Miramichi Mustache Ride

We did not hook a fish.

Boom, that's done and out of the way....now the story of an epic fishing trip.

It all started this spring as Wilkie befriended a kind chap on one of Maine famous western rivers.

This kind chap and Wilkie have become good friend, and he mentioned a place on the Miramichi that he had, a fishing camp if you will. (I am sure our friend will be reading this and want to thank him too !)

Wilkie and I went to investigate this camp and see what this famous river held.

290 Miles through north eastern Maine and New Burnswick .

A few pit stops

We arrived with our first glance at the Miramichi and shortly to the Cartright's Cabin

This was the kind of camp that people dream about, awesome location, the perfect ambiance......let me show you.

1. The very fist thing I saw as we walked up the drive

2. Light switch

3. Awesome fishing signs......check

So we did what any of you would do, we fished hard.

Then we relaxed and had a cirbbage game with our host. 4:30 Martini's on the deck.

We fished it boys, every tide, early morning, late at night and had no fish. Stopped at a cool fly shop in Doaktown, NB called W.W Doak, so we thought we had the right flies. We fished about 2 miles of river as well as any solidhookups member does and nothing. It was nice to see the guys around us not catching any either. And by the way... there were some "guys around us"

32 other fisherman in this shot.

Low water and warm water temps were the issue. We did see some huge fish rolling and jumping as they made their way up stream but other than a few chubs and a 14" schoolie striper I landed Sunday morning, it was a skunk.

It was a great trip, I would do it again with anyone of you. Next time we will head up a little earlier on in the year. Thank you again to our kind 87 year old host Bob, a one of a kind man. Thank you

She's a Jackman 10

Here is a taste of what Maine Master Guide Wilkie got us into up in Jackman.  Thanks for another epic weekend on the Ice.

The last 30 days of fishing in Maine

Mr Wilkie put me on my first pike

I learned to fish for beaver

I fished many rods and multiple flies to no avail

I drove 5.5 hours to fish the Canadian border in -15 degree weather to catch small , freshly stocked salmon

I found a scrap of cloth with chinese characters on it and tied it to my coat, hoping for asian luck...none arrived

Steaming breakfast sandwiches were consumed

Viva Chile

Last month I returned to Chile to surf, a pastime that I don’t often get to enjoy living in Western Wyoming. Because I get my fair share of fishing in Jackson, the trip didn’t have much of a fishing component but I did want to get back to a river I had been to in the Lakes District town of Pucon. I had been there 2 years before and had a fun float with Mario of Mario’s fishing zone http://flyfishingpucon.com/.

In 2009, half a dozen or so pan sized bows and browns were landed on a float trip through the bamboo forests in the mountains above Pucon. Hammering the overhanging vegetation and undercut banks at river’s edge produced small fish though pictures in Mario’s shop proved the existence of monsters.

Last month on the same river, we were greeted by fishing déjà vu. Half a dozen pan sized bows and browns came to net again despite relentless pounding of the fishiest looking banks, snags, pockets, and impossibly deep (35’+) pools with T14 shooting head – this stuff sinks at almost a foot per second- it does not fuck around. After the all day float, which runs about 70 bucks a person, depending on the exchange rate, we were super stoked on the scenery and happy to hook into some fish. In a last ditch effort however, our guide drifted a couple hundred feet past the takeout to one last bottomless trench and we proceeded to dredge it. In the dying light, one of my last offerings into the depths of the pool was straight up abused. I could tell immediately that this was the largest fish I had ever hooked with a 5 weight, or with a clicker reel for that matter, but somehow, miraculously, the coho came to net after abusing me for nearly 30 minutes. A large part of the rest of the trip was spent chasing fish. It only takes one bruiser like this to get your head screwed on straight and priorities back in line.