As a lifetime Granite Stater, I have often heard “the best fishing in New Hampshire is in Maine.” I have been known to say it myself. It is not entirely fair, as fly fishers who are more skilled than I am can do quite well in my home state. Those who are willing to strap on a float tube and hike several miles to a remote pond may even encounter native brookies as large, wild and vibrantly colored as those that reside in the Rapid River. But I am not a member of that demographic.
For me and my fishing partner Robert, the Rapid River beckons because it gives us a chance to catch wild brook trout that challenge expectations which have been forged by years of fishing small streams chasing small trout. The electric charge transmitted from the tip of your fly rod to the pit of your stomach when a large brook trout pulls headshakes out of its toolbox knocks a small trout fisher’s world off its axis. The opportunity to catch acrobatic landlocked salmon magnifies the gravitational pull the river exerts upon us. The beauty and power of this brawling, muscular waterway is worth the trip even if the fish are not cooperating.
As we trundle along the rough logging road to access our boat, which is stowed in the woods along the shoreline of Pond in the River, the sense of anticipation is acute. There is a bit of dread as well. The trail from the road to the boat is less than a hundred yards but is also rock-strewn and uneven. The multiple circuits from the car to the boat, lugging the anchor, gas container, oars, etc., get harder every year, currently my sixty-fifth.
Robert, being about a decade younger, gets the worst of it, shouldering down and back the six-horse motor which powers our 14-footer up to the rips at the head of Pond in the River.
We bought the boat to avoid the competition for riverbank spots among wading anglers. It was half of a “two boats for $800” deal. Based on aesthetics, it’s quite possible that we overpaid.
The Rapid can get crowded at any time and September is no exception. Of course, being in a vessel does not guarantee that you get VIP parking. Even if you get on the water early, your favorite spot may be spoken for. But it’s all good. We always find a spot which is better than any spot in our offices. Besides, where else would you rather be on a crisp September morning?
I always think of the landscape surrounding the Rapid River as an unbroken tapestry of evergreens. But in September, the maples and birches make their presence known as they ignite in a riot of color. I am not the first, I am sure, to note the symbiosis which seems to exist between the trees and the trout as each changes into their fall wardrobes of red, yellow and orange.
I get to take in the view as Robert operates the motor. He is justifiably skeptical of my seamanship skills. I do a decent job of warning him when we are about to hit barely submerged rocks as we navigate the currents above PITR or as we approach Lower Dam.
Last fall Robert and I were not having much luck at the top of PITR. Over three hours of effort, Robert caught one decent salmon on a streamer and I got a 15-inch brookie with dark flanks and a large head, fooled by a two-nymph rig.
So we motored down to “Alligator” and fished above Lower Dam. I immediately caught a 9-inch brookie on a Purple Haze dry fly. Robert caught a uniquely marked 11-inch trout on a Gray Ghost, its spotting sparse and irregular. The ivory leading edges of its lower fins really popped.
I finished the day with a 13-inch brookie caught on a Golden Retriever tied on a size 12 jig hook. Robert hooked a salmon of similar size on his trusty Peacock Bugger. Not exactly fast and furious action and no trophies to brag about, but a day well spent.
The Golden Retriever is a new addition to my fly box and is supplanting a couple of old-time classics due to its ease of tying and its effectiveness. The Black Ghost and the Footer Special had been my favorite landlocked salmon streamers for decades.
The Footer Special is, in my estimation, a particularly beautiful fly, even when tied by me. Any salmon which decides to eat one earns an extra measure of esteem. Herb Welch’s Black Ghost exudes elegant simplicity. But nothing is so constant as change and the G.R. has become my streamer of first resort when I am fishing rivers inhabited by salmon.
The fall excursions to the Rapid are always tinged with a bit of melancholy and self-imposed pressure because it is the last hurrah before winter closes in. Thoughts of fish caught or lost sustain us while we wait to return to the Rapid. Other memories intrude when I should be working.
During one trip, while on the lower river, we witnessed an extended aerial “dogfight” between an American eagle and an osprey. The eagle pursued the osprey up the river and down. The osprey stood its ground — or air — for a long while before breaking off and heading somewhere else.
