WRITING ON THE FLY
By GEORGE LISET
In New Hampshire, the trout ponds open their season on the fourth Saturday of April. I try to avoid “Opening Day” like the plague. On some of the more popular ponds there are flotillas of fly fishers in their float tubes casting for recently stocked trout. Being an outdoor writer I have the flexibility of fishing anytime the spirit leads and usually the off-hours are my favorite time to fish.
This morning I had a few hours to wet a line before the day got away from me. I have a list of ponds that I enjoy fishing. The deciding factors as to which one I choose usually has to do with how much time I have, how far I want to drive and the weather. Today I had a couple of hours before the weather looked like it was going to get miserable so I headed over to my local favorite, Mad Beaver Pond.
Mad Beaver Pond (My Name) is a local gem that is hidden in a residential area that ninety nine percent of the town’s residents don’t even know exists. I gave the pond the name because of the resident beaver family that lives there, and try as I may, it always seems that one of them will sneak up on me and scare the crap out of me while I’m fishing.
Today I grabbed my Orvis 8’ Superfine four weight fly rod to work on my dry fly casting. The nice feature of this pond is that there is room to cast from shore, so I didn’t need to don my waders, just a pair of Bean boots and my sling pack. As I drove into the parking area I could see that the recent wind storms took their toll on the surrounding areas. I could see where Fish and Game had used their chainsaws to clear the road into stock.
In the parking area I tied on a size twenty black gnat. I was pretty darn proud I could see to tie that bad boy on, just saying. As I hiked in I noticed the quiet. I could hear Cardinals looking for mates and squirrels foraging for breakfast. I even heard a turkey making their presence known. One wouldn’t know that they were in a residential area. I know fly fishermen who won’t fish in the pond because it is too close to the city. I guess it becomes a matter of expectations and perspective.
Imagination is a great thing. I had the pond to myself and pictured myself on a mountain pond in the White Mountains or even Montana. I had been working my way around the pond as I noticed it getting darker. I searched the ponds’ surface for signs of fish rising. My friend Charlie says some ponds are morning ponds and others are afternoon ponds. It has to do with hatches. I have found that this pond fishes better in the afternoon and evenings.
It started raining as the clouds got dark and black and the temperature dropped by at least ten degrees. I kept my head on a swivel looking for the mad beaver, but this time it wasn’t the beaver that made me jump. A giant clap of thunder shook me to my core, and I jumped a mile. It reminded me of the thunder I experienced at Mount Rushmore when a huge hailstorm came through and wreaked havoc on a number of Airstream trailers camping near us.
I reeled in my line and walked back to my truck. I got to thinking that I was pretty lucky having my own little slice of the Black Hills in my backyard. I felt sorry for those that couldn’t see that.
George Liset of Dover is an award-winning outdoor writer and avid fly fisherman who shares insights of his time on the water exploring New Hampshire streams and rivers as well of those around New England. George is a graduate of Wheaton College, Illinois, and the University of New Hampshire. His column Writing on the Fly has been honored by the New England Press Association and the New Hampshire Press Association.
