I tied on a wabbler, tipped the combo with a crawler and flung it into the dying embers of current, which ebbed as it meshed with the pond. The last trickles of current slowly wobbled the rig to the depths.
As I retrieved the first cast, the action was exaggerated by the abbreviated rod. Then it struck, softly at first. But as I set the hook, there was no mistake as I battled a 16-inch brook trout to the shore.
I laughed, First brookie of the season, on the first cast. I set the trout in the snow, placed the tiny rod next to it and took a quick photo. Then, back to business.
However, after four more hours of fishing, the first fish proved to be my last. I never had another strike.
After returning five miles through heavy, wet snow, I finally made it to the truck. I was wet, tired, sore but satisfied; the journey was over. I had satisfied the craving with the first fish of the season, a ten mile trout. However, as brook trout fanatics will tell you; greater distances can be found. Enjoy your own journey!
Joe Hackett is a guide and sportsman residing in Ray Brook. Contact him at email@example.com