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Queen River
DISCUSSING A TROUT STREAM with someone who shares an intimate knowledge of it creates a quick kinship.
“Took a brookie from beneath that puckerbush off the big log.”
“Above or below the island?”
“Below, near the birches.”
“In the back eddy?”
“The slack water just above it.”
I waded through frogwater up the right side of the island. The island, which has no name and is little more than a gravel bar sprouting a couple of sickly birches, lies in the stretch between the meadow and Garfield Road. This section is just over a mile long and takes three to four hours
