I caught the first 6 by my house in a natural stream that anglers ignore. I didn't even go there to catch these fish - I was after carp, but the tide was in, the sediment thick, so I had to settle for these 6 different species of wild fish. I didn't see another angler because this isn't a fishery - it's not a destination, despite the weeping willows, the loveliness of the stream, the reality and challenge of the setting, the plentiful fish. It's not a trout stream. Here are some of the wild fish:
|Quite a chunk, this fish went air-borne twice.|
|One of the prettiest fish I've seen.|
|If these fish grew to 6lbs I'd buy a flats boat.|
|Sunny, midday, August. A world record?|
Afterwards I made the long drive to fish the Farmington in the afternoon with Zakur and Don, and it isn't even Thanksgiving. These two guys know the pace of a river; that catching doesn't really matter. Sometimes sitting by a river, catching up, is better than fishing it, and this is true of the Farmington in August. It's a great trout stream when the stocking truck's been, but despite its relative beauty, it's something of a limp affair in the dog days. We caught a handful of this year's stockies and a bucket full of salmon par, each delicately fried in cornmeal, held by the tail and consumed whole. We had a jolly time, but the fishing wasn't what you'd call good.
|It looks like a trout stream, but is it?|
|Real wild flowers?|
|Don and Steve. They are real.|
Like a stocked brown trout, by August my brain has re-calibrated from the lusts of spring. By mid-summer I need natural rivers and wild, weird fish.
See you by the old Mill.