Kneeling in the grass just short of a small section of exposed gravel I remained motionless watching the head of the pool for a rise. The grade dropped about 12 inches where the stream boiled over a small boulder then was abruptly confronted by the root base of a huge maple tree. The maple looked as if it had been guiding this little stream in somewhat the same fashion for eons, since it was now surrounded by white birch and hemlock, all much younger in years than the tree now holding desperately on to its bright crimson and gold leaves. Where I knelt was along a riffle just below the maple pool and just above a hemlock pool that switched back in the other direction forming an "S" curve.