Meccawe

     I have made my fly-fishing debut, at an historic - if little-known - private fishing club, no less:  the  Meccawe Club, on Meccawe Pond, in the hills above Bridgewater, Vermont.  The first members hauled the lodge house up the hills to the lake with oxen over a hundred years ago.  Calvin Coolidge, from down the road in Plymouth, was a member.  One of his fishing hats hangs on a nail in the great room of the lodge.  One of my partners, John Houlihan, is a member and has been kind enough to invite me up to visit on a day when I can attend a free clinic with the head of LL Bean's fly-fishing school.  I do not make a fool of myself at the clinic, and after, with John rowing us about the lake, I catch three beautiful trout on my new fly rod, all with a small wet fly - a black one with just a touch of red at the butt end.  Two rainbows, about 11 inches each, which would have been stocked this spring.  And a fine brook trout, at 10 inches or so, which John assures me is a native fish.    

     The last fish - the bigger of the rainbows - swallows the fly.  Even though I pluck it out quickly, with just a speck of blood, the fish goes belly up and can't be revived.  And so, along with some terrific memories of a first day with the fly rod, I come home with Sunday's lunch.