FFC Blog Roll

I fished New Hampshire and Vermont last weekend. The first night, I camped in Twin Mountain, New Hampshire. It is about 20 minutes north of Franconia Notch. Before fishing Profile Lake (so named for its position below a rock outcrop known as the Old Man in the Mountain that collapsed in 2003), I stopped at a collectible shop. The owner was a woman who was 90. She looked 70. This lovely lady grew up in Twin Mountain and was a World War II vet. She was also a fly fisher and was kind enough to give up one of her favorite spots behind a church built entirely of river rocks. I tucked that away for the morning and left for Profile Lake.

I inflated my belly boat and fished the evening hatch. Nothing was happening when I got there so I enjoyed the 4000 foot peaks that ringed the lake. At about 6:00 p.m., the brookies started sipping in the film. The rises were everywhere. I put on an 18 parachute caddis and caught scores of eight inch brookies (some stocked, some wild but all were colored up and gorgeous). There was talk of a Hex hatch. I did not see it. But when I left at dark, I saw the silhouettes of large bugs in the air.

Franconia Notch

The next morning, I fished a deep pool behind the stone church on the Ammonousic River. The river is really a brook so I took my 6 foot 5, 1 weight. There was a pretty good rise on the far side of the pool. The fish came up a few more times. I put my fly in its lane, and he rolled on it. I could see his orange belly when he turned. He felt like a bruiser on the light rod. After a valiant fight, I was holding a lovely 10 inch wild brookie. I caught a few small rainbows and packed it in.

We fished the Connecticut the next morning. The water temperature was 70 degrees and there was almost no surface activity. Doug caught 3 healthy walleye. I caught nothing. I became bored and took a rest on an island. I found the skeletal remains of deer with some of the hide intact. I convinced Doug to check it out. Amazingly, he did not share my fascination with this still rotting critter. We gave up on the Connecticut and moved back to Passumpsic.

Connecticut Skull

Both of us thought that yesterday's luck would follow us. It was not to be. The Passumpsic was not giving up its secrets. After an hour or so, we stopped and rested on some aged driftwood. We both complained of wading pain in our backs. I joked it was time for back support belts like you see the guys wearing in the big, box stores. We threw in the towel and limped back to the truck. I dropped Doug at his house and made the 3 hour journey home.