The Trophy Trout of Christopher Lake

The local trout hatchery sometimes releases its over-matured brood stock into Christopher Lake. These are two or three pound Eastern Brook Trout and people flock to the lake trying for these trophies. I have tried, off and on, for them over the years and have come close but never quite managed it.

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The first time I was within striking range was at the mouth of a little brook that empties from Second Christopher Lake into First Christopher Lake. I was fishing a Muddler Minnow and having some luck with small eight and ten inch brookies. I could see a big fish rising every few minutes a short cast offshore. It was slowly heading in my direction so I waited and fished, quaking with excitement and anticipating the slashing strike of the big Brookie.

The fish was about a hundred yards away and still meandering along its feeding path, holding to the pattern, as a canoe came down stream from Second Christopher Lake. The fellow fishing in the bow was casting a big silver spoon seemingly randomly. He hollered a cheerful greeting as the canoe glided over my fly then to add insult to injury, his line came tight on the great big trout I’d been patiently waiting to intercept.

He obviously wasn’t casting quite as randomly as I thought.
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The next time I came close was at the same spot but this time I was in a canoe. While unloading the boat from my truck I noticed a small grass frog near my foot. It was chilled by the early morning I guess because I just reached down and picked it up. As I tucked it into one of my fishing-vest pockets I thought, “There, a secret weapon if I see one of those brute trout”.

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Well, I fished around for an hour or two with no sign of any trout at all. None were rising. Nothing was touching my fly. I was well and truly skunked!

While rummaging through my fly boxes trying to figure out what to try next, I remembered the frog from the boat launch. Pulling it from my vest pocket and holding it in the palm of my hand I was struck by a pang of pity. The poor thing, I just didn’t have the heart to impale it on a hook to catch a trout I was planning to release anyway, so lowered it over the gunnel of the canoe, nestled in my palm. As the water slowly rose up my hand and the frog found itself awash it gave a kick. Gradually gaining speed, he made for the near shore.

My rod lay across my knees forgotten for the moment while I watched the frog swimming away. I was slightly appalled by the bloody instinct that had caused its capture in the first place. My little friend had only gone about ten feet when the water erupted and he disappeared into the gaping maw of two plus pound Brook trout.

That was the only fish I saw that day.