Ugh.... Getting up before the sun to go biking off into the sticks isn't really the most fun you could choose to have, but in today's case it was extremely productive. I started off my morning with a huge bowl of cereal before hitting the road. It was gorgeous out, and I passed up a few top notch spots with feeding carp. My intent was to do a more delicate fishing, far from road noise and homes. Riding down a dirt road in the dim morning light of a vast forest you almost expect to glimpse a Sasquatch peeking around a thick white pine.
When I reached the first location I recognized it as being a location stocked with a small amount of fish by the DEEP. It also clearly gets fished out by white bucket carriers very quickly. None the less the two first brook trout were quite clearly stocked. The next one was quite clearly not stocked.
|Now that is what I was looking for.|
Sight fishing for bluegills is fun, but I wanted to get back into some colorful wild trout. I went further up into the headwaters of the first thin blue line, finding fishing that required a lot of kneeling and crawling. It was rewarding none the less. Many of the feisty Native fish were not big at all, but I did hook and loose one that probably would have gone twelve inches. Size regardless, some of those fish are starting to slip into fall dress.
|Most of the fish were around this size, a good sign for the future.|
|This incredibly colorful little male nailed the Edson Tiger.|
For a while I biked about to see what there was to see. I climbed a big hill. I am sure the view would have been fantastic if it weren't for the thick new growth. On a small side trail I found what appeared to be remains from a long gone parking lot. In the woods there was evidence of foundations. Some of the asphalt had been used as a canvas. It made for a few good photos.
Further up the hill was a nice escarpment that looked like the perfect location to find a timer rattle snake. A very careful (and cautious) examination did not locate any of these rare reptiles, so back down the hill I went. Somewhere near the bottom I located a set of deep holes made by beaver dams. Had I snuck up on them I could have caught some very good natives, but as I did not even think they would be there I only got to see them briefly before they shot to the nearest undercuts.
Further down the road I came to a bridge over another thin blue line. Despite my best efforts I could not find any fish in it, so It was on to the next.
The next stream was similarly rocky, having worn down into a jumble of glacial eratics carried from the hills to the North. The biggest difference was the amount of water. More reliable springs mean plenty of fresh clean water and fat, healthy fish.
On the ride home I fondly looked back on the day's activities. I could hardly have hoped for better. If time cooperates I will be back out there when the eaves are no longer green and there colors match that of the Brook Trout.