Trout Fishing in the Battenkill River
“Do any good?”
I smiled and shook my head.
“Listen,” he said. “Out behind the field here they were jumpin’ all over the place last night. Nice ones, too. Eight, ten inches, some of ’em. You oughta try it there.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I appreciate it.”
He gave me a free refill, and when I stood to go, he said, “Just take that dirt road there and you can park beside the field.”
I did. The river ran dark and deep along a granite ledge overhung by hemlocks. It was beautiful and peaceful in the mist, and I spotted the rings of a few rising trout and caught two of them. They weren’t the “nice” ones the guy at the diner had seen, but they were five or six inches long, beautiful miniature Battenkill brown trout.
I fished until dark, casting rhythmically, no longer in search of a worthy trout, and finally the sediment of fishing sank to the bottom and my purpose became pure.
And so I made my peace with the Battenkill.