....to those who wait. It might be an old cliché about things being like buses, but it seems to apply to salmon. They started to appear in July and I'd been waiting since then to connect with even just one. I was on the verge of giving up, when, in just the last week of the season - there were seven. Granted, only four obligingly came to the bank to be landed and the others slipped the hook after a tussle; but even so, it was a great finale for me. Anglers, more skilled and dedicated than I, recorded numbers in double figures - and sometimes double figure pounds as well! Indeed, all the rivers in the Maine system reported good runs of salmon and dollaghan ; although the latter eluded me this year.
My only real regret is that only one small salmon briefly took the fly; in the rapid water in the tail of a large pool. For the most part, water conditions in the last couple of weeks favoured spinning and I reluctantly resorted to the dreaded "Flying - C"; crude, but effective.
Pity, as I much enjoy tying salmon patterns, and it would be nice to make a catch with one of my "Frankenflies". You know what I mean; a little bit from this, a little bit from that.
A major loss was the first fish hooked on a Flying - C. On the first two casts the lure hit a snag, but pulled free OK. On the third cast I snagged again; except this time the "snag" started pulling me all over the river. In the fast water I have no idea just how heavy that fish was, but it felt like hauling anchor. After quite a tug of war the fish gave a couple of thrashes and the barbless hook was out. Truth be told, it was almost a relief, because something was going to break - the line? - the rod? - my right arm?
On another occasion I had an audience, a family out for a walk; parents and two small kids. The first cast from a high bank produced an immediate take and the game was on. The only place to safely land the fish was a narrow ledge, level with the water and three feet below me, so down I slid. This specimen liked his aquabatics and put on a display, leaping clear of the water several times. The kids were screaming; the parents were screaming - I almost screamed myself as the strong splashes covered me with water. There was little room for manoeuvre on the ledge so I couldn't organize a photo, but I brought the fish to the bank where everyone could get a good look - a coloured male with well developed kype; and popped the hook in the water.
The curious thing is that all my fish were encountered on a stretch that starts barely 100 yards, as the crow flies, from my back door - and for me this is what it's all about. To jump into the waders, take a short stroll, and start fishing for the mighty Atlantic salmon. It's a rare privilege - not to be taken for granted.
