My paternal grandfather, William Kroll, was
one of the old-time logger barons. During the 19th century heyday
of those northwoods entrepreneurs, he built mills and established
a private empire among the virgin white pine stands of Michigan's
Upper Peninsula.
Shortly after the beginning of this century, when
most of the giant pines had been harvested, he was one of the first to
move to the untapped forests of the Northwest, building what was at
that time the largest sawmill in the region at St. Maries, Idaho. Beginning
in 1914, the mill and the town it spawned grew together in what was
then fairly isolated wilderness. Both were on the banks of the St. Joe River,
a sizeable waterway fed by numerous mountain tributaries. The St. Joe
flows into Lake Couer d'Alene some 15 miles downstream. Because of
its heavily forested banks local residents usually referred to it as the
"Shadowy Old St. Joe."
The loggers, particularly the river drivers,
were a tough breed. Mostly Scandinavians and French Canadians,
they worked 14 hours a day and still found time for bunkhouse
brawls and other diversions. One on these was reckless wagering on
who could sink his boot caulks into a big log and ride it, standing,
down the final mile of the main flume. None that I knew of made it
all the way and for more than one it was the last ride he ever took.
The largest flume, some 10 miles in length,
ended 10 to 12 feet above the river surface and the force of the
water flow from it formed a deep and highly oxygenated pool. The
natural mouth of the partially diverted stream nearby added additional
current, oxygen and displace aquatic insect life. The Flume Pool was
a favored lie for a host of native cutthroat trout.
The St. Joe River was one of the finest
cutthroat habitats in the West. Many races or subspecies of this
excellent game fish existed throughout the Rockies, from Alaska
to California. The cutthroat had the largest original range of any
North American native trout. They derived their name from twin
slashes of orange-red on the underside of their lower jaw. Overall
coloring varied with regional strains. Those of the St. Joe are dark
olive on the back with cadmium-colored sides fading to very pale
yellow on the underside. They are quite heavily spotted with black,
particularly over the rear third of the body. As table fare they are
among the best of fresh water fishes.
My father had worked for his father since
the age of 14, first as a logger then as mill store clerk and finally
as the company comptroller. Having spent his life in and around
the woods, he loved to hunt and fish. Mother, having also been
born and raised in northern Michigan, enjoyed fishing even more
than he did. I came by my love of the sport quite naturally. From
the time I was old enough to hold a rod (six or seven) they took
me with them on frequent outings up and down the river. Fishing
spots were often reached with a light, strake-sided rowboat. Dad
would anchor the boat in a position where I could fish from the
stern, while he and mother cast from various spots along the river
banks.
The tackle consisted of Bristol metal
telescoping rods, light wire-frame reels, enameled silk lines,
silkworn gut leaders and Indiana or Willow Leaf spinners baited
with angleworms or grasshoppers, although dad often fished
with snelled wet flies, using a tail fly and two or three droppers
on his leader. His favorite patterns were the Mosquito, Western
Bee, Red Ibis, Grizzly King, Montreal and Black Gnat.
The cutthroat were not too dificult to
catch. The river was heavily populated and competition for
food usually resulted in plenty of "takers." When time was
a factor, good fishing was nearby. Our home was by the river
near the green pond and adjacent rafts of logs. Dad had fitted
a pair of mother's high button shoes with logging caulks with
which she fearlessly walked the log booms to get with reach of
good fishing spots.
To be continued. ~ Charlie Kroll
Excerpt from Pools of Memory, The Sixty Year Odyssey of
a Devoted Fly Fisherman. Published by
Frank Amato Publications, Inc. Used with permission.
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