the trail today with Alan in the lead. Fished for a while and then walked way further down with Jason and Brian. Tom was already there and catching fish but didn't stay long as he had someplace to be. We nymphed and dried and streamered till we couldn't anymore then Jason headed back up the trail to try another spot leaving Brian and I. I think Brian finally did get one but all I got was a crayfish. Little bugger hit pretty hard but the fight wasn't all that great. Brian ran out of tippet so I gave him some and then I headed off to find new water. I ran into a deer that had been near the edge of the river a few hundred yards away and he looked at me and took off for parts unknown. I finally found a nice little riffle that looked promising. I had been two full days at this point and was a little disappointed at not having caught one Salmon. I caught one little small mouth that made my heart race and figured the water had been spooked so I headed up stream a bit. During that 30 yards or so I saw a flash. And then another, there were fish here! I steadied myself on a large rock and stood still for what seemed like forever then I saw it again. Now that I had pinpointed the fish I was able to see him, a rather large Salmon actively feeding about 25 feet away in heavy current. He would dart out from behind his boulder and grab whatever morsel happened to be floating by. This looked promising indeed. If ever I was going to catch that Salmon I came for this was it.

I tied on a big stimulator and dropped a copper john below it about 16 inches and cast above the fish. The drift was way off by about 5 feet and he never saw my offering. I cast again and got a better drift this time causing him to come out and take a look at the stimulator but not take. A third cast caused him to spook and he moved several feet down stream but closer to my position. I pulled in and tied on the Magic fly that Jason had tied and I had politely not bought at Beans. Cast past the lie he was now holding in and strip, pause, strip about a foot and another pause. Every pause was a second or two allowing the fly to drift closer to the waiting Salmon. A third strip and the fish moved towards my fly. I let it drift for an extra second right over where the fish was and BANG! He hit it. Then he proceeded to run way down river on me. Almost to my backing and knowing that I am going to lose this fish I was still satisfied that I had fooled him. I played the fish as quickly as I could and finally after a few minutes had my Salmon to hand. It was big, heavy and a beautifully hooked jaw. I had spent a while working for this fish and was so worried about the length of the fight that I let him go almost before I looked him over. And then it was done. My fish was caught and released, I had a story and a stupid grin on my face and it was time to go home.

I ran across Ray on the way out and told him of my fish. He seemed to share my enjoyment and I wished him well as I headed out to go home. Young Tom was at the trailhead and we chatted for a bit about my fish and the fly that took him. I had made a mark on my net handle to measure later and I showed this to Tom. He too seemed to understand my enthusiasm as only another fly fisherman can. He drove away, headed to another spot to fish and I headed for the truck.

Fully satisfied and with the sun finally shining brightly I headed for home. Secure in the fact that the guys all probably did think I was crazy but that was ok because they are too. It took several weeks to wipe the stupid grin off my face. I think it was just as much, if not more so, because of the camaraderie than the fish. These guys are indeed good, but they are a hell of a nice bunch as well. Happy with myself for having gone, I was already looking forward to 2006.

Author's note: I have fished fresh water very little since this trip as I have found the saltwater and its species more to my liking, but I will never forget this trip and the folks I met. Rockwood, and the fall outing, will always be one of my best and favorite trips even with just the one fish. Proves to me at least, the fishing may bring us together, but it is only a part of what we are seeking.

Certain liberties were taken in the completion of this story. Some locations were renamed and parts were left out in the order of brevity. I hope you understand. As fishermen, I think you will.