After reading up on the best place to start our trip downriver on the Connecticut, we opted for the “improved” boat launch in Lancaster. I think “improved” means that the grass has been pre-removed and any large rocks moved aside to allow a graceful descent into the 2 foot mud slide that will ultimately shoot your boat into the water hands free. Super creative engineering!
For folks who had trouble accessing the video link in my earlier post, try
I think half of being a flyfisher is a love for observation. Not just the changing weather or hatch clues, but the garages, the diners, and the pastoral relics that pepper the roads to water.
Trouble viewing embedded video? Try-
if you are interested in viewing more New Hampshire photography you can visit http://www.dirtshopstudio.wordpress.com
Set out on an overnight boat trip on the Lower Magalloway River starting at Wilson Mills, Maine (quick water) and ending just north of Errol, NH (wide flatwater).
In our search for trout, we failed. In the absence of them, we were able to embrace the reeling of the feisty river carp that were hanging over grass beds. Almost like sight casting, we were able to see them holding and cast woolly buggers to their immediate liking. I was surprised to see these fish rising and even more surprised to experience their spirited play on the reel. Sam caught the largest fish, peppering his stash with perch and a solitary smallmouth bass which he was very pleased with.
So we meandered down the river on day two looking for anyone willing to take a fly…hoping that we would be rewarded for our sportsmanlike adaptability and willingness to embrace the carp-copia…rewarded with one large brook trout who missed the let’s-get-to-cooler-water memo. But no such luck.
On a side note, when coming off the water we were approached by a lovely older woman who was driving through Franconia Notch while we were casting. She remarked that she thought our trio looked “quite picturesque” from the road. This is only because she did not have the exposure to the ridiculous talking, singing, and high-fiving that always infiltrate our outings.
She also remarked that “It looked like two of you were learning and one of you was an instructor.” Hmmm…now that’s an interesting riddle to try to solve.
On the way to First Bridge put in, Sam and I had the pleasure of hearing Michael Jackson’s “Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get enough. After some shoulder rolling, head bobbing and other embarrassing seated dance floor replications, I pondered that maybe this song was a good soundtrack for our recent fishing binge. We paddled the Saco from Conway to just above Davis Park and had good luck with woolly buggers. We split the bounty evenly, each catching two beautiful Brook Trout and two Rainbow Trout. The last fish was a devilish large one who, jumped and dove only to wrap my line and leader around a submerged tree. Sam (upstream of me in his kayak) was able to grab the line and pull him up by hand eventually nabbing him with the net. So, it is here, in trying to release this fish, that the true meaning of Mr. Jackson’s ode as it applies to our reality comes to light…this rainbow trout would not leave us. He hung around my knees and the kayak for minutes after being revived and free. It was, in fact, this large trout that was living the Jacksonian Dream. He just couldn’t get enough of these two interlopers, even as we tried to encourage him back to the deep. Don’t Stop ‘Til You Get Enough of these strangely dressed, curious folk. We like these friendly trout. Very hospitable.