Mud season is gross. Hunting and trapping has ended for the most part, with the exception of coyote and beaver. There’s not enough snow for the snowmobiles, and too much mud or granular snow for the four-wheeler. Even though they change the laws each year to allow for early fishing, I don’t usually take part due the icy cold waters. Even with wool socks and waders, I get cold, so it’s April 1st for me.
So what is there to do? Well March mud season is my maintenance season. It’s when I start getting everything ready for fishing and camping, and put away all things winter.
The snowmobiles barely made it into the trailer before the snow melted. We’ve charged the batteries and started the four-wheelers. We’re still checking sap buckets using the four-wheeler where it’s still frozen so we can boil maple syrup. That’ll continue for another week or so. It’s been a slow season, but that’s okay since John tore his Achilles tendon and will be limited for a while. The snowshoes have been given a nice coat of marine grade shellac and they’re hung up for the season.
The traps are hanging under cover in the pavilion (which John affectionately calls the Slaughterhouse) we built two springs ago so the rust should be minimal.
One of our biggest projects was cutting three big pine near the house. It certainly made a big change since it involved taking down our game pole. We’ll put that back up this week in some nearby pines that we didn’t cut down. So the big work is done.
Now comes the fun part. I LOVE organizing my fly boxes. I have four MFC and a magnetic fly box, but even that never feels like enough. Every year, I get a stocking full of flies from Santa but this year, I also got a .50 each deal on a bunch of hare’s ear and other nymphs at LLBean so I’ll really need to take a look at the condition of some of the flies I have and see if they’re worth saving so I can make room for my new ones.
I’ll get out my fly rods and give the lines a good cleaning so they’ll glide nice and fast, and maybe even get in a few practice casts. I don’t know if you have this issue, but when I first start fishing at the start of the season, my arm gets tired. Good thing I’m actually trying to get in shape for it…me and my tiny weights. I’ll let you know how that goes.
I also have a bunch of trolling lures and new trolling rods that we need to set up for some early trolling on Great Pond. Lead core lines, backer line, braided line leaders and Grandma lures will make for some fun pike fishing, though I wouldn’t mind catching a brown or rainbow on Long Pond. Guess I better get the boats registered!
I hope you’re getting your gear ready. The season is short here in Maine, so prepping makes for more play and less work. As the experts like to say, “Tight lines”. Okay, some of you may find that hokey, but you know what I mean. Good luck fishing!…how’s that?
I truly love going into the wilderness. There are few, if any, places left in Maine where someone can say that no one has been, so it’s nice to feel that when you do get a chance to go somewhere new, and wild to you, that it feels as wild and untouched to you, as it did to the person who got to experience it beforehand.
That’s why I get kind of sad, and then really mad, when I see things that shouldn’t be there, like the 40 year old beer cans in our pristine pond where native brook trout reside and that we fish for. Even after all that time, those aluminum beer cans still stand out from the bottom of the pond as a glaring inconsideration for the water, fish, environment, and all the fisherman who’ve had to see it. Back in those days, fisherman would drink their beer, and throw their cans in the water as casual behavior. In this day in age, when adults, for certain know better, I continue to see popular shiny-blue beer cans on the roadside…undoubtably those riding the roads trying to rid the evidence of drinking and driving. Yeah, we’ve seen a few drunk drivers in our time, but up in the wild, law enforcement are seen few and far between. So goes the saying to do as you would as if someone is watching you.
When we first started making the wilderness a regular destination, we hardly ever met a vehicle on our trips, but over the past twenty years, as more urbanites flock to the woods in escape of Covid and the stresses of the world, they also are bringing along some bad behavior.
Now on top of the Appalachian Trail hikers, we have the entire Bigelow Range being hiked and then Maine Huts and Trails also began courting tourists with concierege service while hiking, biking and eating gourmet meals and wine. With this onslaught of urbanites, our “untouched” wilderness is beginning to feel just a bit crowded, which is okay as long as they behave.
We see a lot of hikers because our beloved pond is also part of the Appalachian Trail. One of the biggest messaging campaigns I’ve ever seen regarding protecting our special wild places is “Leave No Trace.”
The Appalachian Trail has posted signs designating approved campsites and asking people to leave the site as if no one has ever been there.
How hard can that be?! After all, it’s basically pack out what you pack in, bury your waste and toilet paper, but most important, leave things undisturbed.
People seem to forget this last one. I am forever seeing stacked rocks in the oddest places. I understand that stacking rocks was originally used as directional guides to mark a trail for hikers, but most of the time, it’s simply someone thinking it’s something cool to leave behind. Some critics have even called this grafitti…and I think they are right.
Stacking rocks, called cairns, is a no-no in my book. And it’s a no-no in a lot of places, and it’s actually illegal in all national parks such as Acadia and Zion National Park.
When we made our first trip out onto the pond this spring, I was more than annoyed when I saw a teepee structure made from driftwood right on the Appalachian Trail, and not far from the actual lean-to that is the designated camping spot. It wasn’t like the person building it needed a place to sleep. And one of the the leave not trace rules are to not expand the campsite.
Even nature knows how to leave no trace.
Last year, we came upon a flock of turkey vultures feasting on a carcass. The carcass turned out to be a young bull moose that had been hit by a car. It had a broken leg and its foot had become tangled in a tree root. The thought of what this moose had to endure in its last minutes of life was sad, and all because someone couldn’t slow down. We had seen the collision signs on the road and the moose hadn’t traveled far before succumbing to its injuries.
The first week we watched as the birds ate the eyes, nose and gut of the moose.
The second week, coyotes and who knows what other predators had a feast leaving just the skull, rib cage, shoulder blades and leg bones with flesh still intact. The stink was incredible and any thoughts of retrieving a scapula for future moose hunts quickly vanished with retching and watery eyes.
The third week there only remained a stain and discoloration on the ground where the moose had been. There were a few scattered bones with no flesh left, and for the most part, the moose and the stink were gone.
A year later and the moose is a mere memory and a couple photos. We were only able to find the few remnants of some vertebrae on the edge of the woods.
If you love the wilderness as much as we love it, I hope you’ll take the time to leave no trace…or at least please don’t litter, stack rocks, or make shelters out of driftwood unless you absolutely need to in order to survive.
I’d like to say, treat it as your own, but let’s face it. It’s not yours, so don’t ruin it for everyone else. Get outdoors and enjoy it, and remember what you love about it, and leave it that way for the next person. With so little wilderness left, let’s all make an effort to keep it at least feeling like wilderness even if there are way more people around than you like.
As I was talking with John the other day, it occurred to me that we’ve changed so much over the last thirty something years. We married in October of 1984, and through all these years, we’ve persevered and have become what some have referred us to as a “power couple.”
I laugh when I hear this because it’s usually in the context of hunting and fishing and all the things we do together. It’s quite a compliment, but honestly, it’s just about being together and enjoying what we do. Our kids are grown and off doing their own things with friends and family, so we have more time together that we didn’t have when we were raising our three kids. Hopefully they’ll take some of the times we spent hunting, fishing and wildlife watching with them and pass it onto their families.
So how did we get here?
My dad was pretty strict, but I think it was his own fears that made these rules. I remember not being allowed to go into the woods. My father’s house was only on two acres, but apparently he felt that was more than enough for us to get into trouble, so we (the kids) weren’t allowed to “wander off” and had to stay in the backyard. As an adult, this had lasting effects as I was dreadfully afraid of the woods and what might be lurking in those woods. The first time John and I went for a walk, I nearly jumped out of my skin when a partridge took off. I was never aware of my surroundings and all I remember was that I didn’t enjoy mosquitoes, and I certainly didn’t go looking for wildlife. Even when my family spent time at the camp lot, a parcel of land that my parents bought in the mid 70’s, that had an old school bus on it that we turned into a camper, we were not allowed to explore beyond our boundaries. Now when I hear partridge drumming, it only makes me want to find it.
From the age of 4, my oldest son Zack would want to go “hunting” with his BB gun, so he and I would put on our orange and take walks in the trails behind our house. We never saw anything, but he got the chance to work on his stalking skills and just loved every minute we were out there. I, on the other hand, never went beyond the trails because that’s all I knew.
One of these times, we hadn’t gotten further than 30 yards off the edge of the field, when I spied legs walking down the right trail. In my mind, I thought this was one of John’s cousins who is tall and skinny and who also lived next door. While I was wondering what he was doing out back, I soon realized it was a rutting moose coming down the trail. His head was down and his antlers…huge antlers…were going side to side as if to challenge us. I grabbed Zack by the arm and made a run for it back toward the house. I wanted Zack to see it, but I didn’t want the moose to charge us. I went into a full asthma attack as we hid behind a tree. We never saw it up close because I was so concerned about getting away from the scary monster, and meanwhile the moose changed course and headed down a different trail.
Zack grew to love the outdoors so much that he’d wander off all day. I’d worry and every night, I’d have to yell, “Zack-Ah-reeeeee“, for him to come home. He certainly explored beyond my boundaries, but would come home with stories of his travels and of all the stuff he saw in the woods.
When my husband was a young boy, he would sit around and listen to the men tell hunting stories, but moose hunting wasn’t allowed then so there were only stories of beastly moose and how scary and unpredictable they are. As a youth hunter, he had an encounter with a rutting moose that charged him, which left a lasting impression. John was set up in front of an oak tree while hunting deer. A moose came in to the smell of his buck lure, and when the moose saw John, he charged. John ended up yelling and kicking leaves at the moose and eventually shot over its head to scare it off. He retold this story as a teenager and said it was one of the scariest moments as a kid he could remember. Then while in college, John was working the wood yard when a young moose wandered into camp. John decided to challenge himself and he was pretty impressed that he was able to make calls to the moose and eventually scare it off. It was then that he realized moose weren’t all that scary.
Thirty plus years later, we’ve grown to understand moose, and fully appreciate their presence in the woods. We’ve successfully hunted, tracked, and called them in just for the sake of seeing if they’d respond. There are no longer fears associated with moose or any animal for that matter. If anyone had told me ten years ago, that I’d be hunting bear, or that I’d get my grand slam, I would have laughed. I am no longer afraid of the outdoors, the dark, the water (somewhat), or going beyond my boundaries and stepping out of my comfort zone. I am still challenged when I face new adventures and those old fears creep in; however, I know I have the skills to be competent in the outdoors, so I just push forward challenging myself at every chance I get.
We’ve come a long way from where we were thirty years ago. I hope that if you’re thinking of getting into hunting and fishing or even just nature, that you’ll not put it off for another day. Don’t expect it to be perfect when you do venture out. Just take each time as a new and learning experience. I’m so thankful for who we’ve become both as people and as a couple. I can’t imagine life any other way.
So spring has taken too long to arrive. I’m not sure if it’s because winter began in October, or if spring really is lagging. The warm weather certainly hasn’t arrived.
Last year we were fishing in the river by the end of April and hammering the salmon. This year, we were on the river in our winter underwear, praying for a bite and a little sun to warm us up. I never thought I’d be saying this, but the mosquitoes and black flies finally have arrived so it shouldn’t be much longer. Just take a look at the difference a year can make. Mother Nature is miraculous, and she’s working hard to catch up.
These are photos of the end of April thru the middle of May 2017. I’m still waiting for my birds to return to my wreath.
In 2018 we were fishing, finding and foraging all through May. Turtle were laying their eggs, fish was abundant as were the mushrooms. We didn’t get many morels, but it was a dry spring.
This year, we’re still waking up to a heavy frost and the camper heater has run all night long. Mayflowers stayed in the bloom the longest ever. We just found fiddleheads up north when they’d gone by at home. We haven’t found any oyster mushrooms, but the morel mushrooms didn’t disappoint in this wet weather and arrived right on schedule. The salmon are just beginning to bite, the brook trout are just starting to rise for mayflies, but we still haven’t seen a deer fawn, moose calf, or turtle. We’ve still seen some amazing animals: grouse, beaver, frog eggs, rabbits, geese and goslings, wood ducks, mergansers, and we even spotted some chaga. Oh, yeah, that is bear scat and a snake. We photograph everything we find. Enjoy!
The week’s weather finally is starting to look like it might actually be sunny. I hope you’ll get out and enjoy the outdoors.
As Mother’s Day and Father’s Day fast approaches, I am facing my firsts without my parents. Many of you know that I unexpectedly lost my mother last June, then my father passed suddenly and unexpectedly in September 2018. Life was feeling pretty grim, and then I was dealt a sucker punch to the gut when my older sister, Kathi, passed away unexpectedly in February 2019. It’s been rough, and it honestly still hurts, but I’ve had some time to think about each of them, and how much they contributed to my being who I am today. This is a tribute to them.
When you’re born, you get “your mother’s eyes, or your father’s nose” and temperament falls in there somewhere. Yes, biology has a lot to do with who we are as people, but what really makes me who I am, is all the stuff Mom, Dad, and all of us went through together as I grew up.
I didn’t come from a hunting family. My mother’s family hunted and fished, and my mother loved to fish from the time she was old enough to hold a pole. I remember my mother telling me how hungry she was as a child so I can only imagine how much a caught fish meant to a hungry belly. I don’t have many photos of my mother, only a few in her youth, but the ones I found show her holding a nice fish.
My father’s family was known to be outright poachers in order to feed themselves. In fact, the one time my grandfather bought a license, he was teased by the town clerk. As a teenager, I remember asking my father why we didn’t hunt. His response was that he hated mosquitoes. At first this seemed odd since mosquitoes are gone by November then he told me that my grandfather made him go hunt with him in the spring and summer, and as my father batted off mosquitoes, my grandfather kept scolding my father for moving. And my inheriting my father’s mosquito magnet traits explains why I hate them so much.
Later in life, my dad fished on Serpentine stream in his party boat, but he really didn’t care if he ever caught anything; he preferred playing cribbage with his in-laws.
So how is it possible that I love hunting and fishing so much? Yes, I am very thankful to have such a loving and supportive husband who has been willing to show me and share with me his love of hunting and fishing. John took me out on my first turkey hunt, my first deer hunt, and we learned how to fly fish together, but while some say it’s only one person that they credit as making it all possible, I say, it really isn’t all him. Without the love and support from my family, I never would have had the qualities necessary to try this new way of life or the belief that I could do it.
You see, my mother was way ahead of her time. She fished when none of her friends fished; however, she wasn’t a mother who just stood by while the kids fished. She fished and fished well, usually out-fishing all of us.
She was a survivor, never having it easy, but she persevered. My mother never emphasized beauty over brains. I watched my mother go to work every day in the shoe shop. We didn’t have the luxury of having a stay-at-home mom, but working gave my mother confidence and independence, and eventually, she worked her way up to having a salaried job that was typically held by men. She was never afraid to try anything, and she even coached the only girls baseball team in the league when only boys played ball and society hadn’t figured out how to indoctrinate girls into softball. As a young girl, I preferred to hit the baseball over softball. I loved the “crack” of the bat and the speed of the ball, and the fact that I truly believed I was a better baseball player than a lot of the boys I played against.
I also remember my mother donning a big orange jacket, loading her gun and in her little go-go boots, head out for an afternoon of deer hunting. That was my mom. She wasn’t afraid to try anything even though she wasn’t particularly athletic. I never heard my mother say she couldn’t do anything because she was a girl…never, ever. And for that, I am truly thankful.
My father worked every day, never missing work even when he didn’t feel good or got hurt on the job. I remember my father pushing through the pain of two broken heels after falling from a ladder and going to work on crutches. My father showed hard work paid off, and taking care of the family came first.
He also worked on his education as a non-traditional student and earned his electrician’s license while also being enlisted in the Army National Guard, and working all the time.
My father could fix anything, and my father was smart. I always thought I got my smarts from him, but I realize that my mother was smart too.
Dad showed me that if you wanted something bad enough you had to work for it. He taught me the ability to stick to something and never give up. While my father teased me for being “butch” and liking to do “boy” things, he never made me stop doing what I loved to do. He let me, be me, and didn’t try to make me be someone I wasn’t. And for that, I am truly thankful.
My sister Kathi was my role model growing up. I watched her overcome adversity as a teen mother, and finish her nursing education. I was always so proud of her accomplishments. She worked full-time and went on to earn her college degree while maintaining a family, a house and home. I got to see the stability and independence she gained by being able to have a professional job. She too learned from my parents that perseverance and hard work pays off, and despite obstacles we may have encountered, we could do anything.
Kathi even began hunting long before me. I was so impressed to hear her stories, and listen how both she and my younger sister went hunting. Kathi was always my biggest cheerleader no matter what I did in life, including when it came to my blog and the hunting stories I wrote. And for that, I am truly thankful.
Time will heal my broken heart, and my loved ones will continue to influence who I am. Although I may not be everything, or any one thing, that my three family members were, there are bits and pieces of their genes and characteristics coursing through my veins, and in my heart and mind, they have given me the strength to be persistent, to persevere, and to know that I can do anything I set my mind to doing, including being the best outdoors woman I can be. And for that, I am truly thankful.
Me and John sharing a turkey hunt together. And for that, I am truly thankful.
I know that sounds confusing, but let’s face it; we miss a whole lot of stuff driving too fast. I can’t tell you how many people drive right by or into wildlife because they’re so intent on getting where they’re going that they don’t take the time to slow down and really see what’s around them.
When my children were younger, many of our Friday or Saturday nights were spent cruising the back roads hoping to see some wildlife. “Moose rides” we called them, but we often saw way more than moose. To this day, my kids can recount a certain ride where they saw a bull moose fight, a baby bunny, or where we stopped and caught fish in our travels.
The secret to seeing wildlife is: Number one: knowing where to go. Number two: going at the right time of the year, and number three: going at the right time of day. But really if you want to see wildlife, just take a ride into rural Maine. A slow ride. Grab a friend, lover or family, and get your eyes off your phone and into the fields, the woods, and the roads. I’m not saying you have to go 30 miles per hour the whole time…but 60 won’t do you any good and you might even hit one of the animals you’re trying to spot…so slow down. Be aware of your surroundings, including cars behind you who aren’t out for a wild ride, and be ready to slow to a stop, take a picture, and share the experience and make memories.
In the beginning of the spring, April, we start our rides to go fishing. This time of year, we see a lot of yearling moose who have just been cast off from their mothers who are getting ready to calve. These moose are extremely scared, tend to stay in the road, run up the road, and may even come up to your vehicle as one did for us this spring. The moose always look pretty scraggly, but it’s just the shedding of their winter coats.
Rabbits getting some nutrients from the road
Big bull moose
Eaglet sitting on a branch
Turtle tracks. We tried to catch the female laying eggs but she retreated too fast.
Woodcock and chicks right at dusk
Wood turtle on dirt road
We also see a lot of rabbits. One of the games we play with the kids is that everyone gets to guess how many moose and rabbits we’ll see. The winner only gets bragging rights, but it gets the kids involved with looking to spot animals. We’ve seen woodcock with chicks, fox with kits, grouse alone, and with chicks, deer with fawn, moose with calves, bucks, coyotes, snakes, bear, turtles, turkey, rabbits, and sometimes we even spot mushrooms..all from the seat of our truck.
Rabbits getting some nutrients from the road
Woodcock and chicks right at dusk
Eaglet sitting on a branch
Where to go: For moose, we go north/northwest of Norridgewock…areas include Bingham, Athens, road to Greenville, Rangeley and US Route 16, Oquossoc, Kingfield, and north of Lexington on the Long Falls Dam Road. For deer, just take a drive. They’re literally everywhere from the interstate, to farm fields, to within the city limits. Some of the biggest deer in velvet that I’ve ever seen have been in Augusta.
When to go: early spring to see turkeys gobbling in farm fields, deer getting their first taste of grass, pregnant cow moose, yearling moose, laying turtles in the gravel roadside, and if you’re lucky enough, a bear with cubs. Mid-spring delivers for moose with calves, moose and deer in general, rabbits with babies, grouse with chicks, birds of all sorts including hawks and owls and even sand hill cranes. Fall is great to see moose in the rut, and partridge to shoot in October. Most of the time when we hunt for partridge, we’re riding roads looking on berms to spot roosting birds…use this time to start early and get to know where you see them for the fall bird season.
We always plan our rides so that we arrive at our destination around dusk. You should plan to drive slower than normal and keep an eye out. This is the time many animals come out to eat, hunt, or travel. We bring a spotlight to help spot animals. We never have any kind of hunting equipment in the car either, because it would look bad to a game warden or police officer. You can use lights except from September 1 to December 15, when “it is unlawful to use artificial lights from 1/2 hour after sunset until 1/2 hour before sunrise to illuminate, jack, locate, attempt to locate or show up wild animals or wild birds except raccoons which may be hunted at night with electric flashlights during the open season (IFW).”
So no matter when you head out, you’re apt to see something. Just slow down and watch the sides of the roads, the trees, the skies, and take it all in. There’s always something out there to enjoy, to share, and to learn about. You won’t forget it, and neither will the kids.
PS Don’t forget your camera. Many of these are taken with my phone camera so the resolution isn’t as good as it could be.
It’s been an better-than-average spring thus far for fishing the Dead River. We’ve fished it enough to learn what to use when, and have worked our way up from not catching anything to catching pretty often. Unlike last year, this year, it’s been a bonanza as we’ve been very successful in the spring catch of landlocked salmon and native brook trout. Knowing what to use is the key to catching fish.
Fishing the Dead River can be frustrating. If it’s down at night, it could be high in the morning because often times the river levels are determined by the white water rafting schedules. I keep the release dates bookmarked on my phone so I can check to see if the river will rise. If it does, it doesn’t drop until 1 p.m. “They say” the best fishing is right after the drop. Honestly, the best fishing is first thing in the morning before they open the dam, and at night when the mayflies hatch or when the fish are feeding just before sunset. This coincides when fish usually feed.
One Sunday, as soon as the river dropped, the trucks poured in. Men in their waders grabbed spots quicker than I could get my waders on despite the fact the water wasn’t even fish-able yet. My mistake. So as I got ready to fish, there was ONE spot open on the island…one spot that was also one of my favorites. As I got ready to cross onto the island, a guy fishing to the left looked over his shoulder and quickly scooted into the spot I had eyed for myself. I was annoyed, but there was still one spot left on the far right near the rapids, IF I could get there first. I quickly changed direction and tried to get over there as quick as I could.
As I made my way across the pools and around to the end, I notice a hatch taking place. I felt like I as being invaded by tiny blue-green bugs and they floated and flew all around me. Some type of mayfly, but to me it didn’t matter. I had my sinking line on my rod that I use with nymphs. There was no chance I was going back to change my lines since this was my ace in the hole, and the only spot open.
I pulled out my dry fly box and retrieved a Blue Wing Olive and tied it onto my tippet (the end of my line). I made my way to my spot. The guy fishing where I originally wanted to fish was throwing his line about half way down to me on my left. Perfect. I’d fish more to the left and have access to the deeper water and where the fish were jumping on my right. Meanwhile another fisherman came up and started fishing behind me in the large pool. I kept thinking, “Please don’t hook me”.
I took a couple casts to get the hang of the sinking line with the lure. The lure would float at first, then quickly sink from the weight of the line and the fast current. I took a third cast and landed a small 10 inch salmon. I let it go. The fish were jumping, so I concentrated on placing my fly above the jumps and drifting the fly toward the fish. My confidence was building…I cast again. On the fifth cast, just as my fly started to sink, I got a hit!
The hit was so hard and strong that fish began to run and fight, and the line was stripping out of my hand that was holding the line. As I began reeling in my excess line, the entire reel fell off my rod!!!! Luckily I was still holding onto it! I tried for a brief moment to put it back on, but a one-handed attempt was asking to lose the fish I had fighting at the end of my line. I quickly stuffed the reel into my waders so I was once again using two hands to fight this fish.
I finally got the line stripped back in so that I could net my beast. He was huge! It’s the biggest salmon I’ve ever caught. The net barely held it. Its tail hung out and in one giant flop, he was out of the net again. After netting the fish a second time: this time holding onto the tail through the net, and schlepping all my gear and line out of the deep water, I blurted out to the guy fishing behind me that I had caught my biggest fish ever. He seemed undaunted. The girl on shore with the cell phone trying to get reception (LMAO- as if) looked at me like I was a crazed woman. The guy off to my left was now changing out his fly/lure…lol.
I was elated, and at that point, I decided I wasn’t stopping until I got my fish on the tailgate of the truck so I gave up my spot and headed up. I killed my fish, (which is really humane) and set him on the tailgate. I tried to take a selfie but my arm wasn’t long enough and the fish was too big!
To my surprise, NO ONE had taken my spot in the ten minutes I took to deliver my fish to the truck. I headed back down and reclaimed my spot. Three casts later I was hauling in my second largest fish I’ve ever caught. I was so excited. The kid fishing behind me now had questions and was offering up his help to keep this fish in my net. What are you using? What are you catching? Where should I cast? The guy to my left was still changing out his flies. Me, I was on Cloud 9! Worst part was that hubby had made his way up the upper pool and had no idea I was slamming the fish.
I gave up my spot. I had my two limit salmon and the kid behind me was dying to try my spot. I gave him a few pointers before I left. The guy who had been fishing on my left…left.
I took my fish up the truck and laid it next to the first one. Fish number one measured 21.5 inches, and fish number two measured 19.5 inches. A number of people who showed up to fish just as I was trying to take pictures of my fish had lots of questions. It felt great to share my experience…and to see the little glean of envy from the men. It’s not often I get to catch a big one, let alone two, so it felt wonderful.
So all those guys thought they had the best spot, but I was the one who had the best catch. Lesson learned. There’s fish everywhere…you just have to know how to catch em…
Happy Fishing and always remember to share your knowledge, and to be a courteous fisherman.
I’m taking a break this week. I’m still tired from all the hunting I’ve been doing and still doing. Instead, I’m sharing this week. One of the great things about being an outdoors woman is finding friends who are also outdoors women.
I’m am the first person to admit that I enjoy fishing, but fly fishing is my true love when it comes to fishing. Other than white perch fishing, we really spend all of our time fly fishing. So when the youngest son, Tyler, started bass fishing this year, I was a bit baffled. We had invested a considerable amount of money in all this gear for him to go fly fishing with us, and now all of a sudden he’s bass fishing. What gives?! We don’t even eat bass!
As this school year came to end, it also was the end of high school for all of us. Tyler was graduating and then starting his summer job the following Monday. In the spirit of making this his time, we planned a full weekend of bass fishing on the lake in the boat. I have to admit I didn’t have a huge amount of enthusiasm for bass fishing, but this wasn’t my weekend, it was Tyler’s.
Sure, we had caught bass before with the spinner bait I kept in the tackle box, but I was out to catch anything, not targeting bass. And most of the time, I was using crawlers, not bass lures. I still remember the fight to get this one into the boat and from the smile on my face, I had fun catching him. I released him since we don’t eat bass.
As I recall, fishing on East Pond was pretty fun. Among the white perch, sunfish and pickerel, we caught several bass each summer, and my oldest son was great at pulling large mouth bass through the ice on East Pond each winter. To me, East Pond with connects to Serpentine Stream where I learned to fish, was more known for the white perch run–a kid’s fishing paradise. In 2013, the lake changed. The biologists removed a lot of fish because of the need to control algae blooms and this also seemed to affect the bass population.
Now looking back, I realize Tyler fell in love with bass fishing long before he ever put a fly rod in his hand. There is nothing like a good fight on a kid’s pole to get hooked. We stayed at a camp on Messalonskee Lake and the entire week was spent fishing on the dock for bass.
Now it’s all starting to make sense!
Tyler has changed a lot over the years, and I guess his love of bass fishing has always been there. He’s pretty amazing with his casting moves. I, on the other hand, need to learn how to use my new Ugly Stik spinning rod. I couldn’t seem to get the bail down on my reel before the frog hit the water. I watched bass repeatedly slam my frog, but I couldn’t set the hook because I was just not fast enough. There’s actually a lot more method to bass fishing than I ever thought, and it’s a lot more fun than I remembered. I have a lot to learn about bass fishing from my son, and I’m looking forward to every chance I get. You’re never to old to go fishing with your kids, and eventually they’ll teach you a thing or two. Happy Fishing!
First cast and he got this! (c) S. Warren
Bringing in the bass. Check out that frog! (c) S. Warren
As a sportsman, one of the most important things you can do is share your knowledge. We constantly are told to share our knowledge. Take a kid fishing. Keep the traditions and heritage of hunting and fishing alive by getting people involved. Yet there is a paradox to that when it comes to fishing. Fisherman clam up when you ask them for advice. They pride themselves on their secret lures, techniques, lines, and spots. It’s almost a given not to ask a fisherman what he’s using for a fly because he probably won’t tell you. It’s always been my beef, so every chance I get, if someone asks, “what are you using?” I tell them with a smile and honesty.
My fly boxes. (c) S. Warren
Sometimes fisherman lie to other fisherman. This happened to us in New Hampshire when we fished Echo Lake a couple years ago. We ran into two old Maine fishermen and we had seen them catch fish after fish. So as they left, we asked them what they were using. They seemed nice enough, but after spending an hour or so using the fly they recommended, we decided we had been had because those fish wouldn’t hit it even once. After we changed to another fly, we had luck.
Same thing at our favorite fishing spot. A fisherman came in and nudged me out of my spot. At the time, I hadn’t learned to stand my ground, but in a matter of a minute from taking over my spot, I watched this guy haul in the THE biggest salmon I’ve ever seen. And you guessed it. I didn’t dare ask what he had used. The cardinal rule prevented me from asking. So I didn’t learn anything except that I couldn’t catch what he did.
So when we run into fisherman that not only want to talk about fishing, but also want to share their “secrets”, it’s refreshing. We had the pleasure of going to a local discount store because they had just gotten in a huge fishing assortment. As we grazed the isles an old man dressed in a red flannel shirt, jeans, and wearing a bear claw necklace approached us. His head held a very old wide-brimmed, woven hat, and he walked with a walking stick as tall as him. His face was covered in a full white beard and his voice soft. As we walked by, the old man started sharing his stories. He was an old Maine guide who used to trap the Allagash in his younger days. He’s 87 now and can’t do much, but he can fish. He asked if we had ever been to Seboomook Campground by Pittston Farms. We had indeed been there. He proceeded to tell us what we need to use in order to catch the BIG salmon. The funny part was that as he got to the part of the story telling us what streamer to use, he stopped. His voice got low, and he said, “I’m waiting for that young man to leave” nodding to the man a few feet down the isle who had apparently been listening intently. After the man left, he looked into my eyes and said, “Grizzly King”.
Then he told us about Little Pond and how to catch big trout there. Turns out Little Pond is well known and our two sons went there last year. When the oldest heard about our conversation with the old Maine Guide, we decided we had to get to Little Pond to try fishing.
It was cold and windy, but the sun shining on us was nice since it had been about a week since we had seen Old Sol. Little Pond doesn’t allow motorized anything so we hauled our two canoes down the nice trail to the launch area. There we met a fisherman who was also fishing, rowing a boat around the lake with his fancy made fly rods. He even called us over to see his rods. But he wasn’t interested in sharing how he fishes. He was interested in getting compliments for everything he said about himself. We didn’t learn anything from him except that the rod he makes is probably way out of our price range.
We didn’t have any luck catching fish using the old Maine Guide’s technique, but we did get cold. As we were paddling back to the launch area, we met a local man and his Corgi dog. He was just FULL of information and amazingly, he couldn’t wait to share it with us.
After telling us we needed lead core line, big minnows and a lot of patience we found that a lot of what the old Maine Guide told us was similar to what this man shared except the old Maine Guide used a streamer and the local man used an artificial lure.
We’ve learned a lot about fishing in the last two weeks from people who were willing to share their secrets. I hope that if you are a fisherman, you’ll take a moment and share your secret instead of keeping it to yourself. You’ll find it’s much more gratifying .
Before we got married, my husband John and I would fish for brook trout in Mount Vernon, Maine. It was one of the few places where a brook trout were more than six inches long and not many people fished the brook. At first I wasn’t a fan of brook fishing because my lines seemed to always get tangled in a bush. I spent as much time untangling my line from tree limbs as I did actually fishing. I ended buying short kiddie poles and they worked great for brook fishing. This is probably when I really learned how to fish and learned how to tell when a fish bites, and only then did I really started to enjoy fishing.
Eventually I graduated up to being able to fish at East Carry with my husband’s family. Fishing East Carry was special because it was the only place we could catch big brookies…or so we thought. Back then fishermen were allowed to keep 5 fish over 8 inches and could catch them using the “plug” fishing method, which is simply big night crawlers on a #4 hook, no bobber, and slow reeling in the line to attract the fish. And these fish ranged in size of 12-16 inches most of the time. We had so much fun and we usually caught our limit–obviously too much fun because now fishing on East Carry is restricted to artificial lures only, and only two fish can be kept. We’ve learned to limit ourselves as well. We release way more than we keep.
Spring brook fishing in Mount Vernon became an annual outing with our kids until someone started blocking access. After a brief confrontation with a person who wasn’t the landowner but only someone who wanted the fishing and the access all for himself, my husband defied the man’s yelling and continued on his way. He was taking our youngest, who loved to fish and he wasn’t about to let this guy ruin it; however, it did ruin the fun and the son didn’t want to go there anymore.And that was the end of brook fishing there.
That’s when we decided to take him to Otter Pond. Other than fishing East Carry, we never really fished for trout. Otter Pond is a tributary pond to East Carry Pond; it’s a small road accessible pond that has brook trout and it allows for worms. Perfect!
We had artificial lures too, and the boy was awesome using them, but I never caught anything except bottom or a tree limb with a treble hook lure, so I wasn’t all that excited to spend a whole weekend trying to catch fish with them. Then came the brilliant idea. We decided to teach ourselves how to fly fish so that we could once again fish East Carry Pond. Fly fishing was a new adventure for all of us. We would always see fish surfacing on the far side of Otter Pond, but never where we could get to without a canoe.So we loaded up the camper and the canoe, and set out to take the boy fishing for the weekend. We tried brook fishing along the way. We didn’t have a lot of luck but fishing made the boy happy and that’s all we hoped for.
Brook fishing Alder Stream
All three of us in the canoe: John paddled from the back, I was in the front and Tyler was in the middle. We spent the weekend taking turns casting, perfecting the casting technique, tying on different flies, and learning the art of setting the hook. We caught fish after fish and release most of them. We saved enough to have one meal which we cooked over the campfire that night.
Otter Pond supper
Tyler’s first fly rod catch
Mom’s first fly rod catch
Yes, there were squabbles followed by awkward moments of silence. “Mom went out of turn”, “the fish jumped by me…not you”, our lines became tangled, Dad didn’t say “casting” before he started casting, and the boy almost jumped out of the canoe when he saw a spider in the tackle bag…but all in all, it helped us learn how to work together, to communicate, and to enjoy each others’ company, and for that, I’ll always cherish these memories.
Holding up my catch. (c)S. Warren
Dad and son fishing in the canoe..Mom in the front (c) S. Warren
Now we pretty much only fly fish unless we’re fishing for perch in Great Pond or striped bass on the coast. Fly fishing keeps the mind busy and there’s seldom boredom with fly fishing…and catching a fish on a fly is so exciting. When it’s too windy to fish the pond, we head to the river. It makes wading the river currents and casting and interpreting the waters all the more satisfying.
For almost six years, the three of us have fly fished out of the canoe and explored the pond. The youngest now 18 years old, isn’t as excited to go because we marathon fish, but we’re hoping we can coax him to join us a few times before he starts his summer job. As much as we’d like him to join us, we’ve learned to go without him, and enjoy sunsets and fish rises on East Carry. We don’t do much brook fishing anymore…but if you get the chance, it’s another great way to get yourself or a kid outdoors.