Adirondack Guide, Adirondack Mountains, Adirondacks, Alfred Donaldson, Alvah Dunning, Blue Mountain Lake, Boreal Swamp, brook trout, canoe, Charles Hallock, Chateaugay, Dr. Joseph Stickler, Durant, fly fishing, French Louis Seymour, geese, Herr Jagger, Indian Pass, John Leaf, loggers, Monsieur LaPineaux, Nobleboro, Railroads, saranac, Thomas Tahauwas, West Canada Creek, William Henry Harrison Murray, Woodcock
I remember taking one of Durant’s grandkids out fishing.
It was in the fall and we had just suffered one of those horrible wind and rain storms. The kid wanted to go fishing and Grandfather Thomas insisted that I do so. I told Thomas that the streams were swollen and dangerous. He shrugged and waved the back of his hand toward the lake as if to say “Go, don’t bother me with the details.”
I knew a good pond within walking distance. I had a boat hidden in the reeds. I was hoping that it was reachable. That pond usually didn’t change much with the weather. There were two or three outlets that purged the lake of any heavy rainfall.
I took the kid and our poles out for a walk. We only wasted about an hour of good fishing time to get to the pond. I remember thinking “The walk is not a waste because the rain probably ruined the fishing for a week or so.”
When we reached the pond the boat was away from shore. Maybe I should have said the shore was away from the boat. The pond had risen considerably. I took off my shoes and socks and waded in to fetch the boat. It was half full of rain water but I was still able to drag it to shore. The kid and I gently tipped it on its side and the water poured out.
As we were getting in the boat I was thinking about where the best spot may be. The water had changed so much that the submerged cold spring holes were not going to be of any use. Besides, the water was a tad muddy and I couldn’t have found the spring holes anyway. I decided that the inlet may be the best spot. Fresh clean water would be pouring in from the creek that fed the pond. And it would be bringing insects and other food down with it.
It was a good choice.
We had just started working our way up the inlet when John, that was the kids name – – -John, he seemed to have a bite on his hook. John yanked. The fish yanked back. “Careful now” – – – I taught him – – – “Careful, don’t break the line.” John gave me a look like only a Durant kid could. Those Durants could cool your heels with one look. I shut up and watched the kid’s rod to see what was happening.
The struggle between fish and boy lasted quite a while. The boy finally won. He had a nice seventeen inch brookie to show his grandfather Thomas.
After John finished his bragging Thomas looked at me with a kindly smile. That was enough “thanks” to last a while.