In my last story, I mentioned Mud Lake. However, I didn’t explain much about that body of water. The Lake was shallow and the fish were small, at least the ones caught from shore. They were perch, two or three inches long and boney for eating I was told. And of course you had to watch that you didn’t get stabbed on the spines too. One fishing trip there was all I needed.
The lake just north of Mud, was Gallagher, but I only swam there, it never occurred to me to try fishing.
Then there was the creek that flowed through the Sportsmans Bowl. The upper regions of the stream had trout but I don’t remember catching any.
Of course you can’t forget Madden and Sawmill Lakes for fishing. But I didn’t have a boat nor did I have a proper rod. I had a bushmans’ pole, at least that is what I called it. My pole was taller than me and as thick as my thumb. I had cut it from sturdy willow. Around the end of the pole I had wrapped ten feet of nylon fishing line. I didn’t have a bobber or even a weight for the worm was weight enough. I didn’t stand on the shore and fish either for those with casting rods put me to shame. Madden and Sawmill were beyond my reach.
Park Rill was my spot. I knew where the fish hid and knew how to catch them. The biggest trout I ever caught was in Park Rill. It was 2 pounds, 2 ounces, 18.5 inches long. I was standing on a beaver dam which took me to the middle of the creek. The green slime which inhabited the surface of the water was pushed against the dam giving the fish a hiding area as well as giving my line buoyancy. I tossed my line upstream and it sailed over the slime allowing a foot of line to plop into the water. As the worm baited hook sank under the surface, I noticed the line twitch on the slime. Thinking it was probably a fish, I allowed the trout to swallow the bait more. After a moment or two, I decided it was time to pull in my catch. I brought the line towards me, up through the slime and out popped what looked like a stick on my hook. My first thought was oh no! When I got the surprise about a foot from the dam it began to struggle. I grabbed the line, dropped the pole, and dragged the fish onto the dam. I pounced on it as it fell off the hook! Trembling with excitement I dispatched its life, picked up my pole and headed back to the house to weigh and measure it. We got several feeds from that trophy.
I don’t know if any of those body’s of water is the same today as it was when I fished, a lot can change in 50 years.