I have been battling a running injury, so with the camping I thought I could focus the recreation on fly fishing as opposed to running up and over mountains. That is, if Kate were up to it. I knew she would be, and she happily agreed to camp at Hastings Campground on the Maine side of the White Mountains, conveniently located near the Androscoggin and Wild Rivers.
Kate is still learning to fly fish and is eager to get better, but I still ruled out fishing every second of the day. This would not be like the trip I took last June with a few teacher friends: all guys, all hardcore fly fisherman, fish all day everyday and all conversations centered around which flies were best, other spots, stories of the one that got away and the one that didn't. You know the drill.
We arrived Friday afternoon and set up camp, picking a spot that was perfect: close to the bathroom but not too close, well away from a pack of twenty-something bros and, most pleasantly, literally surrounded by thick and bountiful blackberry bushes. We gorged on them the entire time and didn't even put a dent on the supply.
That evening we scoped out the Androscoggin a bit and decided to fish at a canoe launch near the bridge and just downstream a bit from where the Wild River trickles in. When the water levels are higher, I'm sure it downright flows in, but we haven't had any rain in a while.
This was a good area for Kate. Her waders are backordered so she could only wet wade in. The water was a bit chilly but the air was warm, so it was tolerable. She was able to cast far enough to give her a chance for fish, if it had been active.
But it wasn't. I fished the borderline of a current and landed a big chub. Otherwise, the fishing seemed slow and I have to be mindful of outstaying our welcome on the river with Kate, so after an hour I proactively suggested we head back and make dinner.
The next morning we were out at 8am, but this time we parked near the Wild River and hiked in to where it meets the Andro. Two guys were already here, sitting on the rocks catching a buzz instead of trying to catch fish. They saw me, looked guilty, and quickly got back to casting.
Another fellow showed up in our general area and there were two more downstream. Seven total. I wouldn't call it crowded, or even cozy given the amount of territory, but it wasn't solitude. I kept an eye on the others to see if they were catching anything. It's entirely possible that I missed it, but I didn't see anyone reel one in. After about an hour or two, it was just Kate and I.
I made my way upstream and noticed a brook trickling in on the other side of the river. I had to wade deep to get to it and somewhere downstream from the small inlet I hooked a fish, but he shook off. Drat. Shortly thereafter, a fellow and his wife armed with fly rods hiked down a steep cliff to the rocks on the other side. I sensed he was a bit bummed I was fishing the vicinity, especially since they could literally only fish from one spot, unless they wanted to get in and swim out to where I was.
After a couple of minutes, I relented the spot, as I wasn't getting any other action and had been thinking of moving back down to check on Kate anyway. After doing so, I noticed the water was especially cool in the break in the current from where the Wild met the Andro. I cast here, stripped the line, hooked a brookie and brought him in.
One time during the stretch, I remember the wind stopping and the textured surface of the water would turn to smooth glass giving me a clear view into the world below. I could see at least a dozen brookies, some only a few feet away, casually resting on the bottom with their tails slowly wagging in the light current.
Caught two more brookies and then went to get Kate. She was taking a break on the river banks, and I told her to tie on a size 10 black nose dace (what I was using) and come join me. But alas, the window closed as soon as it had opened. Kate will have to wait a little longer for her first trout. We then headed back to enjoy the campsite.
I fished another pool on the Wild River that evening but it was unproductive. What sealed the deal was when I saw a winged insect, perhaps a moth, get caught on the top of the water. It fluttered around and around, towards the center of the pool and back to the side. No way a trout would have been able to resist that. I took that as a sign to call it good.
We headed home the next morning. A great weekend, and Kate had fun fishing even though she didn't catch anything. Her forward casting has improved big time and she was happy about that. She had better form than some of the guys on the water. Only a matter of time.
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| One of three brookies. |
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| Blackberries abound |
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| Kate casting on the Andro. |
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| Local sausages and corn over the campfire. Can't beat it! |
Area: Large river.
Water: Clear, cool (upper 60s?)
Weather: Lower 50s to lower 60s, sunny.
Time: 8am-12pm
Flies: Black nosed dace (size 10), bird's nest muddler (size 10)
Fish: Three brookies, one chub.
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