As most every fly fisher knows, the Battenkill here in southwestern Vermont has been going through some tough times. Once a famous and popular angling destination, the river has seen its fish population crash. But perhaps the recovery is underway

So far this year, I've been out three times on the water along Route 313 in Arlington. I've caught just two fish, but they were definitely worth the price of admission. The first was a 23-inch brown that ate a conehead streamer fished very deep. Of course, I had forgotten my camera, but my friend Eric dug an old disposable film (remember that?) camera out of his vest and snapped these Loch-Ness-Monster-quality images before the fish squirmed out of my hands and made a getaway.

The next time out, I had just a couple hours in the afternoon, and didn't see a fish.

Then two nights ago, I was all alone when a Hendrickson spinnerfall brought several nice fish to the surface in a part of the river that's undergone a lot of habitat restoration in the past year. The fish rising 25 yards upstream from me was clearly a real pig, but there was also one rising closer. I made about ten drifts over it, with no response. I waded upstream a bit to change the angle (something I learned from Ed Engle's column a couple issues ago), and the fish took on the first pass. It turned out to be a healthy, 21-inch beauty--my biggest ever brown on a dry fly.

By the time I landed it and waded toward the monster upstream, the spinnerfall was over. But I know where that fish lives...

Since I first moved here in 1998, I've tried not to fall in love with the Battenkill, figuring it would only break my heart. But I seem to be thinking about the river more and more lately. The river can be enigmatic and frustrating, but then it produces such gorgeous fish. Maybe we can be just friends...with benefits.

Every month we're giving away a kickass prize on the homepage of AmericanAngler.com, so why aren't you entering? All you gotta do is sign in, and your name is entered into the drawing. This month's prize is a Patagonia Guidewater jacket, which'll cost you 400 simoleons at your local fly shop. Just enter the contest and it could be yours for free.

Come back every month for a new prize, too.

Whatcha waiting for?

A friend of mine, Joe Phillips, is having shoulder surgery today, so he asked me to go out with him for a last hurrah yesterday before he had to hang up the fishing gear for a couple months. Joe is a big-fish kinda guy. He knows where they live, and he knows how to catch them. Not that he doesn't also enjoy chasing little brookies on our local mountain stream, but the big ones are his real passion.

He took me to one of his local hotspots (which shall remain nameless), and we fished for most of the morning with just spotty luck. I was fishing streamers the whole time, but the fish weren't really committing to the strike, and we both felt lots of tugs that didn't amount to hookups. Between us, we caught perhaps 10 browns in the 12- to 15-inch range. That's pretty good luck for most of us, but Joe really wanted us to bag a bigboy.

I had to go to work by lunchtime, and when I saw it was past 11 I was ready to leave. But Joe convinced me to try one more spot.

We had to scramble down a really steep hill, but the run at the bottom was gorgeous--a riffle turned into a deep run against some riprap before it emptied into a deep hole. Joe allowed me the honors of the first pass through, and then he'd come in behind me. I got a hit on my first cast and then proceeded to catch three decent browns as I worked downstream. After the last one, I said, "Okay, I'm gonna end on this fish and call it a day." But Joe said, "Why don't you fish downstream a little more to where the hole starts to shallow out?"

When I was a guide, I learned a really valuable lesson: Always listen to your guide. So, I kept at it. Four casts later, the fly simply stopped midway through the swing. There was no tug or sharp strike: it just stopped. When I came tight, I felt serious resistance, and then the fish started to shake its head. The first time it came to the surface, I almost swallowed my tongue. It was a huge slab of green, red, and white--a much bigger rainbow than I'd ever expected to see in this river.

The fight wasn't terribly dramatic, although the fish ran hard across the pool a couple of times and rolled on the surface quite a bit. Those last few seconds before a big fish is in the net are always nerve-wracking, but Joe managed to scoop the beast. When I got a good look at it, I saw this:

It was the biggest wild rainbow I've ever caught outside Alaska. We neither weighed nor measured it, but I figure it was well over 20 inches and more than 4 pounds. Adrenaline may have made it seem bigger. No matter, I was pretty happy:

After a whole summer of catching little brookies (which I still love), it felt great to cradle something with a bit of heft.

Thanks, Joe! Get well soon.

Last weekend, we held our first annual "Meet the Family" event at Lakewood Camps on the Rapid River in northwestern Maine. Twenty-three folks showed up to take part in the program, and everything went off without a hitch.

Dave Klausmeyer and I arrived on Thursday afternoon and headed out on the river after dinner. Since the Rangeley Region is so steeped in history--and there were no fish rising--I figured I'd start with a local classic: a Grey Ghost streamer. I stood at the top of a long, deep pool and swung the fly through the rough water near the head. On about my third cast, the line went tight, and a fifteen-inch landlocked salmon took to the air. Four more fish jumped on the smelt imitation before it got too dark for us to see what we were doing.

The next day, most of the guests arrived, as did Macauley Lord (AA's casting columnist) and Bill Bullock, executive director of the American Museum of Fly Fishing. Over the next two days, Mac and Dave taught casting and tying, I showed some knots and demonstrated angling tactics, and Bill gave a great presentation on the museum and the role that Maine played in the history of American fly fishing.

Plus, there was lots of great fly fishing. Several salmon over 20 inches were taken, and Dave caught a 16-inch chunky brook trout on a ridiculous floating smelt pattern. Dry flies were working well in the mornings and evenings, and nymphs and streamers produced all day, although bright sun made afternoons tough.

Everyone had a great time, and we've already scheduled next year's event for the last weekend of June, 2008.