By Leo LoVerde
Not too many things get me excited these days. I’ve had my share of life’s successes and failures often thinking I may have rounded the bend towards the crossroads of my life. My father, who at an earlier time in both our lives, always found time to take me fishing. He’d often tell me through our conversations, a person needed one perfect thing in their life. Aside from a wonderful lifelong companion like my Mom or that dream job, I needed to discover that singular passion delivering balance throughout my life. For me, fishing has always been that passion and the one constant which always gets me excited. I still remember the first fish I ever caught when I was just five, a half-pound catfish while Dad instructed me on how to dip a cane pole into a pond. Most kids go to sleep dreaming of smacking a baseball and knocking in the winning run, while I would often dream of my simple red and white bobber slowly being pulled under by mysterious creatures.
Much of my New York childhood was spent exploring the outdoors in The Adirondack Park with my family and friends. The memories hold a special place in my heart to this day. Trailblazing to Florida, college degree in hand, I’ve never second guessed my decision to devote my life in pursuit of limitless warmth and sunshine. However, I often yearned for those cooler summers spent hiking and fishing in the park. Since 1995 I have returned every two years in hopes of reviving the country cognizance instilled in me all those years ago.
2012 would be different, a first for this writer. Longing to add a more transcendental flavor to the mix, I would be going solo. Before embarking on this much anticipated trip, I had planned for many things. However, writing this journal was not one of them. The light bulb moment appeared as my first day in the Adirondack’s came to a close. I had packed my iPad for purely entertainment purposes. What began as an after-thought had quickly turned into a grand idea and an opportunity to reflect on my total experience.
Such a Fluke!
Tuesday June 19
Albany, New York was a warm eighty two degrees when I arrived just before noon. My flight and layover in Atlanta went off without a hitch, deploying the positive vibe I look for when travelling. Feeling inspired, I decided to upgrade my rental to a Mercedes sport utility. It handles so well, is so very quiet, and who doesn’t look good in black? The drive upstate was wonderful, nothing but blue skies. I pitted at a few spots along the way, using rest facilities, and snapping a few pictures of the Adirondack foothills.
My first official stop was Jones Outfitters and Fly Shop located in Lake Placid, just north of my final destination of Keene Valley. I spoke with Matt, a clerk/guide there, and picked his brain for the latest fishing conditions and hot spots. After purchasing a N.Y. fishing license and some wet flies, I promptly drove the fifteen miles to unpack at the Keene Valley Lodge, grab a bite, and test the fishing reports. So little time, so much fishing to do.
Before setting out to fish, I delighted in a signature dish of veggie lasagna at ADK Cafe in Keene. A popular spot for visitors and locals alike, they pride themselves on using locally grown ingredients applied to unique and flavor filled recipes sure to awaken even the dullest of taste buds.
With new found energy, I
the mile or so to try my luck at Hulls Falls, the place where last I broke a rib and much more two years ago. Like a fool, I had slipped on a rain soaked rock, dispatching both feet out from under me. I came to rest on a large protruding boulder; the impact of landing on my back forced my diaphragm to spasm and empty. After putting myself back together, I began to fish through the pain with the help of my body’s adrenaline, landing three lovely rainbows. With three days still remaining in my visit, I was determined to continue until the pain over ruled my foolishness. Reckless still, I drove a couple of miles to a slower stretch of the Ausable River’s East Branch, catching and releasing a pair of respectable brown trout. The emergency room would have to wait.
Convincing myself that it was a fluke in 2010, there was much to prove.
Reintroducing myself to a set of familiar rocks, I caught and released two rainbows and a brook trout. A welcomed sense of relief, part calming and part I told you so, washed over me. With daylight fading, I made my exit, taking my time scrambling up the steep rocky bank. A much needed sleep in the spartan room #6 at the Lodge looked awfully good. Travel days are always the toughest.
PS 2010 was just that, a fluke.
Wednesday June 20
Wanting to sample the Lodge’s breakfast, to see if it was as good as I’d remembered, had much to do with my late start. Besides, what better way to fuel up for a long day spent in the outdoors, than over a smorgasbord of tasty homemade treats?
Temperatures were unseasonably warm, and with the Ausable River water levels low, it made for tough fishing. My favorite area on the furthest end of the western no kill zone, where I’ve caught a four pound brown before, was busy the entire day with other anglers. I could only watch and be envious from afar. I didn’t see a single fish pulled from the hole and I knew I could do better. Maybe, I’d get my chance later in the day when any variation in the conditions could spark an improvement. Spending most of the afternoon vainly chasing down productive water, my fishing gear remained neatly tucked away in the rear of my rental.
Before dinner, birthday cell phone salutations from my gal Leslie confirmed two things; my choice to take a breather from fishing was a clever one, and that I missed her more than I dare admit. Lake Placid boasted more than a few fine dining establishments to satisfy my epicurean birthday requirements. A stellar meal at The Great Adirondack Steak and Seafood Company would do just fine. New Zealand green lipped mussels; prime rib, creamed spinach, smashed potatoes more than massaged my ego. Topping it off at Ben and Jerry’s with two scoops of Cherry Garcia delivered a happy ending.
Funny thing…when I approached the store front, it seemed abandoned. Here it was nearly ninety degrees and no one was buying the cool sweet pleasures sold inside. I stepped into an empty shop, the young female attendant parked on a stool at the end of the counter passing time reading a magazine. Soon after sitting down to enjoy my frozen treat, a family of five walked in followed by a few others. I spoke to the Dad of the fab five who opened that he and his teenage daughter had just completed the arduous climb up the region’s tallest peak at Mt. Marcy. The average climb takes upwards of twelve hours; however they finished in a very impressive eight and a half.
I returned to Hulls Falls, caught and released two more rainbow trout before driving back to the Lodge. With the windows powered down, I thankfully invited the evening’s first burst of natural northern air conditioning. After a deep breath or two, fresh alpine scents danced in my head, reaffirming that I had indeed come to the right place.
PS I’m having a really good time so far and it’s been a great birthday! I have a feeling the fishing could get better…we’ll see tomorrow.
PPS Warm temperatures make sleeping difficult. Being used to Florida air conditioning, my second floor room with just one window and oscillating fan was less than comforting.
Thursday June 21
A spectacular Luna Moth adorned the Lodge’s front door, as I slipped out before first light. Not having glimpsed such a large, exquisite creepy crawly, I was taken aback. It surely belonged in a scene out of the movie Avatar. It was that brilliant. This, coupled with a deer walking calmly across the road as I pulled out of the driveway, presented me with hope. Was it a good luck omen perhaps? Only time would tell.
As I drove towards the spot which had a no vacancy sign just the day before, I couldn’t help feel I was competing in a final stage of the Great Race. Twenty minutes later, I arrived just as the morning’s first strands of light gave way to the subsequent sunrise. Much to my relief, I was first in. After negotiating my way down the river bank, I drop shotted a green wooly bugger and caught the largest rainbow of my life. I’m guessing two pounds easy and approaching 20 inches. I followed that up with a very decent brown trout, and snapped a picture of each before releasing them.
Feeling my luck had changed for the better; I sped back to better the Lodge’s morning deadline to celebrate over a breakfast of oatmeal with all the accompaniments, scrambled eggs and toasted scratch whole wheat bread smothered in locally bottled orange marmalade.
After a second cup of coffee, and feeling impulsive, I drove to the Adirondack Park’s Wilderness Area to scale the moderate Mt. Joe. Using my newly fueled body to full advantage, I equaled my swiftest ascent ever at 57 minutes. The hike offers two options, the longer more intermediate one or a shorter more difficult ascent. Choosing the latter, I found the trail well marked, holding many fine examples of indigenous flora, and was lucky enough to see a chipmunk or two. After snapping some impressive photos, I texted and called Leslie from the summit. I could feel past demons vanish in the alpine mist as I later hiked down the longer less vertical trail feeling euphoric.
Driving back along a shade soaked road, a burly wood chuck scampered safely across the road. As he made his way into the long bladed grass on the road’s shoulder, I slowed to a stop, gently applying the brakes. From just a few feet away from the passenger side, this cute introvert crooked his head round, initiating a staring duel. I lowered the window for a better peek at this adorable creature when the buzzing spooked him past the tree line and out of view.
Celebrating with a late lunch at the Brown Dog in nearby Lake Placid, the best sandwich in town, I ordered Belgian ham on artisan whole wheat garnished with tomato chutney. Toppings included roasted red peppers, artichoke hearts, Swiss cheese and romaine. It took some effort to manage the first bite.
With my confidence and vigor restored, I took a chance the morning’s prime fishing location remained available. The drive was not a short one, as I had been really pounding the odometer. No luck, someone was there bullying the stream, so I headed back to Keene Valley. I made an unscheduled stopover at a newly discovered fishing spot which held a lot of fish, the Iron Bridge in Lake Placid. I hadn’t wet a line there due to heavy pressure, but the fish were there. As the gravel in the parking area spit staccato sounds beneath my tires, I was shocked to see the water unoccupied. Standing on the short and narrow bridge, I could see several trout in the gin clear water. With my heart now planted securely in my throat, I dashed the short distance to the car and retrieved my rod. Within minutes, and using a generic nymph, I hooked into a stout brown which eventually measured a lengthy 19 inches. Two teenaged boys arrived as I painstakingly landed the strapping titan. Acting like a giddy school girl, I politely asked them to snap my photo holding the prize. Five more browns were fooled by my efforts before the ruckus turned off the bite.
Returning to the Lodge by six, I showered and snacked on granola bars. Dinner would have been over doing it. I’d been eating way too much and plan to do something about that upon my return home. Sleep would drop in early once more, eager to greet the dawn.
PS The weather remains hot, a blistering 88 degrees today. Fort Myers checked in with a paltry 86.
Friday June 22
I fished at first light again, but this time back at Iron Bridge. After yesterday afternoon, it seemed a no brainer. I managed to catch two smallish browns on stone flies before more fly fisherman descended like a plague.
Taking time for breakfast in Lake Placid at the Dancing Bear, I then journeyed north to Wilmington, the winter alpine home of the 1980 Olympics, to introduce myself to the guys at Two Fly Shop. Both Tom and Dave were very welcoming. No matter where I’ve travelled, the camaraderie shared by fisherman never disappoints. I bought a few flies, tungsten split shots, and Tom turned me on to a quicker route back to Keene Valley. After explaining I was on the back nine of my visit, Dave (better known as Brookie) kindly offered me fly fishing lessons if I returned next year.
I took the new maiden drive back to Keene, spending much of the midafternoon fishing at Hulls Falls. After catching five rainbows and a brown, each smaller than the next, I lunched at ADK Café. Soaking in the local ambience, and lingering a little too long over a made from scratch lemon pie with a cup of Joe, I mulled over my options.
Recalling Tom’s suggestion, and touring the back roads, my adventure led me to the Wilmington Dam. The river above the dam looked inviting, so I snagged the last remaining position leading down stone steps constructed by the department of recreation, no doubt. Just before surveying the water, two teenaged boys brushed by me as they stepped into the river and began swimming towards the old stone bridge built in 1935 during the great automobile age. They climbed two thirds way up the middle abutment and proceeded taking turns leaping into the coolest parts of the river, causing quite a commotion, driving fish my way I believe. I told them so and thanked them on their way out. They looked a bit puzzled as they shook the river from their long locks like a Labrador retriever. I caught two browns and a rainbow while a few others nearby fished with worms. Only one person scored a fish, a small brown whose face soon was fettered to a stringer. The wily chap then retired to his folding chair, replaced his newly baited rod back in its tripod, and resumed tip watching.
Upon my exit, I chatted up a fellow fisherman in the parking area and we exchanged stories. He seemed a novice, so I ended up lending a tip or two along with a couple of my best producing nymphs.
I skipped dinner again, choosing to relax in my room and prepare for tomorrow. With the start of the weekend, there are many more fishermen about. I intend to stake out my favorite hole again in hopes of repeating my luck from yesterday morning.
PS The official catch total is 24! Eleven rainbows, twelve browns and one brook trout. Not bad right? My goal is to surpass thirty and shouldn’t be a problem.
PPS Weather is still hot!
Fathers and Sons
Saturday June 23
If Thursday’s Luna Moth is deemed a good sign, then I guess waking to see my lower left leg swollen down to and including the ankle is a bad sign. Unbeknownst to me, what I guessed was a spider, had left quite a bite mark at the top of my calf. More prickly than painful, I would monitor the bite’s irritable progress for the next week until my immune system fought off the effects. It would prove to be the only semiserious setback of the trip. Besides, I had a goal to reach, and anything short of another broken rib wasn’t going to deter me.
As planned, I began at daybreak on the West Branch of the Ausable with not a single fish on the rise and consequently no takes on the end of my line. To add insult to injury, my new utility forceps given as a gift from a close friend, broke in my hand while crimping a split shot. Although I had been pleased that the warm temperatures had eased, my angling luck was going south rapidly. Not wanting to waste time over unproductive water, I took my leave. Improved conditions or maybe enhanced karma would be my mantra.
After schlepping to The Two Fly Shop, I discovered Tom was late in opening up, so I used that time to grab breakfast there in Wilmington. After scarfing down four pancakes and a side of sausage links, at a hole in the wall named Up a Creek, I ordered an ice coffee to go.
Replacement forceps was on my short list at the shop. Pleasantries complete, I drove up the street to the Wilmington Dam to experience my initial stint below. Unpredictably, I had it all to myself. Had the worm turned? I caught and released a very nice brown as a Dad and his ten year old son arrived, who proceeded to fish with night crawlers. Much to my surprise, marked by a trace of jealousy, the youngster hooked and landed the largest brown trout these eyes had ever seen! With the Dad’s permission, I snapped a picture of “the kid” holding the stunning specimen.
The bite totally turned on and before it was all said and done, I scored two handsome browns myself. Not to be out done, “the kid” reeled in a bonus
brown himself, with Dad’s help of course. They had kept the initial behemoth for dinner plus that one, as I uncharacteristically gave mine over to the cause. All told, four oversized trout make for fine table fare most anywhere.
I stayed and continued fishing long after they had departed, with absolutely no luck. Go figure. Who knew that their arrival would spur such good fortune? I hung around for a while more, giving up the ghost of fishes past; steadfastly observing an elderly fly fisherman apply his artful craft attaching his offerings to eagerly awaiting trout scene after scene, act after act. I snapped a few pix of him along with some others enjoying the lazy afternoon in the North Country. Included amongst the midday revelers and day trippers was a woman painting a rustic landscape, capturing but a moment of our shared surroundings.
As the afternoon slipped away, my stomach trumpeted me back to The Great Adirondack Steak and Seafood Company. My hearty appetite had grown to the point; I was now on the feed. Dinner included Maine lobster salad over romaine with a pomegranate reduction, followed by French onion soup and an entre which shared an 8oz filet mignon with smashed potatoes, fresh steamed green beans and julienned carrots.
For dessert, I stopped by The Adirondack Candy Store for two dark chocolate coconut patties. With bag of goodies in tow, I walked the short distance to Mirror Lake, sat lakeside in an authentic Adirondack styled chair and took in the view. I enjoyed people watching as scores came and went. I ate my fill of the decadent sweets, saluting yet another banner day.
Soon after, I headed back to the valley for a much needed shave and shower. I’m feeling pretty good about myself, pleased there’s another full day of northern exposure!
PS Trout count is up to 27 and growing.
Sunday June 24
Unforgettable fishing at Wilmington Dam, at first light of course, heralding the finest day of trout fishing I’ve yet experienced. My first cast enticed a large brown and I proceeded to catch twelve more of his brethren before I was done for the day.
About an hour or so in, a very colorful fisherman named Steve joined in beside me. Turns out he was on a quest to supply dinner for some friends of his, who remarkably included the father and son duo I had met the day before. Fortunate to have caught seven beautiful browns by then, I told him so. We shared an anecdote or two, compared fishing gear, elaborating a bit too long seeing that the fish were so active. It didn’t take him long to net his first fish, break its neck, bleed it and lay it in the rocks. Quite a sight and one I’ll not soon forget. After speaking with him more and getting to know him, I decided he was a good egg…talked a bit excessively, but nice. Unsure if I was breaking some archaic catch and release etiquette, I pledged my future catches toward satisfying the appetite of his dinner guests. Steve gratefully accepted and we each caught two more large trout, his rainbows and my browns. This now completed a legal creel limit for a very joyful new acquaintance. I made sure to get a picture or two of this character. After Steve’s exit, I caught and released one more fish, making it ten for the morning.
Having done so well so soon, and warranting a reprieve, it was off to the Dancing Bear for breakfast again; so worth the drive. It wasn’t the Lodge’s blowout banquet, but the Lake Placid restaurant’s view of the village and water made all the difference. The panorama elevated to a crowd pleasing crescendo when a Mazda Miata road rally, numbering nearly thirty tricked out vehicles cruised by. Several children left their seats to get a closer look at the spectacle, with one freckle faced redheaded boy pressing his nose up against a window.
After eating my fill, I sat lakeside for a time before walking down Main Street to Jones Outfitters. The staff must have been fishing because they were tardy. Akin to a line at Ticketmaster, a handful of ardent fishermen, waited impatiently for the shop to open. It was past eleven now, with the scheduled opening at ten. I was heading back to Wilmington Dam anyway, so stopping at Two Fly Shop for the additional gear to get me through the remains of the day was not a problem. And, as it happened, Tom had been open for hours.
When I did get back to the dam, it was a ghost town. When you’re in the middle of a lucky streak, it’s best to go all in. I was playing with house money, as my second cast fetched yet another brown followed by its twin a bit later. Some say there are days when 10% of the anglers are catching 90% of the fish. I was smack dab in the middle of one of those days.
Just before I caught that second brown, two gentlemen began studying my play from atop of the dam, motioning to me in pantomime. Guessing their inquiry elicited a fishing report, I set my rod down and walked up the narrow catwalk to brag a bit about my morning and explain the fish now seemed off the feed. Speaking with thick French Canadian accent, they spoke of their less than news worthy search for fertile fly-fishing waters. Unlike typical fisherman protecting trade secrets, I unceremoniously exposed the deep dark classified details…the trout were stacked like cord wood below the dam! They left filled with optimism and returned a short time later, each with a fly rod in hand. Soon, we were fishing side by side when I hooked and landed a very nice brown. Before I could release the beauty, the taller of the two took my photo. They seemed genuinely happy for me and satisfied in the fact that I wasn’t telling tales about how good the spot was. I sat down pleased with my efforts and offered them free reign to fish the pool. Unfortunately, during the course of nearly an hour, they suffered through a long feeding lull probably due to the midday sun and blue bird skies. Clearly frustrated, they broke down their gear and headed up the fifty feet or so. Before getting out of ear shot, all the while speaking French to each other, they stopped long enough to thank me and announce their gratitude in finding a new best place to fish.
Taking a moment to collect myself, I perused what little tackle I had to see what may best convince a trout that doesn’t want to eat, to actually eat. I decided to slow things down a bit, settling on my go to bait. A larger profiled black wooly bugger became my choice. Hunches sometime pay dividends and this was no exception. I caught my largest fish of the week and it would ironically be my last. What’s that popular theory? To catch a big fish, you need to use a big bait? The axiom seemed to hold true this afternoon.
My total for the day pushed to 13 and stretched my five day total to a whopping 40!
Soon after, the sky became cloudy and overcast. Better fishing conditions for sure, but I had taken a much needed respite on a flat rock a few feet from the river and peeled off the wrappers on a pair of energy bars. A few moments later, an hour before calling it quits and heading in the direction of Keene Valley, a middle aged fly fisherman made his way into the water, eyeing me as if I was the intruder. He went about his business generating majestic moves with his fly rod, snapping the colorful line to and fro as if conducting a symphony orchestra ringing forth a pied piper rising of trout. He made his way closer, slinging his carefully chosen fly across the cool damp air with each carefully placed step. When he finally encouraged a take, he turned and grinned, making me uncomfortable. Was it the joy of the catch or because he thought himself better? I had to talk to this guy! I walked closer to him, as far as I could without wading in the river myself, yet easily within shouting distance. The noise from the water rushing over the dam made listening difficult. Commending him on his luck, I made mention of my earlier accomplishments, and noted that for some reason the area below the dam was thick with fish. Fish were rising, some jumping out of the water and even some leaping unsuccessfully into the flow of the dam as they do instinctively to navigate up a natural waterfall.
Flashing back to the morning when I had been speaking to Steve, he’d solicited a theory as to why all the fish were at the dam. He guessed these weren’t ordinary stocked fish from this year’s brood, although some may have been. These fish were seeking cooler, more oxygenated waters and this was the ideal place. The rushing dam water was not only cooler, but furnished a higher quality compared to the warm weather’s effect on much of the brown trout’s healthy habitat and lower than normal river levels. Having presumed these fish were a mix of native and stocked, with many traveling quite some distance to the dam, his notion made sense and was verified when Tom gave me the same explanation. I relayed this information to the intrepid fly guy which began a short but meaningful conversation concerning our shared success.
I invited him to widen his casting range, tossing his offerings where he may, as I wanted to continue my snack break. Favorable was his reply, followed by a head nod, such a man thing. He caught four more before I left for dinner, and just before packing up, something interesting happened. You see, he would catch a fish and release it and then we would shout superlatives to each other, which were all well and good. While spotting his fly land safely on the surface, and witnessing the willing trout engulf his fly, I also observed how intensely focused he was. His upper body hunched over, oddly coiled and ready to rear back as he single-mindedly watched his line and fly work its magic. This is when I spotted a fish rise to his right, just out of his peripheral. Feeling confident, I shouted “at your ten o’clock” denoting the position of a current rise. Without hesitation, and after just two strokes of the rod, he deftly laid the fly on the money before the ringlet caused by the fish had rippled away. Bam…fish on! Then, as he played the fish, he looked over in my direction and asked, “Who are you, God”? I laughed and shouted back, “No, but this is Heaven”!
On my way out of Wilmington, I stopped to speak with Tom. I needed to thank him and everyone at Two Fly Shop for all they had done for me. Selfishly, I also wanted to show him the picture of my final and largest brown trout. He liked the picture so much that his request for a copy to post on the shop’s website made me smile from ear to ear. How great was that?
Seemingly, having a mind of its own, my car piloted me to Keene and the ADK Café for the last of my dinner excursions. I felt like a regular by now, and was treated as such upon entering. I dined on half a roasted free range chicken with sides comprised of an individual mini crock of mac and cheese along with thickly sliced cole slaw, which only can be described as the perfect addition. As I neared completion of my meal, the chef/owner, whom I had befriended earlier in the week, appeared tableside asking if dessert would be an option. How could I resist sampling one of his homemade pies, especially since he offered to warm a slice and add churned ice cream? Coffee never felt as inferior as when he later arrived holding a warmed piece of plum pie saddled with a generous scoop of vanilla. He chatted for a few minutes about the importance of diverse flavors incorporated in his dishes, and it became easy to see why the café had done so well with loyal customers returning season after season. Later, as I drove away just before dusk, I found myself in extremely good spirits, safe in the knowledge I had just spent one of the best days of my life.
PS Feeling whole again.
Too Bad…So Sad
Monday June 25
I slept in for the first time since Wednesday. Sleep came easy as the temps finally dropped along with some rain, waking me more than a couple of times. I’m sure the trout had been having their fill long before I doggedly dragged myself out of bed. Funny how slow your body moves when you have less things to look forward to. I hadn’t planned on fishing today and realistically, how could I approach matching Sunday’s achievements? Some may think me a spiritual man, so there was little chance I would even step near a stream today.
In the seminal moments before drifting off last evening, I decided to spend a good chunk of my final morning maneuvering the culinary landscape of the Lodge’s marvelous breakfast. And, staying near Keene/Keene Valley with the outside possibility of slogging to Lake Placid one more time seemed a better more relaxing option than immediately trekking south on Route 87 towards the Albany Airport for my late afternoon flight back to Fort Myers. So, that’s what I did. The events of the day, before I finally stepped on Florida’s damp and soggy post tropical storm Debby’s soil, failed to approach the excitement I’d felt the previous days. More significant however, was the sweet sentiment felt, as I recalled some of the week’s special moments. They rapidly replaced any lament I may have had about leaving such an enchanted locale. I guess when you take fishing out of the equation for avid fishermen; the moments before departure seem distorted. I did however; share a nice conversation at breakfast with a mother and daughter who were at the front end of a week to rewire their bonds. The daughter now lived in Maryland while the Mom still hailed from Indianapolis where coincidently, Leslie spent her childhood.
And, I did take that final run to the Olympic Village in full shopping mode in search of a t-shirt or two with a trout print, but my frenetic search yielded nada. Was it because of time’s constraint or was the cloudy sky, about to open up once more with rain, the object of my funk? Whatever the reason, I couldn’t help but feel a little depressed about the curtain slowly dropping on the last remaining moments of my trip.
PS It was all good. After all, hadn’t I just spent the last seven days in heaven?
Just a Morsel
As you can see, with the exception of my final travel day, the length and detail of my writings have increased exponentially with each passing day. Rarely does life treat anyone so well as to give them one day better than the next for any length of time. I’ve tried to put into words most of the experiences of my trip, mainly centering on fishing. These are but a fraction of a total so enjoyed, it will take weeks for me to absorb all the wonderful details that have so enriched my life these past few days. The summer of 2012 will be forever bookmarked as a true highlight.
Here’s just a morsel…on my way back to the Lodge to pack my bags, I was stopped at a temporary traffic light due to some ongoing repair alongside a marshy area injured by Hurricane Irene. Just off to my left, I spotted a beaver faithfully towing a freshly gnawed tree branch across a tiny pond to his home. Cool right? Just a morsel.