 I engage in two types of fishing, both for “trout.” The first is pure sport fishing. I fish for selective feeding, invasive, wild brown trout. These fish are not native to Connecticut. They have overrun certain waterways and have the ability to adapt and survive even when the water warms in the summer. The second type of fishing is for native wild brook trout. Technically not trout, they are part of the char genus. Here, my focus is entirely on small streams and headwaters of larger streams and rivers. This type of fishing is part sport, part spiritual, part philosophical contemplation and part medicine. They are the most beautiful fish I have ever seen. Pound for pound, they fight like no other fish. They are spooky hunters, conditioned for survival. I’m in awe of them. In shallow, narrow streams, threats come from everywhere. Snakes, birds and other animals look for them. Warming waters choke them out of habitat. Streams dry up. Yet, they have continued to populate Connecticut for some 10,000 years. When I have the opportunity to hold one and gently return it to the water where it was taken, I’m healed and rejuvenated. They are a spiritual salve that heals the soul.  One recent day in early March, I headed out to a first order, unnamed stream very deep in a Connecticut forest. There were virtually no signs of fishing pressure, which is the kind of place I prefer. I stumbled upon a nice deep pool, as the stream curved and meandered through the forest. The water was gin clear. I did not see any fish upon my approach. Yet, this pool had all the attributes of holding a native wild brook trout. With an upstream presentation of a soft hacked wet fly with an overly long tale, I wondered if my freestyled fly with an orange hotspot resembled the kind of snack found in and around this pool. Several casts and retrieves in higher water columns revealed no fish life. On my next cast, I allowed my fly to descend to a more significant depth, and it began to fall deeper into a snaking flow of water between boulders almost on the stream floor. An inquisitive wild native brook trout emerged from a boulder to investigate and to sample the feathered delicacy… Of significance, this brook trout was a survivor. Not only have he and his ancestors negotiated an ever changing landscape for some 10,000 years, but he wore the signs of an obvious struggle. With scars on his left and right flanks, he escaped the talons of one or more predators. He is a true, courageous survivor, cloaked in beautiful colors…  Pencil sketch by Michael D. Day Recommended by my friend and fellow fly fisherman, Ted, this is the second George Black book I've read, and it was wonderful. I'm a fan of local history, and this entire book takes place in my home state of Connecticut, centered predominately around three rivers. Black discusses the American industrial revolution around moving, clean, cold water, places where trout thrive. He highlights the often shadowy struggles of stake holders laying claim to the management of such waterways. I was particularly impressed with Black teasing apart the murky line in the trout “conservation” world between stocked waters with invasive trout (such as brown trout) and our wild native brook trout.
I recently fished an unnamed tributary to one of these rivers, and it was nice reliving part of this book. It was especially rewarding stumbling upon a thriving population of our wild native brook trout that seemed to navigate many challenges over time, from an industrial revolution, to warming water, to competition with predatory, invasive fish. |
