STP

That means Secret Trout Pond. From friend Nick Kelley.

The Living Dead

Keith and I had been tossing around the idea for a week or so to hit some northern flowing water in Maine.  The plan experienced a slight shift late last week before the actual date when two young bucks, from our alma mater, suddenly appeared on the BFC Facebook site.  These men posted pictures of large fish, had mutual friends, and expressed interest in fishing with us.  As with many of our own connections, we didn't waste time making contact with eachother and a plan was formed for the old men to connect with the younger generation of the BFC. 

Phone calls made, directions given, plan in place.

Lane and I rose around 5 am, drank coffee, drove north, destroyed a bathroom in Bingham, drove further north and west, then geared up.  We were the first in the parking lot, first in the water, and the first to put a fish in the net on the Dead River on this foggy, overcast, fall morning.  After a few fly adjustments the fish began cooperating.

 The first few came on an assortment of streamers, followed by a shift to the nymph

 The Brookies were leaning toward their spawning colors and were a sure sign of the approaching spawn

 Around 10 am a brief caddis hatch surprised us both, as fish began to rise sporadically.  We managed a few Salmon and Brookies on Henrysville Specials; one take I will never forget as I watched a trout come clear off the bottom, facing my direction, rising ever so slowly in clear site and at the last second it engulfed my fly.  It wasn't a massive fish but without question one of the most fantastic Brook Trout takes I've ever experienced

 The scenery wasn't half bad

 The long and short of it is, around 2 p.m we began to think that the young guns had bailed on us.  The fishing had hit the skids for a few hours and the day was warming.  Keith and I had driven seperate cars; our intentions were to fish together in the morning, then a few hours mid day with the Bates guys, Keith would roll around 3 and I would continue on with Tyler and Andy.  With an estimated arrival of 1 pm for the Bates crew, and with nobody in sight by 2, we had pretty much given up.  I was considering packing up and rolling along with Lane as we stood in the parking lot sipping beers a little after 2pm.

But like any good Bates fisherman who get lost on 12 miles of dirt for nearly 2 hours....they showed up in the eleventh hour.

Hands were shaken, introductions made, Wilkie refocused, spirts high.

First order of business, Tyler setup nymphing, Andy setup streamering. 

As a seasoned veteran of the long wand, I was immediately sizing up the new recruits.....I wasn't dissappointed; these boys could throw some line.  Game on!

I had been telling these guys of the fabled hatch along this stretch that sometimes happens and I hoped against all hope that it would happen.  Then again, fishing is fishing so I fully expected to get bitch slapped after opening my mouth about it. 

Tyler picked off 4 or 5 Salmon in the intial stretch below the falls while nymphing up until 4:45.  There were a few respectable fish upwards of 16" in the mix.  I kept an eye on the prime stretch for rising fish....and when I saw a dimple I moved to hold the position.  I picked off a few Salmon and around 5:45 an astounding Drake hatch (specific mayfly unknown) began to explode into the evening air.  I beckoned the boys from upstream, set them up a few yards apart in the prime stretch, told them to time their casts so as to not cross lines, and tied on some monster mayfly dries.  First cast from Andy produced this fine hookjawed male.

 Bates '15 lined up for success

Tyler's pig came as the light drifted well over the horizon....another nice hookjaw on this male

 A fine day from beginning to end, fish caught under every weather condition, temperature variations, and fishing style.  Keith and I got ours in the morning and the BFC '15 revolution perservered in their travels and were handsomely rewarded.....nothing better.  Welcome to the club; it only gets better from here.





Aint that some shit....

Yet another reason I prefer to fish from the boat...

And another one bites the dust...

Since I began bluewater fishing in 2008 it has been a series of ups and downs. This year certainly had more of the latter than the former with bad weather and generally bad fishing. But on the last few trips things have really picked up on the old OI, with much more consistent action and lots of meat in the ice box.

Over the years we've had our share of successes, with just about every big game fish available in the Northeast gracing the OI at one time or another. The staples of yellowfin and mahi are frequent visitors to the fishbox. And lately there's been a strong surgence of our nightime billfish the sword.

And who could forget the 700 lb blue marlin in Veatches canyon in 2010. I certainly won't ever forget that fish.

 Even the elusive wahoo has made an appearance at the OI once or twice. Mmm he is tasty.

White marlin? Definate check....

 Bigeyes? You bet. Who could forget the double bigeye hookup in West Atlantis that made Clark Winchell and his First Mate Sleaveless Tee famous

Mako sharks? There have been a couple. Bluefin? God too many. Skipjacks? You better believe it!

But one species has continued to elude me. Odly enough, they aren't stereotypically all the difficult to catch. The Longfin Albacore. The Penguin. The Chicken of the Sea. Why have I never been able to put an albie on the deck? No idea. They are elusive. Or something like that.

Well Albie, today I cross you off the list. The penguin has landed. A few of his other buddies made it to the cooler as well.

The yellowfin tuna (and four more of his bretheren)

 The Wahoo (Of the four we hooked, he was the only one who failed to saw through the leader.)

And there you are Mr. Penguin, with your soft chunk white albacome meat. It took a while for us to finally meet, but you're welcome on board my boat any time.

There is no reward for the foolish

There were no musky caught,

But, going against good advice and fuled by ideas of big fish in pretty country I got up at 3am and met my friends to drive 5 hours north and west in search of toothy fish. We arrived and set up camp to what one old timer described as the least amount of water he has heard of in three generations.

The idea of looking for holding water with cover for fish was shot. There were no streams dumping water in , or likely looking side channels, instead there were deep pools ( 18" or less) of water to investigate fruitlessly.

We camped at the confluence of these two bodies of what used to be famous flowing water and did some fishing and relaxing. As the night wore on we pulled red hot nails out of the camp fire and did some back country blacksmithing, ie pounding them flat with a hammer while someone holds the nail with hemostats.

So my frist trip to musky country was a bit of a bust, the water was very low, we hiked a few miles up stream to a set of rapids and fish the pools but it was really a way to fill time. It was more of a camping trip in musky country but hey, that's fishing.

( Two flasks, a side arm and the gazateer)

I took Pippa Middleton pike fishing on my 5 year wedding anniversary and hooked up

Anniversarys are meant to be spent with the ones you love. So you do the right thing, rent a cabin, get some flowers and wait for your lovely wife to show up. In the mean time, you head out pike fishing.

My first pike on the fly. Thank you Wik for setting up the weekend and being so generous with your tips,
Thanks to JLR and the Redington crew for the fine 10' Wt Predator and thanks to my understanding wife.

From the BFC Archives: For Your Friday Enjoyment and/or Confusion

Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2004 01:14:55 -0500  
From: jrobbin2@bates.edu
Reply-To: fishing@abacus.bates.edu
Subject: [fishing] DRUNK, FLOPPY FLUFFY
To: fishing@abacus.bates.edu


Hear Ye, Hear She, Brooke Anable

Esteemed members of the significant organization of which we are honored to be
affiliated with, on behalf of Master Lurer and Baiter, Machias Schoen and Co-
Bassmaster, J-Nuts, we stank you very much.

Any who, the break has been broken, tolls have been token, and bells
(parenthetic reference: liberty bell, bitches, look it up) have been broken.

Yonder foible initiates commencement per se.  Starchen of yonder belonging is
cuntrument of my writes.  I prayish to thair fiscious God, fairing geefs and
bellwelly.  The surf hath cost thouest nostra superior cottish.  Computing
alsowherever yungun typereth hour past hour.  Deciferation encouraged a la
cafe du CYBURR.

Pray all moist lips and valentine spoonings.  Feesh Gods fair us well,
companionions.  * ***** *****, that you Chet? - Fiddy Cent.

Singing out and off and in,
J.L. Robbins, ms (mul
iple, scerosis biatches ouch