Sunday morning, Memorial Day Weekend, approaching 5:30. Day has broken – half-sun peeking over the eastern horizon, squeezing warm yellow rays through the tulip magnolia shielding my upstairs bedroom windows on each side of my headboard.
From the tree comes the joyous song of an amorous cardinal, likely celebrating the high blue sky, small white clouds, and inspiring sun after days of wet, gray, unseasonably cold May weather. I could relate to the bird’s cheerful disposition. Thank you, my blissful, scarlet friend, for sharing your sunrise joy.
As I walked toward the fan staircase descending to the new day – looking south over the lush green yard below – my thoughts traipsed back to Deerfield River fishing days past. “This,” I thought, “would have been too late for me back then,” when my rule of thumb was to execute my first cast before the birds sang.
To get rare opportunities at large, gluttonous, Deerfield River brown trout lingering a bit too long in their nocturnal feeding stations, that’s when you must arrive: before the birds sing; and even if you know the game, your chances of landing such a fish are slim indeed. Deerfield River browns do not grow large on stupidity.
Over the years, while catching many big, acrobatic, stocked rainbows, I was fortunate enough to land a few of those spectacular browns in the three- to five-pound range. All of them were caught on nightcrawlers dead-drifted just right. Never did I land one fly-fishing, although I suspect a few took a sparkling cream caddis emerger or Montana nymph and got away.
Being a South Deerfield lad, I know the section of the Deerfield I most often fished as Hoosac. It’s located on a small slice of paradise along the west bank between Johnson’s Hole, in Deerfield about a mile upstream from Stillwater Bridge, and the South River. Occasionally I’d wander a tad north to fish the stretch between the mouth of the South River and Bardwells Ferry, concentrating primarily on three productive sites offering the types of pools and runs I preferred.
Less often, I ventured farther upstream to the mouths of Dragon Brook and Bear River, on opposite sides of the river above Bardwells. Those were the days when you could drive the railroad service road following the tracks from West Deerfield to Buckland without fear of a fine.
Sometimes, I’d fish from my 14-foot, fiberglass, Old Town canoe, paddling upstream – black Lab gundog Sara seated astern – to Johnson’s Hole from the now-gated riverside launching spot and parking place below Stillwater Bridge. Other times I’d drive to my destination on the old trolley trestle following the west bank from Hoosac to Conway Station, parking on the power line and hiking steep game trails to my two favorite spots. That access, too, is now closed to vehicles and open only to hiking and biking, with a relatively new footbridge crossing the South River gorge to Conway Station. It’s irrelevant to me in my senior years. Those steep, slippery game trails to the river below are for young legs, not battered old warhorses.
To be honest, I’ve seen the footbridge from afar but never closely examined or crossed it. It doesn’t interest me. Frankly, I preferred it when 1.) the old trolley bed was open to the few locals who used it, 2.) the gorge had to be crossed to hard way, on foot, and 3) the Deerfield River was virtually unknown to whitewater enthusiasts, who’ve ruined it for anglers seeking solitude, tranquility and the soothing rattle of free-flowing waters.
Sadly, that peaceful place disappeared years ago on the lower Deerfield, beginning the day noisy whitewater yahoos arrived from all points of the compass with their canoes, kayaks, inner tubes, rafts, and, yes, coolers and litter – scraping, banging and yee-hawing their merry way downriver.
Yeah, yeah, I know adventurers of all stripes should have the freedom to enjoy the public resource. Which doesn’t mean I want to join them, or profess interactive compatibility between whitewater enthusiasts and trout fishermen. While it’s true that solitary trout anglers create no inconvenience for whitewater enthusiasts, the same cannot be said for the reverse.
Just one humble old man’s opinion – one that hasn’t changed a hoot dating back to the heated dam-relicensing battle between Trout Unlimited (TU) and the Charlemont whitewater companies some 35 years ago.
For a quick refresher, Zoar Outdoor, Crab Apple Whitewater, Appalachian Mountain Club and others fought for increased water discharges from Fife Brook Dam above the Hoosac Tunnel to accommodate whitewater adventurers on the upper Deerfield. TU favored lesser flows more favorable to trout, anglers and the freshwater ecosystem.
Go figure. The whitewater companies won.