The Horseflies Are Biting, But The Fish Never Do
The lyrics of All Shades of Blue by Gregory Alan Isakov float through my head as I wade knee-deep in the river. This line, in particular, has always stuck out to me—no stress or distraught in the gentleness of these lyrics, merely a melody about the reality of life, even when things don’t work out.
For me, it has never been about catching fish. The whole fly fishing experience is a meditation — from planning the trip to scouting the river and tying on new flies once you get a sense of what’s hatching. Cam and I fished these rivers the first year we met and I’ve been itching to get back ever since.
This trip came together spontaneously. The Thursday before, I glanced at our weekend plans and saw vacancy. The forecast looked promising and we had nothing else to do. I opened the Gazetteer to the Rangeley region and found a campground that fit the bill. Just like that, we were booked for Saturday night. Planning in a pandemic adds new layers of complication, but with a place to stay secured and plenty of fishing gear *somewhere* in the basement, the only thing left to gather was food. We packed and prepped everything Friday evening and by Saturday morning we were on the road.
You know it’ll be a good trip when the scenic route is the only way. We head north along the Androscoggin River, through Rumford, and eventually to the Height of Land where we were graced with views of Maine’s lakes and highlands. Our drive wound down past Mooselookmeguntic Lake and Rangeley Lake and continued on for another sixteen miles until reaching the lake. After checking in at the Black Brook Cove Campground, we continued a few miles up the dirt road to find our tent site.
The tent site was beautiful, private, and simple with a picnic table, fire ring, and path down to the lake. Their COVID-19 protocol kept every other site unoccupied, an extra safety and privacy measure we enjoyed! The path at the far end of the site took us around boulders, over roots, and to the pristine view of the lake. We darted back to the car, grabbed lunch, brought it back down to enjoy on the rocky shore. A favorite bean salad recipe fueled us for an afternoon of fly fishing.
We set out for the same pool we fished years ago, but the water levels were too high after the week's earlier rain, making what once was a still spot in the river a gushing rapid. Further down the river, we settled in at a gentler section. This was only my second time and it had been years since Cam taught me how to cast. With few obstacles behind me, I was more focused on the rhythm of my rod than hooking anything. We slowly ambled upstream and across the river with little interest from anything in the water. While some may have felt defeated from the day, we couldn’t shake the smiles off our faces — to be in the water (and with 85-degree temps we opted for no waders!) surrounded by such serenity was enough to call it a success.
Dinner was another round of sausages, peppers, and onions on the grill with various toppings — a camp favorite. We broke into our cases of Allagash River Trip and got cooking! Conversations danced between the details in front of us and ideas that have been buried deep in our minds.
With a long summer evening still ahead of us, we thought it would be nice to embark on a sunset paddle. We navigated the tricky trail with our canoe, brought some beers, and set off to explore the long and narrow lake. The layers of mountains looking down the lake were colored in a gradient from the summer’s haze. Before we knew it, we were in the middle of the lake with an incredible sunset overhead and hardly a ripple on the water.
Eager to get back on the river, we woke Sunday morning and swiftly took down camp. Breakfast was a hearty egg scramble, enough to hold is for a day on the water. Our destination for the day was half an hour down dirt roads and another half-hour trek in. The lengths it takes to get to these rivers is an adventure in itself, making any fish caught a bonus — in my opinion!
When we got to our first pool, we noticed the caddisflies were hatching. We tried a few different flies until landing on a grasshopper pattern that got some interest. We worked the river, targeting different pools and rocks along the way until we found where they were jumping. This is where the sport really came into play. “How can I time my cast to peak their interest?” I thought, “Where should I aim my cast?" As an amateur angler, it was fun to realize the potential of patience and perseverance.
Eventually, I got a hit! This was a moment I had never planned for. I had been so wrapped up in the rhythm of casting that I was caught off guard when suddenly I was fighting for the fish. I reeled it in, letting out a few screams of excitement along the way, to find a smallmouth bass on my line. While this may not be the trophy many come out here for, it was enough to call the trip a success and leave me hungry for more time on the river.
When we got back to service, I saw a text on my phone, "Have any luck?” A friend asked. “Did you say fun?” I replied, “We had lots!”
