“The Judge” and “The Jury”



Not sure which hole is the Judge and which is the Jury, but one of these courtroom pools was lucky this morning. The verdict: 2 hearty rainbows and a miniature brookie.


My Dad casting in the morning fog…



Grass vs. Current

Fly Fish the Trophy Stretch: North of Northern New Hampshire

My Dad finds a break from the current on an miniature island along the Connecticut River under Murphy Dam. Giant grass is a friendlier obstacle when legs are tired. This spot is popular for good reason (see fisherman #4 approaching on the left). Beyond the opportunity to catch a variety of size and kinds of fish…this place is absolutely beautiful. Easy gravel bottom wading is a bonus and dancing grass on either side of the bank is a potentially hypnotizing phenomenon.

Doldrums Dreaming

New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Brook Trout, Uncategorized

Fish on at Ethan Pond.

It’s been hot and dry up here for a couple of weeks and my most loyal trout spots on the Ammonoosuc are silent. I mean deafeningly silent. Under water, on top of the water, in between the water…I can’t scare up anybody. And for those that do grace the top of the water briefly, well, they are picky and lethargic. Is this the proverbial “doldrums”? The psychosocial stress of it all has spurred dreams of Ethan Pond during the colder nights of early summer. How many weeks until September?

Casting Wall



Since I do not possess the muscular and mental grit to enjoy the punishing sport of long distance running…I can’t say for certain…but I might have hit the proverbial “Wall”. That is, the point at which you must refuel or regress. Moving onto still water as the rivers warm and shrink has been as frustrating as it has been exciting. I find myself working against me at every turn.
Reflecting on why fishing small ponds for trout is so diabolically maddening, I realize that there is a cognitive chaos that results in an inner frenzy. And if you have ever fished, whether spinning or fly, you know the following to be true; INNER FENZY=REALLY BAD LINE MESSES. As an intermediate caster who is far too easily excited by any fish movement in my peripheral, I experience the following cognitions in rapid fire succession (in no particular order);
-hurry up
-wait for it
-don’t force it
-just a little more
-don’t go crazy
-it’s almost dark

I think it’s time to refuel. For me, the casting “wall” represents a blend of psychological self abuse and a need for additional skills to temper my inner frenzy. Time for a lesson.

Why I buy Temple Fork Rods…


“Personally, we think the best advice is that it’s just fishing….so pick a rod, get in the sport and go have some fun. We’ll be here to help if you have any questions.”

This is the last line in on the web page after TFO’s courteous attempt to explain how the “action” classifications are determined. I love a company that embodies the John Dewey style of learning…just get out there and figure it out. I also appreciate their no-fault warranty ¬†(slammed the tip in the car door) which I had to audition last year. ¬†Absolutely no hassle. ¬†Lastly, they build a nice product that meets their claims of quality and performance.

Scouting Wading Spots on the Andro


Had a hard time of it today looking for spots to wade fish on the Androscoggin River. I finally ended up wading a secondary section in Cambridge NH, just below the bridge. Given the terrifying warnings posted regarding the potential occurrence of massive amounts of water being released upstream, I didn’t do too much walking. I fished for about an hour, trying everything that made any sense at all without an nudge. All in all, I left feeling like this is a BIG water for our corner of the country. While it seemed tenuous in a drift boat as a passenger, I can confidently attest that is it every bit as worthy of total concentration when seeking fish on foot.

Looking towards Milan. The dancing grass was pretty captivating…

Rebuffed, but not defeated.

Fishing the Old Wooden Fly Rod

New Hampshire Fly Fishing: Rainbow Trout

Nate fishes with a fly rod found in a defunct antique shop that now is his home. While watching him muscle this thing around on the river, I was grateful for my modern version. Much more forgiving for the lazy and less likely to result in a full on back ache at the end of the day. On another note, did I mention that his battered reel was a found item plucked from the woods? New Hampshire fly fisherman are special.