“Let’s pack a lunch and go on an expedition tomorrow,” I told Vikki.
“Let’s pack a lunch and go on an expedition tomorrow,” I told Vikki.
“Where are you taking me?” was all she asked.
“Let’s try to find some brook trout for dinner,” was my reply.
“Let’s pack a lunch and go on an expedition tomorrow,” I told Vikki.
“Where are you taking me?” was all she asked.
“Let’s try to find some brook trout for dinner,” was my reply.
So we packed a lunch and a fishing rod and headed into the woods, following forest roads that diminished from graded gravel to ruts and rocks. That’s why I was driving a four-wheel drive truck with 10 ply tires. If you have high clearance, you can go down just about any rutted pathway where your truck fits between the trees.
This theory was put the test as we turned on a logging road leading to a trout pool someone once described to me. I hoped we could drive, then hike along old logging roads to the stream. The logging road narrowed, appearing to be kept open primarily by ATV traffic. We continued, climbing a ridge and dropping down the other side into the stream valley, where the road ended in an aspen thicket. On the edge of the thicket was a black spruce swamp and somewhere in the midst of it was the stream.
I knew the swamp was downstream from the honey hole we were seeking. Instead of taking Vikki on a nasty swamp march, with a likely outcome of not finding a place to fish, I decided to continue this particular exploration at a later date. Not far away was another trout stream with a good pool to fish.
Actually, it is more of a pond than a pool. In the spring, hungry brook trout congregate where the creek current runs into ponds like this one. I was hoping to find some. If not, it was still a fine place to enjoy the day. Vikki found a comfortable place to sit and I started fishing.
My first offering was a garden worm suspended beneath a float. I let the float carry my offering in the current, but didn’t find any takers. Next I tried casting a tiny Red Eye, which attracted a few minnow followers. Vikki got bored and walked back to the truck. I finished up with a few casts using a miniscule crawfish-colored Rapala, which looked good to me, but apparently not to the brook trout.
Continuing on, the forest roads improved as we approached, if not civilization, at least more traveled backcountry. We stopped and looked for rocks (one of Vikki’s favorite pastimes) in a gravel pit, marveling at what may be the world’s largest inuksuk—three huge boulders stacked atop one another like a stone snowman. While we were there, a couple of trucks and an ATV passed by—the first people we’d seen in several hours.
We ate our sandwiches at the gravel pit and then took by choice the long way home. The shadows were growing long and, hopefully, some wildlife would wander out to the road. We’d seen a few moose tracks and wanted to encounter one. Unfortunately, our luck for catching brook trout and seeing moose was the same—bad. We saw a few grouse (including five in a half-mile stretch), a few ducks, a pair of geese and two beavers.
Maybe next time we’ll see a moose or catch a couple of brookies for dinner. I might even find that secret fishing hole. It won’t be long before Vikki and I set off on another expedition