Hey folks. Not sure where to put this, since it ain't trout, yet not quite Atlantic Salmon, either.
Fished a tributary that flows into Memphramagog. The water was as low as I've seen it. Overcast skies and a bit of fall in the air made for high levels of anticipation. For the first few hours, little action. I saw one nice fish that I couldn't get to move. Caught some little salmon and a brown, all on dead drifted nymphs.
I was having a ball just scrambling on the rocks and casting, mending, retieving, scrambling, casting, mending, retrieving. I continued in a hypnotic fashion until I was well downstream of the section with which I was familiar. Here, under a canopy of cedars, was a lovely green pool with shadows that flashed silver now and then.
I made several casts. Then, a big flash on the bottom. I struck, and the water exploded. A BIG landlocked got out of the water. Big splash on -re-entry. Then again - silver torpedo in the sky. And again. And yet again. At this point I am quite sure I was standing with my mouth agape and the rod at my side. I just couldn't believe it. My tippet was broke, and if I had said something, I would have stuttered.
After composure was re-gained, I tried a few more. After another 15 minutes, my fly line went upstream, I struck downstream, and I got a violent headshake. The thing circled around the pool twice. Then a leap. Then another, easily two feet out of the water. The slab of silver landed on a rock. This was my chance. The fish had knocked itself silly. It regained some strength for some headshakes, but I got it to shore where it would not fit in my trout net. I took some pictures, said a prayer (I am not religious), and let it go. 26" of fattened, beastly Vermont Landlocked Salmon. Unbelievable.
I love fishing.
Fished a tributary that flows into Memphramagog. The water was as low as I've seen it. Overcast skies and a bit of fall in the air made for high levels of anticipation. For the first few hours, little action. I saw one nice fish that I couldn't get to move. Caught some little salmon and a brown, all on dead drifted nymphs.
I was having a ball just scrambling on the rocks and casting, mending, retieving, scrambling, casting, mending, retrieving. I continued in a hypnotic fashion until I was well downstream of the section with which I was familiar. Here, under a canopy of cedars, was a lovely green pool with shadows that flashed silver now and then.
I made several casts. Then, a big flash on the bottom. I struck, and the water exploded. A BIG landlocked got out of the water. Big splash on -re-entry. Then again - silver torpedo in the sky. And again. And yet again. At this point I am quite sure I was standing with my mouth agape and the rod at my side. I just couldn't believe it. My tippet was broke, and if I had said something, I would have stuttered.
After composure was re-gained, I tried a few more. After another 15 minutes, my fly line went upstream, I struck downstream, and I got a violent headshake. The thing circled around the pool twice. Then a leap. Then another, easily two feet out of the water. The slab of silver landed on a rock. This was my chance. The fish had knocked itself silly. It regained some strength for some headshakes, but I got it to shore where it would not fit in my trout net. I took some pictures, said a prayer (I am not religious), and let it go. 26" of fattened, beastly Vermont Landlocked Salmon. Unbelievable.
I love fishing.