Here’s why we have created this new package:

At TRL, our guests have the opportunity to access a lot of trout holding water. From its fishable headwaters down to the Smallwood Reservoir into which it flows, the Woods River system is about 125 miles of riffles, runs and rapids, interrupted here and there by broad, flat reaches and lakes. The river includes three main feeder rivers (from where we get our name), fifteen major rapids and hundreds of smaller streams that drain the surrounding rolling hills. Brook trout inhabit the moving waters.  Northern pike and lake trout live in the flat waters.

Capture the Moment

Ice-out in our part of Labrador usually occurs around the 10th of June.  The staff flies in the day after and begins the annual task of preparing the camps for the new season. Our first guest week is the last week of June.  From this week through the middle of August, the brook trout are feeding from the top of the river to the reservoir. We use the float plane to fly guests to the lower river, middle river and even up into the headwaters of the system. By mid-August, the brook trout are migrating up the river for their September spawn.  Hence, the lower and middle river areas are pretty much emptied of brookies and no longer offer prime fishing opportunities.

The headwaters of the system are all accessible by boat. As the trout compress into these headwater spawning flows, there is no longer the need to fly the long runs down river. So we send the float plane back to town and use our many motorized boats and freighter canoes for this late August-early September period. And, of course, pass the savings on to our guests.

Late season brook trout are beautiful. The males have kyped jaws, broader shoulders and are neon bright.  Females radiate the seasonal colors as well. The concentration of trophy fish in smaller waters gives fly anglers the opportunity to sight fish for memorable fish in the smaller waters.

As an added bonus, the biting bugs have normally subsided by late August and Labrador wildflowers and landscape are in their full summer splendor.

Our world these days can be a hectic, stressful place. Many fly anglers have learned the value in fishing quality waters during the brief time they have to give to their fly fishing passion. Should this time of our season work with your schedule, you’ll catch Labrador at her finest. And some nice savings as well.

Chip's August Brookie

Three Rivers Lodge has been traveling the show circuit now for thirteen years, some 80 shows worth of energy and reward.  As the lodges primary spokesperson, I have met literally thousands of new people and made hundreds of friends across the country.  In 2012, I have the opportunity to represent TRL at a new venue for us, the Midwest Fly Fishing Expo in Warren, Michigan.  I have had my eye on this show for several years after hearing reports from many friends about the camaraderie and energetic atmosphere that surrounds this event.  But returning exhibitors have first crack at the floor space and until this year, it has been sold out before I could obtain a slot.  Not so for 2012.  On Saturday and Sunday, March 10th and 11th, Three Rivers Lodge will be represented on the floor, sitting behind the booth that I made from New England white pine over a dozen years ago.  It will be a pleasure to meet new people there in the Michigan area and to see, I’m sure, many old friends from days past on the streams.

If you are in the area or anywhere close by, please consider attending this Fly Fishing Expo.  I’m certain that it will be a fun and rewarding break from winters tedium.  And drop by our booth loaded with all your questions and dreams about Labrador.

Nature's Ornaments

In Labrador, we get to sit beside Christmas Trees all summer long.  The locals call these ruby cones ‘Labrador Roses”, but I think they look a lot like ornaments, maybe strings of cranberries. The tamarack trees are a beautiful part of the boreal forest and many are found in this burst of summer splendor.

Have a swell holiday season and may 2012 bring all that you wish for.

Words fall hollow.

Many are the times that I have sat down to this keyboard full of excitement and energy and ready to pound out some of the great stories from camp that we shared with our guests this past summer. I have mulled it over – over and over – and never quite hit on a good way to get started. Here’s the problem.

Stringing out a long list of big brook trout fought and caught falls unutterably short of describing the Three Rivers Lodge experience. True, we would have very few visitors if our waters held just ordinary trout. Folks come here to fly fish. And in particular, pit their wits against the healthiest batch of trophy brook trout on the planet. But a week in camp holds so much more than just catching trout.

Those of you who have been to our camps know a lot of what I’m feebly trying to get across. You know the addicting quiet of the wilderness, day after day seeing no other human form other than your fishing buddy and your guide. You know the adventure of stretching your neck to glimpse a riffle that rattles just beyond the next point of land. You’ve worked hard to get the hang of the dialect of your Newfie hosts, and shared their yarns and laughter. You’ve returned worn out and weary to evenings of comfort – big, full meals, warm cabins, and the stir and gab of fellow adventurers, still excited as the sun drops below the lake’s edge.

So why do I struggle to find the right words?  In the end, it’s really only a fishing trip, right? You know, a week away from worry and hubbub, and all that. It’s just fishing.

Judge Volcker understood. He testified “finally, not because I regard fishing as being so terribly important but because I suspect that so many of the other concerns of men are equally unimportant – and not nearly so much fun.”

So why my ambivalence?  The search for appropriate words? Last summer, after the first couple of days of the third guest week, one of our fly anglers said after dinner,

“Robin, you’re either an idiot or an a$$hole.”

“What’s that?” I asked calculating that I had at least half a chance of not being an a-hole. “You talking to me?”

He went on, “I read everything you sent me and all the stuff on your web site. And we talked what, four or five times on the phone? You never told me what you have up here. This place is paradise. How come you don’t let everyone know what’s going on here? You’re an idiot!”

I quickly caught his drift, muttered something, and mentally determined to sketch out a new, vivid approach to marketing TRL. Then the words of my friend John Gierach worked their way through my brain.

“Robin,” John once told me in Denver, “don’t ever change your soft-sell approach to marketing your place in Labrador. It’s so refreshing to hear someone talk about their lodge and not be totally full of shit.”

To confound me even more thoroughly, another guest a week or so later put this question to me. ”How come all the talk around here is about BIG brook trout, you know, five, six, seven pound fish. Is there no respect here for a two or three pound brookie?”

His question made me think about my talks to various organizations and the typical accompanying power point presentations. He was right, I rarely flashed up pictures of trout under five pounds. I was thumping the ‘good book’ of trophy brook trout. What about their lesser cousins?

Fact is, we do appreciate the smaller brookies. We handle them all carefully regardless of size or beauty. It’s just with so many trophy trout stories at the table each evening, the younger trout are relegated to Rodney Dangerfield status, at least until they get a year or two more under their adipose.

I know I’ve promised (and yes, several months ago) to post some big Labrador Reds here on our fishing log. So you see my dilemma. Well, maybe you don’t, but I do. I guess I just want to do the place right. Respect the grace of a 2-pound brookie; marvel in the uniqueness of their larger brethren; quantify the depth of the adventure, the wilderness, the dedication of our staff and guides.

It ain’t just about the fish.

So here are a few 2011 ‘mermaids’. I hope you’ll see beyond the fishes to the remarkable experience that surrounds their catching.

Quick Pic, Back in the Water

MacBrookTrout

Tony's Big Boy

Oh Man! Frohman

JoAnne's Giant

Squaretail

Sweet 20 incher

Lewis River -to have been there with the explorers 200 years ago!

We entered the south gate of the park on a sunny, 50 degree day. It wasn’t long before we were climbing mountains, driving through passes and looking down on unutterably beautiful waters. We had hit it perfectly, with fall in full splendor and winter literally only a day away. There was almost no tourist activity – much too late in the season, I suppose. The only humans we encountered were rangers and the occasional angler. Our first sighting of wildlife was an American elk casually crossing our path with little acknowledgement of our existence.

Just an old six-by-six

We didn’t fish that first day. The sense of discovery and awe were just too powerful. And Yellowstone is so immense that we had to throttle back our scurrying around just to catch the a bit of the real scope of nature found there. So we dropped in on the more familiar attractions that first day. National Parks are not dog-friendly places – leashes only and no farther than 50′ from any parking area. So with Bear and Georgia scribing nose tracks on the windows, we had to be selective about where we took them. We pulled into an empty parking lot at Old Faithful. A construction crew was busily pouring new concrete walks, scurrying before the coming storm. To our delight, a ranger saw the dogs’ sad faces in our truck and told us to feel free to take them on the tour of the hot springs where dogs are normally forbidden.

Hot Springs and Lucky Dogs

Boiling Pots

Muddy Stuff from Down Around Hell

We spent an hour at the Old Faithful hot springs, but left just minutes before the next scheduled eruption. It was getting late and we were an hour’s drive from dinner and a night’s sleep in West Yellowstone. As we drove westward through the Madison River valley, we came across a herd of bison crossing the road. We sat for 10 or 15 minutes just watching them slowly cross like they owned the place.  (And not a single vehicle pulled up behind us!) Two juvenile bison kicked up their heels and harassed the older animals until one old bull chased them away.  Bear and Georgia sat spellbound looking out the window at the beasts and blowing their own versions of buffalo snorts.

Bison!

After the bison had cleared the road and we were finished our gaping at them, we drove west in failing light and under very black skies.  Within minutes, lightening seared the valley and the flashes recurred frequently. We squirmed with a feeling of vulnerability as our truck was the highest object in the valley. As I sped up to get back into the woodlands, it started snowing – heavy snow mixed with hale and gropple. I dimmed the lights to improve my vision of the road and slowed to 25 mph. It was totally dark when drove into a grove of pines and we were feeling a bit safer when, through the white sheet of snow, a gigantic, furry, brown ass-end appeared in the windshield with a tuft of tail cocked to the right. “Bison”, Molly screeched just as I swerved the truck to the left, then back to the right. A massive head and horns swished passed  the passenger window and barely missed the outside rear-view mirror. ‘Are there more beasts?” my brain raced. “Is it another herd?” There were no more animals. We were most fortunate. That outrageous price I had recently paid for a new set of Michelin truck tires suddenly became worth every penny.

West Yellowstone was very sleepy when we arrived, our limbs and eyes worn-out, but still giggling about our close bison encounter. We gassed up the truck, found a good meal, and settled into a pet-friendly motel for the night. Before bed, the dogs ‘went outside’ in six new inches of snow. The next morning, we found a nice diner for breakfast, then headed for Bud Lillie’s Trout Shop. It was closed for the season.

Come a Little Earlier Next Time, Won't You?

There are so many adventures I want to share about the remainder of our Yellowstone visit, but both you and I probably don’t have time for all those details. Basically, we turned our attention to the rivers and ‘sampled’ the fishing up through the Park. Many of the storied rivers were dressed in their winter capes, winding beautifully through meadows of grass and willows. It was just warm enough to keep your guides from freezing up. Here are a few scenes:

Just Beyond the Confluence of the Firehole and Gibbon

The Madison, downstream, with Elk

Firehole

Chilly Morning

In the north of the park, the Gardner River, spawning grounds for big browns, before its confluence with the Yellowstone

Many strikes, Many misses

So what’s on my mind, now that time has passed since my personal voyage of discovery? Getting back out there, for sure. My sampling of these rivers’ trout demands a return with a more fitting engagement with them, their cold water and vast skies. Perhaps a week or two earlier next time around, and with a more open itinerary.

Just a Small Fry, but Beautiful

A Welcome First

Molly at Play

We played around Glacier for a few days, then struck out south for Idaho.  Our fishing adventures there are really too numerous to detail here, but here are some of the highlights.

South Fork of the Payette

Valley Creek in Teton Valley

Hemingway's Choice, Silver Spring

Hemingway spent his later years in Ketchum, ID and loved Silver Spring for its excellent duck hunting and huge but impossibly skittish browns and rainbows.

Next installment, a stroll through Yellowstone.  And then we’ll get back to Labrador and brook trout.

Thanks for following along.

High and Dry

The end of September brings a close to the Maine fishing season on most waters. I traveled north to fish those final 2011 days on the upper Magalloway, an annual treat for the past thirty-one years.  The trout and salmon were there in fair numbers and rose to my fly just often enough to keep me from dreaming all the days away gazing at the fiery fall maples that lean over the banks of those storied Maine rivers and streams.

Home Waters

The Jersey shore was next, a trip down for the wedding of a dear friend who chose wisely his lovely new wife, but somewhere lost it for sufficient time to invite me to play my guitar at their wedding.  The Sunday after the wedding was a beautiful day spent walking the mostly deserted beaches with the dogs.  Bear ran after the terns and pelicans as they dipped into the face of the incoming waves ‘fishing’ for their meals.

On the Beach

Then back to the woods of New Hampshire for several days of walking the autumn woods with my pups and oldest daughter, Molly.  She is the director of a girls summer camp there and we helped her close her camps for the year.

Walking the Edges

There’s more. A lot more. Molly and I packed my truck with camping gear, fishing gear and dog paraphernalia, then headed west to visit my other daughter, Kate. She is Molly’s twin sister who lives in Sun Valley, Idaho.  We haven’t arrived there yet, but we’re getting close. Tonight we are sleeping in a pet-friendly Marriot in Missoula, Montana having just spent a few days in Glacier National Park.  Wow! Amazing! We timed the visit perfectly. The aspens, larch and cottonwoods were indescribable shades of yellow and gold against the dark green of the softwoods. The rivers ran clear over ancient stone. Primeval cedar forests dripped with the clouds’ wetness. All this beauty spread before magnificent mountains whose folds were white with glaciers whose existence is now threatened by the warming climate. After taking in the beauty of the park, we fished the forks of the Flathead River where I hooked and landed a couple of dozen west-slope cutthroats. Beautiful trout from waters I’ve only dreamed of fishing until now.

Glacier National Park - Trout Stream

Highly Fishable

Holding Hole

Cedar Forests

Aspens and Tamaracks - Autumn's Peak

Bear and Georgia - Mountain Dogs

Cold Waters

Crepuscular Rays

On the way out west, we drove from the Northeast Kingdom of Vermont through the Adirondacks where we spent our first night.  Then we drove on to Niagara Falls, a natural wonder that I had managed to avoid to date, but one that seemed irresistible when passing so close on a sunny fall day. It was truly worthwhile, despite the human congestion.  Molly, the dogs and I romped on the beautiful lawns and dawned our ‘Maid of the Mist’ complimentary raincoats to shield the wind-driven mist from the falls.

The Honeymooners

I Apologize for this Seriously Touristy Photo

and This One, Too!

Plunge Pool

The next couple of days went by quickly as we drove through the less interesting highway miles through Chicago, then on into Wisconsin and Minnesota. We slowed down a bit in South Dakota and took in the Badlands and the Black Hills. We camped in a National Park campsite that offered about 200 camp sites. We were the only takers that cold night and spent the evening in the tent planning our fishing for the following morning.  We fished a couple of beautiful streams and managed to catch one small rainbow in a pool backed up by a huge pine deadfall.

Now it’s on to Ketchum, Idaho to visit Kate for a week or so.  We plan to catch up on her life out west while the three of us camp in the mountains and fish some of the rivers around her side of Idaho.  I will report on those adventures when I return.

So bear with me for another couple of weeks while I continue my personal voyage of discovery. I will post lots of reports about the 2011 Three Rivers season including the brook trout successes of many of our guests.

(Note:  I wrote the above post two weeks ago, but could not post it due to my electronics deficiencies.  I am home now and have so much more to post, but need to get this out today. More to come!)

Ann, Brad and guide Quentin Venture Out from the 5th Rapids Outpost Camp

Early this month, the morning after Ann’s DVD arrived in the mail, I got up at 5 am, made a pot of Matt’s Coffee, and slid in to my computer’s driver’s seat, ready for yet another typical visual adventure from a Labrador summer past. But what downloaded was over 600 truly amazing shots of the Taylor’s trip, photographs the likes of which I have never seen before. Now I get photos from dozens of guests each season. I even take a few myself. And because folks typically send their best few shots, many of the pictures are beautiful. All are deeply appreciated. Most feature, as you would expect, big fish and wild rivers with the occasional sunset thrown in.

Ann in the Boreal Forest

Ann’s pictures were inspirational.  As I screened them, I would often get to feeling a bit manic, quickly clicking to the next frame, and then the next, only to hit the back button thinking ‘Whoa, did I really see that?” Digesting Ann’s catalogue, dozens of future stories rushed through my head – the long road from Baie Comeau to Labrador City, wildflowers of Labrador, savage pike attacks, waterfowl, anatomy of the boreal forest – and on and on. (OK, big bright brook trout, too!) The pictures would tell the stories – I would just have to add a bit of BS here and there.

The Long and Winding (Baie Comeau) Road

Attack!

Bright Reward

So with their blessing, the Taylor’s pictures will add depth to our web site as we do our typical re-build each fall.  They will help describe tales of Labrador on this fishing log and bring witness, adventure and understanding to all who visit here.

Thank you, Brad and Ann, for your patronage and the beautiful visual chronicle.

Team Taylor

So get ready.  September will be a month of story-telling about Labrador and our secret world of big, river-bred brook trout.  (And a few more bottles of merlot).

Pour yourself a glass. It’s good to be home.

Dave's Railings

That leaves the railings.  TRL Friend extraordinaire Dave D. from Melrose, MA again came up early in the season for what we call ‘work week’.  Dave has had his hands (literally) in so many of the projects that make Three Rivers Lodge a neat place – the chimney and fireplace in the “Tilt” (the log addition to the dining lodge); the floor, panelling, roofing, etc. of the Tilt; boardwalks, finish woodwork, etc., etc.  This June, one of Dave’s projects was adding railings to the front porch of the Tilt.  His handiwork produced not just your average railings, you see.  These rails were selected from twisted tamarack trees grown in the local woods. The green wood will dry through the summer, then be sanded smooth and sealed to match the adjacent logs.

The Tilt Porch

And a word about those eight pounders.  Well, they have been plentiful and with the guides carrying digital scales these days, these big brookies are not born of excited imaginations. It looks like 2011 will actually exceed 2010, a year that was our best “catching” season in thirteen summers.  I’ll try not to sound boastful, but there is no doubt in my mind that our drainage system is the finest brook trout river in the world – that would be the whole, wide world.