My Five Published Books

Published in 1993 – TROUT REFLECTIONS was named the best nonfiction book of the year by the New Hampshire Writers’ Project.

From an essay by John Randolph, published in his “Fly Fisherman” magazine and then in his book BECOMING A FLY FISHER, in which he named my book one of the ten greatest trout books of all time:

“As with all the modern writings mentioned here, the writer attempts to find deeply personal meaning in a fragmented world and finds his view of truth…
TROUT REFLECTIONS: A Natural History of the Trout and Its World by David M. Carroll is the kind of accomplishment that few of the great artists in either writing or painting have ever achieved – a double. Usually the writing slips beneath the film, or the artwork causes our teeth to ache, or both. Carroll achieves a level of both that is breathtaking. Think of what Thoreau could have created had he possessed this level of artistic talent to accompany his stunning gift with words. As a youth who grew up in the same world (western Massachusetts) that the author shared, and as a fly fisher, I find REFLECTIONS to be the ultimate personal artistic statement, one man’s completely portrayed perception of his natural world. In the history of fly-fishing literature no-one has ever reached these levels simultaneously in two fine-art fields.”

Brook trout and hibernating wood turtle

Brook trout and hibernating wood turtles

Among my ideas for books; drafts; sample art and writing that Meredith was bringing to the attention of publishers were two fairly detailed proposals. Both would be natural histories and would combine my art and writing, in the manner of YEAR OF THE TURTLE. One was a book on the native brook trout and the other was a journal of the seasons (this later evolved into my third book, SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL).

I had discovered native brook trout during my first year in New Hampshire, as I took up fishing for them in smaller headwater streams and brooks, and beaver impoundments. I sought places where the water ran through dense alder, silky dogwood, and winterberry thickets, or wooded riffles and runs.

My searching for brook trout became another extension of my following the water. There was a strong overlap in habitats between those of the wood turtle and the brook trout – I often had sightings of both in the same stretch of a stream. As with the turtles, I came to know the trouts’ ecosystems and seasonal patterns.

I had no desire to become an angler of heavily visited, stocked, ponds, rivers, and lakes. Silence and solitude (I think of them as my first teachers) were compelling here, as in the marshes and swamps of the turtles.

I was enthralled by the design of these darting fish, with its stunning patterns and markings, and the way they, like the turtles, were complete evocations and reflections of the natural landscapes and ecologies that were the foundations of their evolution. In my early days of pursuing them, I wrote a prose poem entitled “Fishing for Natives.”

This gestated in my mind for several years as the title for a book I would write one day. Although the angling aspect was the key opening of a path by which I came to know these brilliantly beautiful “little salmon of the fountains”, as their Latin name (Salvelinus fontinalis) denotes them, over time I became far more interested in their natural history than in fishing for them.

I began to write expanded drafts and did watercolor studies of some that I did catch. My process as author-illustrator seems to be to have a title before much of anything else. With the title in mind, I sketch out ideas – fragments of writing on the proverbial backs of envelopes, ideas for images and the like – and then if a contract were to come along, set to writing the book.

“With the recent arrival of his book, TROUT REFLECTIONS, David M. Carroll has earned a spot on my list of the ten top angling writers. Actually, Carroll’s effective combination of fishing, environmental concerns and natural history places his book on my list of the top ten nature books.
[He] writes majestically without being pompous. He writes grand, long paragraphs, each with a superb concluding sentence…In all of his sketches, he captures the essential wildness of his subjects.”
—John Rowan, The Conservationist

Brook trout ascending a waterfall

brook trout ascending a waterfall

But by the time I completed YEAR OF THE TURTLE I had decided that I would take up the journal theme as my next quest. I was still strongly connected to the brook trout by way of the aquatic habitats they shared with wood turtles, but had not gone fishing for them for some time.

I told Meredith that I did not want to pursue the trout proposal, but take up the the journal, and asked her not to show the trout material to publishers any more. She wrote me that “I’ll move it to the bottom of the pile, but a contract is a contract, money is money, and if there is an offer we need to go for it.” I could not disagree with her patent logic.

It so happened that almost immediately after this brief dialogue (all of Meredith’s correspondence and phone conversations take place in New York City minutes) an offer did arise.

An editor at St. Martin’s Press had seen the material earlier on and had decided to act on it. I was still reluctant to take on the project, and the offer of an advance was far too low for such an undertaking. I declined. Meredith relayed that the offer was “not compelling”. The offer was doubled – still well on the very modest side – but I was in no position to let it go. I accepted, and found myself booked again.

I became engaged, and took up my Year of the Turtle approach of integrating my experiences and observations in the wild with a species that entranced me so, with my writing and art, to produce another natural history. And I wanted an ecological framework.

Once again I took up the critical demands of an immersion in the scientific literature. This was research that had the added goal of deepening my own learning, my awareness of a rather elusive subject. I have always thought that the best way to learn something, besides one’s own empirical observations, is to write a book about it, or to teach it – or both.

As I began to write, the emphasis on natural history deepened. I could no longer consider “Fishing for Natives” as a fitting title. In talking this over with my wife Laurette, she ventured several alternatives, among which appeared “Trout Reflections”. Immediately I saw this as the perfect title, from many perspectives, and subsequently added the subtitle.

“[A] stirring and lyrical account of… a year’s observations.
But Carroll’s great lesson is that all life is connected everywhere.”
—Geoffrey Elan, Yankee Magazine.

Brook trout leaping for mayflies

Directly after the book appeared, I received one more key correspondence in the highs and lows of my publishing career, a saga about which I hope to write in detail at some point.

A letter came from Harry Foster, senior editor at Houghton Mifflin, who directed natural history titles. He was highly respected in his field, and had worked with many accomplished nature writers. Harry had contacted me about YEAR OF THE TURTLE, expressing his high regard for the book. We developed a correspondence cum friendship on a number of subjects, turtles being high on the list. I sent him a copy of TROUT REFLECTIONS, and in short order received a letter with his reaction:

“Dear David, Trout Reflections is a masterpiece! Thanks and congratulations. I tried to call, but you must be out in the swamp. I’ve been spending a few hours each weekend watching for spotted turtles as part of a Massachusetts Audubon survey. Wish I had more time. I liked the Yankee piece (a commentary by Geoffrey Elan). Hope you were pleased with it. Best, Harry.”

At this point Harry told me that he would like to have me consider doing my next book with Houghton. Given my personal interactions with him, and Houghton Mifflin’s renowned history with nature writing, I needed no persuasion, and began conferring with him about the book that became SWAMPWALKER’S JOURNAL.