It was a bit overcast with a threat of rain when late morning Ted, Greg and I pushed off a steep embankment near Bancroft Road in Danforth. My Grand Lake canoe had not been in the water yet this season and I was eager to cast the morning. The wind came from the southwest and with the high water the current took us immediately downstream. I stood up in the bow and unleashed my five-weight, nine-foot rod toward the bank. A yellow popper drifted on the end of my tippet and a small bass took to it. It was a fine start. The river ran softly and the eagle that soared along with us called out its song of happiness. No one was fishing from the bank, nor were there other floats on the water—only us in the quiet of the river. Fishing the morning on a float was reminiscent of trips to Labrador, the Restigouche and the Miramichi, all in Canada. This was my Homewater. I was not a visitor or vacationer. Greg’s hard work in finding a landing and in fact creating one, launching my canoe and directing us to the best pools for fishing made the day perfect. I often say to friends “it is the journey not the destination.” Here it was the destination—a place near my camp where I had peace and quiet. We fished until we came to a bypass of sorts where the river went off and created a 20-foot-wide mini-stream. Pushing through Greg found a spot to hold the canoe steady while I stepped out to fish a pool created by the confluence of another small stream. The overhang from the trees gave me just enough room to backcast without sacrificing a fly. The fish were plentiful. Ted had me using streamers as well as top-of-the-water flies. Wet feet and all I cast away with only one thought in mind: I could come back to my homewater any time –no reservations needed.
