A Brookie Tail

A Brookie Tail

https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7V08K3qed...xLenHarris.jpg

This photo was taken of the stream about 20 years later way down stream.


My biggest small stream brook that was real and not a pond escapee was 17 3/4 inch female and caught in a tiny stream nearly at its source between two large beaver dams. She was very drab colored. She fought like a huge brown. The stream was not deep but she hunkered down hard on the bottom.


It was 1984. I was fresh out of the Army. I found the stream by giving a young lady a ride home after I met her at a local festival. She was a hippy girl or natural food person as the locals call them now. Her family had lived in Chicago and moved to the area to get away from the crime and bustle of big city life. Her family moved into a large commune in rural Crawford County.


I drove down a small non-paved road to drop her off. She had me turn off the headlights as I neared the commune site. I could see small houses everywhere. Some were nothing more than shacks. I got out of the vehicle to walk her to her home. We talked a short time and I left. I stopped to listen before I got in the car because I heard an odd sound. It was the roar of a large spring. I put a red flag in my memory to investigate here at a later date.


I never reconnected with her but the giant spring on property intrigued me. I did a drive by during the day time. It was hard to see through the willows but I saw beaver dams and lots of them. My trout radar was on and a smile came to my face. There was one dam near the commune that was a wow discovery. The enormous beaver dam made my eyes nearly pop out of my head.


It took a communal elders meeting to get permission to fish the land. It was worth jumping through the hoops to get permission. At the meeting I had to promise to not bring anyone else with me to fish and I had to let go everything I caught.


It was before my camera phase of my life. It also was before my "I need a net" phase.


I went way downstream and fished up to the giant beaver dam. This stream was tiny and I could easily step over it in most places. I questioned my evaluation of this stream as a potential brook trout bonanza at first. I took a temperature and saw a solid 50 degree measurement.


It had promise and I was going to do the right thing and hit it hard. Every nook and cranny was to be fished I thought. There were many smaller dams during this trek. I fished each one meticulously as I ventured to the swimming pool sized hole on this tiny trickle. I had visions of giant brook trout dancing in my head. I was as giddy as a kid waiting for Santa. The elders of the commune had told me "No One" had fished the area for decades.


The beavers had really made this stream treacherous. The sharpened off willow remains made by the beavers were very dangerous. It was fall and it was 75 degrees outside. I was near the source spring and the stream temp was 50 degrees. I remember the water being so cold it made my hands hurt when I measured the temp.


I was doing really poorly. My visions of giant brook trout were dashed about 300 yards earlier. Each beaver pond on the way up was devoid of trout.


I skipped a couple ponds and runs near the top to get to the huge beaver dam. I fished the dam hard for 40 minutes with no takers. It was at least 10 feet deep. A couple of the kids from the commune came to see if I had any luck. They told me the residents of the commune frequently swam and bathed in the big beaver dam.


I sat on the edge of the dam and was very disappointed. I had caught only 2 tiny brook trout on the 3 hour march through the willows and remains of willows the beavers left. The sharpened willows had punctured my waders on the ankle. I was defeated and quite bummed. I was really spent and looked at the way to get to my vehicle the easiest.


I was about to leave and thought I should fish the couple stretches I had walked by when I leapfrogged them to get to the huge beaver dam. There were 2 small beaver dams and I had zero success in them. The last little stretch I had not fished was there. I was about to thrown in the towel and head diagonally back to the truck...but I decided to toss in there to complete the stretch and do the adventure justice by hitting every area that could hold a decent fish.


I tossed into beaver dam debris. Some of the sharpened willows had come loose from the dam above and formed a labyrinth at the head of the run. I thought I was snagged on a willow and audibly cursed because the lack of success this stretch yielded. It had such promise and was not delivering. Before that thought and swearing could subside the snag began to move. This battle still brings a smile to my face when I think about it.


The trout would not move off the bottom. I put a little pressure on it and it flipped up on its side and I saw the unmistakable red and white of brook trout fins. I got really nervous then and slowed my roll some. I wanted to get this huge brookie to hand. It did a power run and got into the beaver dam debris and rolled a couple times around beaver sticks. It was hopelessly tangled in them. I went in the run to unhook her.


Immediately I realized the run was deeper than I thought. The 50 degree water went over my waders almost immediately. I had to tip toe just to just keep my head above the water's surface. It shallowed up as I got closer to the trout. I took me quite some time to untangle her. I laid her against my rod to get a measurement to check later. It was between the final two letters on the rod's marking. I sent her on her way and crawled out of the stream. My adrenaline had served me well while trying to land and untangle this deep light colored behemoth female brookie. Now the adrenaline was fading and I had waders full of 50 degree water. I took off my waders and got rid of the freezing water and put them back on and headed to the truck with a smile on my face.

I have returned to this beaver dam paradise a few time through the years with very limited success. It always tortures me as I drive by the area to this day. It had such promise and never panned out. You win some and you lose some literally.


Since then the stream has risen 6 degrees and gill lice have exploded in the stream. It has been taken over by browns...not many.

Thanks for the story, Len. I enjoyed the heck out of it. Reminded me of my younger days of bushwhacking just for the promise of the ONE. (A culvert over county GG was a ONE spot) Now I can barely wade the Little Wolf without my Folstaf and outriggers. ;)
Peace ~ Mark

Super story, Len. I kept wondering which fly you were using. . . The insight provided about building relationships with landowners applies to private streams and ponds. ~Rever