We dedicate this to you

At 6:30 AM on a clear crisp Saturday morning in Northern Maine with highs of 35 degrees, Therese (TC) and I decided to set out on a mission. That mission had a lot of significance to both of us, and our drive and desire was strong. We had made the decision together the night before. As we packed up our things and headed out, we reflected on the week we had had and the emptiness we both felt. This would not change anything, but it would help. The day before, we had packed up the canoe, the motor, and all of our fishing gear and drove to Fort Kent where we stayed the night. We looked through all of our flies and picked a few that we wanted to take with us. We put them in a separate container and Therese kept them in her pocket.

As we left Fort Kent, we could not help but think of all the times we had driven up the road to Saint Francis and into the area where we were planning to fish. Many a time, I had made the trip with my fishing partner, and often we had caught a few fish. There were, however more times than not that we came home empty handed, but neither one of us complained.

As we passed the Narrow Gauge in between St Francis and Allagash, I could not help but look left and right. On the left at the top of the hill lived two classmates of mine and I had often told him that. On the right was the mighty St John River. This morning it did not look to mighty, no, it was lacking water and the flow it normally had. It looked as though it would be very easy to cross at virtually any point.

As we got to Chamberlains store, we made our left and worked our way up the dirt road. Just before the gate, we hung a left, and up the hill toward our destination we went. We traveled for about 6 miles until we came to the road on the right that would take us to our final stop. As we drove in, I noticed that it had grown in a bit since I fished there with him, but that did not deter us one bit. As we came to the end of the road, I pulled the pickup around and backed it up to the landing. The view of the pond was spectacular with the fog just lifting and the sun shining bright. Therese and I unpacked, loaded the canoe and shoved off into the depths of the water, destined for the center of the pond. We paddled a bit around the entire pond, throwing our lines out to test the waters to see if any fish would bite, but to no avail.

Then the time was here. What we had come to do was now calling us both. I paddled to the middle of the pond, Therese took out one of the flies she had brought from one of her dad’s containers and then lowered her hand into the water to release it. The fly sat on top of the water and slowly moved away from our boat. We watched as the light current moved it further and further away. We looked at each other and then I paddled to shore.

We had accomplished what we had set out to do. It didn’t make it any better, but it felt like for a moment, we were connected to him.

Our mission was complete. We had gone to one of the ponds that Rosaire had fished a fair amount, Third Wallagrass Lake. Therese had fished where her dad had gone many times before. We had taken one of his prize muddler minnow flies, absent the barb, that he always told me I could not tie like him, and Therese had released it on the water. For Therese and I that had symbolized our great respect for Rosaire and that we were thinking of him and will always miss him dearly.