It took nearly two months for the high waters of spring to run off on the Wabigan River this year. It was June before the water was low enough to safely wade. At least for most people. Around the middle of June, Prentice N. Largefonte and Ivan O. Dodge left the relative comfort of a cabin, owned by Doctor Lance D. Boyle and a local Magistrate Nolan Voyd, to fish their favorite run.
Prentice had been anxiously waiting for the chance to wade the Wabigan for the first time since opening day. When he was younger, he would have stepped into the fast water and easily maneuvered around the boulders in the streambed, unencumbered by either a wading staff or any sense of mortality. These days, however, at least one knee is growing less enthusiastic about wading. What’s more the offending knee is gaining the support of several other body parts.
Prentice stepped cautiously into the water using his wading staff (a re-purposed ski pole) to steady him. Gaining confidence, he moved into the current and cautiously moved into position beside his favorite run. A few introductory casts and he was back in the groove, landing his fly into the feeding lane with both finesse and anticipation. Then he rotated slightly to change his casting angle. His knee objected to the move and the current took advantage of Prentice’s momentary imbalance to topple him.
In the process of trying to breathe while re-gaining his footing, Prentice dropped his beloved fly rod. The stream quickly claimed it, stuffing it somewhere into the rocks and roots in the depths of his favorite run. His faithful companion of many years was gone. Largefonte soon recovered from near hypothermia, but took longer to recover from the taunts and ridicule of his fellow members of CHAOS.
Over the next few weeks, Prentice spent time getting to know another rod and reel. The feel of the 'new' rod was different as he expected it would be. It didn’t have the same response as his old favorite rod, but he gained appreciation for it as the summer wore on.
All summer long, CHAOS members watched for Prentice’s rig every time they visited that stretch of the Wabigan. By the end of the trout season, there had been no sign of his gear. At one of the late season forays to Doc and Nolan’s cabin, the inescapable demise of Prentice’s gear became a topic of discussion.
“You know, being in the river that long, the reel would be dented and the paint would be chipped off.” Ivan said, trying to help Prentice cope with the practicality of his loss.
“I would imagine the gears would grind, too, from all the sand deposited in them”, Nolan added. Doc chimed in by commenting on the likely damage to the rod’s finish and bent guides. Prentice thought for a few moments, carefully weighing their words. Then he smiled broadly with renewed energy.
“You know, you fellas are right!” He said. “Why, that cold water would preserve that rod just like the day I lost it! We’ll look for it again in the spring.”
Royal Dun
Four weeks had passed since the high water and cool temperatures of opening day. Prentice N. Largefonte and I found soon ourselves standing on the bank of the Wabishki River watching the still high, fast, and deeply stained water roar past our favorite entry point. To a couple of avid fly fishermen with aging legs and waning balance, the Wabashki resembled a Class V river on the International Scale of River Difficulty. Ok, that’s an exaggeration, but the high and fast water of the Wabishki quickly dampened our enthusiasm.
"Still running high." Largefonte muttered. "Do you know any ponds where we might find some Bluegills?" he asked. I mulled the question over for a while because I wasn’t sure of an answer any more. I spent the better part of 25 years pursuing, but never capturing, a career out east. My old haunts were now either eutrophied, closed off as private property, or had sprouted shiny new condos. It took me about 20 minutes to come up with a possibility.
"We might try Ma’ingan Lake." I said to Prentice as he turned the car toward home. "There may be a few early ‘gills building beds there." Ma’iingan Lake has a wide beach area and weed beds that make for high quality bluegill living, if a bluegill was of a mind to live there.
On the way, we decided to stop at a small pond north of Ma’iingan Lake. The last time I fished that pond the water was also high. In fact, the water was a foot or two over the road and the Bluegills had formed their nests on the gravel bed of the road. The fishing was fantastic back then.
We soon discovered that the roadbed had been raised and the road was now paved. There were no parking signs every 30 feet along the pond to prevent people from obstructing all the traffic passing by to reach the road’s dead end about 100 yards past the pond. The trees on the surrounding property were now amply decorated with no trespassing signs. On top of that, the deep center of the pond had disappeared and lush weed growth was visible across the entire span of water. On the positive side, the water was calm and inviting and we could still fish from the road. No waders required.
Largefonte parked along the road where there were no signs. We put our rods together and walked a few yards along the shoulder of the road to a spot where we could cast. After several missed rises, Largefonte and I successfully pierced the lips of two ‘gills just large enough to get the barb of the hook into their mouths, maybe 2 inches long. The gentle finesse needed to catch a fish of this size on a fly is something that only comes with years of experience and expertise. We loaded our gear back into the car and left for Ma’iigan Lake.
As it turned out, no Bluegills were of a mind to live in Ma’iingan Lake. At least, there was no evidence of it after donning our waders and wading a short section of the shoreline. A small bay near the beach was now weeded in and had become only a story about the big ‘gills I caught there 30 years ago. Prentice and I packed our gear, broke our rods down, and decided to call it a day well before dark.
At least we were able to test our waders. Mine has a small leak near the right heel. As I lifted my rod and gear out of Largefonte’s car he made the observation that I carried a lot of equipment for a 2-inch Bluegill.
Royal Dun
