Pugnacious trout put up tough fight regardless of size

Ken Allen

Copyright © 2005 Blethen Maine Newspapers Inc.

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Last week, under a leaden sky threatening rain, I paddled my 20-foot canoe up a swollen brook in the Moosehead region, while Will Lund, of Portland, sat on the front seat, poised to cast with a small spinning rod. A beaver dam lay just around the bend, and the pool below it had deep, undercut banks, a likely hot spot for brook trout.

As we rounded the corner, two eagles caught our eyes in the near distance. They were perched in a small clump of majestic white pines, perfectly framed by the enlaced dam and alder tangles, crowding the bank. Just imagine the scene with all the Maine symbols, including a traditional green canoe. It looked like a cover on an L.L. Bean catalog.

"You couldn't paint this picture, Will. No one would believe it."

The downstream pool looked fishy all right, but Will came up empty handed. In such a setting, though, neither of us cared, proving once again that there is more to fishing than fishing, particularly in a state with calendar-like photos everywhere.

This very weekend, I suspect the quintessential trout brook will produce brookies because caddis larvae in bark cases were migrating onto flat, submerged rocks. Each insect looked like a tiny twig about one-third the length of a wooden match, and they were congregating to hatch. This meant the water temperature was approaching 50 to 52 degrees, which draws fish from ponds and lakes.

We were fishing a large pond just southeast of Moosehead Lake, and despite the date, May 25th, it was cold enough to hold normally deep-dwelling togue on or near the surface, a bonus. When lakers swim near the top, anglers hooking one on light tackle have a donnybrook on their hands. Just the size of one makes them a grand game fish.

Early in the trip, Will was fishing with his father, Jon Lund, of Hallowell, and caught a laker in the 23-inch range from shallow water, which brings up a salient point. A 22- to 23-inch lake trout is really tiny for this species, but a salmonid approaching two feet in length is much larger than most brookies that we catch in the Pine Tree State during a lifetime.

The following afternoon, I was trolling with Jon in his Grumman Sportsboat and also hooked a lake trout in the same size range, or maybe a little smaller. This fish fought so hard against my 5-weight fly rod that it impressed me, a man who has played double-digit-weight lake trout on a fly rod in northern Quebec. I have also taken Atlantic salmon, tarpon and sharks on a fly rod, but the laker created a lifetime memory because on such a light wand, it put up a memorable thrash.

I am somewhat anti-combustion engine so chose to paddle last week, a poor choice for someone interested in landing fish in raw winds. John Delvecchio, of Whitefield, and Will took turns paddling and fishing with me, and we did poorly compared to Jon in his Grumman with the 2-horse outboard.

In my humble opinion, though, the secret to Jon's success was choosing a dodger. Whether someone trolls with a sewn smelt or fly, dodgers really work because the large, flashy addition to the line can catch a fish's attention from great distances.

The landlocked salmon in the pond intrigued me because they were wild instead of hatchery pets. Because of that, they fought incredibly hard. On the last morning, Delvecchio hooked a fish on ultra-light spinning gear that put such an arc in the rod that I said, "It's fighting like a big fish, John."

Instead of jumping, the pugnacious critter bulldogged across the surface at an angle and strained the light outfit. When it came close enough to estimate the size and species, the little devil astounded me -- a salmon shorter than the minimum 12-inch limit for that pond. Where do such tiny, wild fish get such strength?

The togue were also wild, but according to Jeff Bagley, a fisheries biologist in the Moosehead area, the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife stocks a few brookies in this water. Spawning tributaries do insure some brook trout are wild.

Plenty of brooks and streams, some quite large, plunge through this mountainous area southeast of Moosehead. None looked heavily fished because no paths lead from the road.

Traditional wisdom claims that people are too lazy to fish brooks for brook trout these days, but I think two other reasons contribute to the lack of interest: 1. Unlike in the past -- say the 1950s -- most people can afford to buy a boat, motor and trailer, and 2. fishing in lakes and ponds has become so good that 6- to 10-inch brook trout from brooks hold little appeal. Folks want to catch brutes that -- if you'll excuse the clichZ -- they can describe in pounds, not inches.

I happen to love brooks for fishing and think it takes little ambition at all. In my mind, it is a heck of a lot easier to sneak along a brook than fool around with a boat and trailer and all the paraphernalia.

I wanted to fish brooks last week, which underscores one of the big problems with the Moosehead Lakes region. The area offers so many fishing opportunities that an angler could literally live in this part of the state for a lifetime and not sample all the waters -- so many of them jewels. Such a problem is one that the rest of the world needs.

Last week once again proved the obvious about Maine fishing. The good old days are here and now, and folks in central Maine need not travel far to sample the action.

Ken Allen, of Belgrade Lakes, is a writer, editor and photographer. To reach him, send e-mail to KAllyn800@aol.com