The GLS experience Part Three...

Shortly after Rabid's brief moment astray of his typical hard hitting head smashing power metal music, we agreed to troll westward in a closer proximity of the camps. The mid to late afternoon bite completely disappeared and I quickly discovered the challenges surrounding the concept of down rigging as my setup hung up on bottom. It isn't easy to negotiate wind with an ailing motor while aptly monitoring a fish finder while adjusting a manual down rigger. Throw in constant badgering by the brotherhood of two and the inevitable happened. However, being an expert in retrieving hung down lobster gear, I was able to free the gear and save myself the embarrassment of being the second victim of a major fishing gear dismissal. By that time, I had lost my interest in attempting to score the lake trout especially when trying to battle the elements that were against me. So I took the time to once again document the Rabid Outdoorsman hard at work while his brother took on a lake trout.

Our evening found little wind and the first night excitement of any outing adventure. With the boats tied to the dock, fire pit blazing, and the elder sportsman in full control of the eatery, the night moved into something quite amazing. Loaded with smoked trout and salmon, a spread of processed meats and cheeses, and sharp pickled dilly beans, I found it absolutely impossible to even contemplate the main course. Meanwhile, my great friend Rabid managed to devour all offerings like it would be his last meal. The night moved on with some drinks and a continual barrage of teasing and slightly expanded storytelling or shall I say nut busting.

For my final installment, high winds, zero bites, and closing on one memorable trip.

The GLS experience Part Two...

The only aspect hindering my complete happiness was my new outboard motor which would perform with great superiority just above trolling speed or at 33 mph, and I wasn't here to win a drag race. Anything at idle or just above idle yielded problems and my troubleshooting brought futile results. But still I managed to steer the course, figuratively and literally speaking, and moored the vessel in a most scenic cove in the lee of the increasing wind that put a foot down on our efforts.

As I brewed up some coffee and canned soup, a discussion ensued that gave more clarity to the previous several hours that only two-way radios were abled to sparingly follow. Steve began the most excellent rendition of how Matty lost the big one and his entire rod and reel to boot. They spoke of this monstrosity of a salmon, but I'm inclined to believe they had caught bottom. But I humored the heated story as Matty continued to percolate much like the java that neared consumptive readiness. Then, without one moment to think, Steve turned quickly to his phone which has more features than a Swiss Army Knife. From the depths of his ITunes account arose some "Dirty" which took over Rabid's body like no other in a true fit of possession. The moves which I documented say it all...




Unfortunately, I'd like to continue my saga but the little beauties have requested the laptop so that they may get their morning fix at www.nickjr.com so until next time take care...



The Downeast Duck Hunter

Great friends, great place, great time... Part I

The  Rabid Outdoorsman  and I are the best of friends who now find ourselves in a world three hours apart. It would be obvious to suggest that our brotherhood only consists of multiple day jaunts in the Maine wilderness, but in a striking odd sense this distance has immensely enhanced our friendship in two significant ways.  The first being that we really discover that the quality of our conversations develop into a level of heightened understanding which continues to foster a stronger bond.  And secondly, our proximity in the state forces us to plan these seriously awesome voyages of great magnitude and meaning.  Through these two elements, I have been able to participate in new endeavors and claim opportunities of pursuit that may have never been realized.  For that, I'm thankful...

Our newest adventure put us upon one of the premier cold water fishing waters of our great state, West Grand Lake.  This behemoth gem in northeastern Washington county holds a great population of landlocked salmon and lake trout.  To heighten this opportunity, we were able to connect with a family member who is in charge of an immensely impressive sporting compound situated at the eastern point of this pristine lake.  With effective planning and preparation, we descended upon Grand Lake Stream last week with the hopes of making one trip to remember...

Friday morning began at daylight with a hasty launch of two boats and a cautious headway to our setting point.  Armed with lead core line, streamers, and flashers, the presentations were let out several hundred feet and the trolling speed was set around two miles per hour.  Within one hour, I brought in my first salmon at 17 inches connected to a set up left behind by my father-in-law who unfortunately is no longer with me.  This first score became far more important as I thought about how he would be with me for this catch, but then I realized that he was in fact participating and smiling at my early success...

We continued to work the eastern shore, the Bear Claw, towards one of favorite ice fishing spots, Hardwood Island.  My partners, Matt Diesel and Rabid lead the way about 100 yards in front and continued the success as they scored several more salmon with a planer board which drew their presentation next to shore.  Maintaining contact with two-way radios, we updated each other throughout the early morning and chose to continue northward to Whitney Cove, a spot that is renown and elusive at it sits in the extreme north end of West Grand Lake...

Before we made it to Whitney Cove, I managed another small salmon that ran about 15 inches after unsnarling one serious mess.  As one line was reeled in, another managed to find way into the scene.  In order to clear everything, all lines were cut and the salmon was brought in by hand similar to ice fishing with my ice traps....

The trek northward would land several nice lake trout for the boys and at that point I chose to enable my own downrigger.  Lunch was fast approaching and all seemed well...

Stay tuned for my next installment next week...

The Downeast Duck Hunter

Eye on the Prize...

After several months of intensive study, I have decided to track down a first aid class to qualify for the Maine Guide Exam.  My search took me to the Pine Tree Chapter of the Red Cross, but a several hour drive didn't seem to work so I was forwarded to the Downeast YMCA (still one hour away).  I happened to hit up one of my old schoolmates today who is a director of the pool and recreation program, and seemed to be pleased that he would certify me in first (ARC).  However, the local adult education instructor ran into me tonight while I waited in line for some ice cream.  She will certify me in American Heart Association Lifesaver first aid on May 26th, which puts me at what I'll call phase II of my pursuit.  The DFIW has already confirmed that Lifesaver will qualify, and who knew that the fastest means to certification would be in my backyard and within weeks of my request.

On any account, I'm excited and a bit nervous as the next big challenge in my life becomes just a bit more realistic as I step up to the plate.

Have a great one,

The Downeast Duck Hunter

Man vs. Trout

This weekend found trout fishing in two different opportunities, one in new territory with my pal Matt Diesel and the other in a proven family spot with my father.

On Saturday, I met Matty at daylight at his camp on Route 9 for some exploratory efforts in terms of trout streams.  We found a logging road that run north and south directly parallel to two streams on both sides.  We first tried the westerly brook with no luck, so we accessed the Narraguagus river via skidder trail and cast our bobbers.  My second cast provided some action and within seconds I had scored the mighty alewife (Alosa pseudoharengus) .  

I happened to notice some faster moving water and moved south while Matt headed north.  After several hours of minimal luck, I return back to our entry point and noticed there was no Matt.  I returned back to the truck to see that he hadn't returned, so I went back to where I had last seen Matt.  From there I moved northward along the river and eventually caught up with him and his dog, Malice.

Since neither of us had any luck, we chose to scout out some other areas looking for fiddleheads and the access point to the peak of the mountain that overlooks Matt's camp.  No fiddleheads were discovered, but we were successful in determining the access road to the trail.  Shortly thereafter, we made way back to camp and relaxed on the shore.

A birthday party halted my break and I left a minute after noontime.  Although no fish were caught, the time was well deserved and enjoyable.

The next afternoon, I took my father to a camp that I have access to through family.  We've used the camp over the years and at times have had excellent brook trout fishing.  Smallmouth bass were illegally introduced several years ago and I feel this has had a great negative impact upon this spring fed trout lake.

We arrived at 5:30 p.m. and quickly threw our lines.  I chose to cast a dry fly for a bit as the water was fairly calm, but after no swirls or action I moved to another bobber & worm combination.

I nailed my first trout at 5:50 but lost it dockside, my net had not become part of my gear for the day.  However, at 6:15 I scored a beautiful 12 inch brookie that may have been the fattest I have ever seen.

From that point, on each half hour afterward, I caught a brook trout.  One 9.5" at 6:45, an 8.5" at 7:15, and a 9" trout just before daylight.  The action got quite interesting just before dark as the bass began to compete with the trout for the worm.  Three more bass were caught in this tenure.

My father netted several small bass and lost one trout.  It had been some time since we had a chance to chase fish together, but a time well spent.