While having to take well worn logging roads from the Penobscot River to Greenville you have to cross some bridges that if you took a second look, you would not even dare to cross with the number of holes showing. However, there are those that look like they have been built in this century and after crossing some bad ones, you just breeze across them at a rip roaring 20 miles per hour. Even at this break neck speed you cannot help to look over the side for some promising waters, a fly fisherman’s reflex I call it. After coming out of the state lands I crossed one such brook that was too good to just glance at and keep driving. This brook has water that once you laid eyes on knew held something just by the make up of it. Riffles and some very fine looking soft water that I key on for some wild Brookies to be hiding in. Good thing about Maine </ST1
is that you can stop any place anytime (just about) in the center of a road or bridge and get out, walk back and take a good long look over each side and put the stream to memory. This one particular brook was one that REQUIRED the time to wet a line in.
After making a few casts to where I believed would be good holding water, with the number of cross currents it was difficult to get any kind of a decent drift in the strike zones. I re-crossed the bridge; the currents on that side of the brook appeared to be slower. On the third drift from that side the oh-so sudden jerk of the rod that no small brook trout should have that much striking force to employ, a momentary stillness that followed and whine of the reel screamed in what was up until then a very quiet afternoon. Any slack line that was resting comfortably on the surface of the flowing brook was now taught and heading down stream in an ever so quickly fashion that your mind was telling the rest of the body to just hang on for the ride and you’re eyes to enjoy the up coming aerial show. I was not disappointed in the least but what transpired over the next few minutes which in my minds eye lasted much longer and longer in my memory from here on out of that Landlock Salmon for which I came all this way for to meet and found in an unlikely of all spots.
As always, happy to meet one of the original barnstorming Landlock Salmon of Northern Maine.
AK Skim
is that you can stop any place anytime (just about) in the center of a road or bridge and get out, walk back and take a good long look over each side and put the stream to memory. This one particular brook was one that REQUIRED the time to wet a line in.After making a few casts to where I believed would be good holding water, with the number of cross currents it was difficult to get any kind of a decent drift in the strike zones. I re-crossed the bridge; the currents on that side of the brook appeared to be slower. On the third drift from that side the oh-so sudden jerk of the rod that no small brook trout should have that much striking force to employ, a momentary stillness that followed and whine of the reel screamed in what was up until then a very quiet afternoon. Any slack line that was resting comfortably on the surface of the flowing brook was now taught and heading down stream in an ever so quickly fashion that your mind was telling the rest of the body to just hang on for the ride and you’re eyes to enjoy the up coming aerial show. I was not disappointed in the least but what transpired over the next few minutes which in my minds eye lasted much longer and longer in my memory from here on out of that Landlock Salmon for which I came all this way for to meet and found in an unlikely of all spots.
As always, happy to meet one of the original barnstorming Landlock Salmon of Northern Maine.
AK Skim
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