We’ve been coming to this little stream for nearly forty years. We discovered it soon after Dad moved to New Hampshire, and over the years we’ve explored its entire twenty-odd miles. It empties a spring-fed trout pond, meanders through pine-and-hardwood forest, opens up for a couple of miles in a bog, and reenters the forest before it dumps into the lake. We know every pool and run and riffle, every eddy and backwater and hole, and I guess at one time or another we’ve caught trout from all of them. We’ve been skunked plenty of times, too. We’ve packed away a lot of memories here.
We’ve always come with the same purpose: to have some time with each other. Sharing a canoe on a quiet woodland trout stream for an afternoon, taking turns paddling and casting, has been our way of staying connected. The fishing is quite secondary, although before today we never considered leaving our fly rods behind…
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