19.5 inch Brown Trout
Caught on the Connecticut River, Canan, Vermont
9/12/2005
by Gene Patnaude

As we approached the river my thoughts wandered. Tom Jutras my friend and mentor to fly fishing, had invited me to accompany him on a three day fishing trip to the upper Connecticut River. Although I've fished my whole life, I'm relatively new to fly fishing. The sport has me hooked! The intimacy of catching fish on a fly rod, being able to release the fish unharmed is great.                                                                            

We were staying with Tom's brother and his family in a beautiful log cabin in Norton Vermont, overlooking Canada. Tom's brother Mike and his son Mick were behind us in their own vehicle as we approached the river where Beecher Falls meets Canan. I was remembering the day before when we fished the river downstream in Bloomfield Vermont. I was fortunate enough to hook and land a nice rainbow, nothing to write home about, just one of those sweet fish that was seventeen inches long with a stout girth, the kind that make you feel good about catching. As we pulled up to the river I remarked to Tom that, if I didn't catch another fish, that rainbow made the trip a success. He just laughed and said we would catch more today, and bigger.

The bank down to the river was steep. Mike and Mick made it down to the water first, we made our way upstream a couple of hundred yards. I viewed the spot that I wanted to fish. I head to the middle of the river to where a rapid spilled into series of deep pools. As I am no whiz at wading, took me a considerable amount of time to reach the area. No worries, no need to rush here, I recall a conversation Tom and I had several days earlier. He was saying the sun on your face, being on the water, the trees, the wilderness, these are the things that make the experience great. The catching of fish, is merely "the icing on the cake." This September day was a fine sunny representative of exactly what he meant.

As I reached my place on the river, water swirling around my waders makes me feel alive. I was casting an olive beadhead woolly bugger on my five weight St. Croix Imperial. As the rhythm of casting starts to settle in, my mind empties. Tom and Mike are casting just downstream of me. Mick is farther downstream, he has fished for many years with a fly rod and he has a smooth rhythm to his motion, one has to pay attention closely to realize that he is catching fish and his rhythm is unchanged. I on the other hand catch a fish and half of Vermont is aware of it.

I'm standing in a spot where a small rapid section forms a large pool in front of me. Everyone has been catching small rainbows, facing downstream, a fish is harassing my fly every fifth cast or so, and I'm unable to hook up. I mention this to Tom and he casts to the pool from his side of the river, I turned ninety degrees to my left and cast to the opposite bank. I dropped my fly in a deep trough about three feet from the bank. I'm not sure the fly actually hits the water, that is how fast the brown hits and he is hooked! The cast I made was much shorter than the length I was casting moments ago so as I let a little line out to play the fish on the reel the line wrapped around my reel foot. Tom witnessed the strike and immediately remarked "that's a nice fish, you better give him some line if you want to land him." Of course with the line wrapped around my reel the one thing that you could bet on was that this fish, sure as hell wasn't getting anymore line, at least not until I got some slack in the line, and as hard as the brown was pulling, slack was not forthcoming. As he came to the surface I could see the distance between the dorsal fin and the tail to show an excellent fish. As my rod doubled I began to consider it's ability to continue, Tom inquired as to, "why do you have your drag set like a tow truck." I informed him that my line was looped around my reel, not something by the way, I was in a hurry to admit. Anyway Tom came up and around to help me land the fish. Before he got to me the brown came by my leg on his side. I reached for his tail, and he just powered out of my hand. Tom was now close so he handed his rod to me and landed the fish with his hands. He handed the fish to me and took the picture. The brown had an incredible amount of strength left in him. I couldn't believe how strong he was as he tried to wiggle out of my hands. That is why I'm grasping him so in the picture. I then cradled him facing upstream waiting for his strength to recover, my fingers were growing numb. Then as if by some cue, he was gone, he quite simply disappeared beneath the surface. He, stronger for his ordeal....me....richer for the experience in so many ways. Renewing my bond with nature. At fifty-six years of age there have been countless moments lost, when my mind wandered from cares to cares, not germane to time and place, for such is the way of men. Yet those moments spent with that brown trout, will surely nourish my soul until the time I leave here.

The next day finds Tom and I heading to Boundary Pond at the extreme northern tip of New Hampshire on the Canadian border. Weaving twelve miles on a dirt road and portaging the last bit to the water. Worth every bit of it. We must have caught and released a hundred brookies, all on dry flies. Tom taught me to wait a split second after the take, then set the hook. We matched the hatch of flying ants at dusk and caught even more. It was early in the day when I came to realize the truth of the matter from the day before. My leader was chopped back from changing flies so much that it was back to the thicker part of the leader, and my fly was sinking. I applied floatant and as soon as I retrieved the fly sunk. I tied on a new leader and the problem went away. I knew then, that I would have lost the brown trout the day before, had I not inadvertently had my leader cut back to where it was. Finesse not being my strong suit, I doubt if I could have landed that brown with a new leader, even if the line was not wrapped around my reel. But catch him I did, and what's more he lives to grace another. Lucky for me,"God looketh upon the heart," so "lack of ability," is replaced by, "fortunate circumstance," I'll take it!

To speak the truth, I was rather indifferent to this fish skin being made. However the finished product is nothing short of superb, the contour, the tail and fins, the gills and spectacular color and attention to detail are impressive to say the least. Paul is assured of his success by his commitment to excellence, and I would certainly have it done again, should circumstance permit.

-- Gene Patnaude