Fishing

There is little in life I know like the back of my hand like the Tobique river Riley brook to Nictau all pools, bogens, where the deep holes are and the fiddlehead patches that fed us sweet swamp greens for generations.  I spent my life floating this gorgeous winding river amongst those dark dense mountain, raging rapids to still black pools.  My first job was building real canoes, it’s our way.  The greatest of gifts is being from such a rural area we all know our unique customs, Home forever.

i learned to cast a salmon rod before I formed memories, we all had proud casts as it was our family business, sports camps are rare and a booming business where we lived  hour into that woods we lived with nature and nature took care of us.  The rythym of your line was as still as your mind had to be getting lost in the counting, the sun glistening off the wet line, the water sliders hopping along in the sparkling ripples as the sun rises, it’s just perfection!  From salmon to chubs, white wishing brook trout you name it we fished it.

this particular summer I was really running around from party to party, high after high drunk after drunk house to house, couch to couch at this time I was very lonely and soul lost.  My cousin who’s more my brother was having the same awful dances with vices, we loved to relax and smoke a bbag ttogether.  Harmless fun but when partying we both did it hard.  Jake decided we should go cast a few and I decided that would be great!  We sat together thred our worms and trout after trout took the bait, the day passed and we talked so real we understood something few did.  That summer jake and I fished it away and together every day we would string our trout on the antena of my shit box car,, wagging in the wind no conversation needed.  To this day we have eachothers backs.  No matter what or where ones sinking the others calling.

 

 

 

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