Earlier this week I was escorted to a pond at an undisclosed location by my uncle and long-time fly fisherman, Michael Labree. This small pond can be found in the north Maine woods, and you have to dodge a few logging trucks to get there, but that’s all I can say; I have been warned what would happen to me if I told anyone its whereabouts.
Initially, it was difficult to find the road that led to the pond, but eventually we were able to discover the hidden entrance that was effectively humbled by vegetation vying for light. The trail itself looked old and unused, though it showed fading clues of once being well-traveled. It was only a couple hundred yards along this path before we arrived at a bog, actually the outlet of the pond, which disappeared from view around a bend in the distance.
My Uncle Mike had a 14-foot aluminum boat stashed at the edge of the pond, so we dragged it out, loaded our fly-fishing gear, and mounted a 1972 six-horse Johnson outboard that we had brought onto the back of it. Soon we were cruising down the canal, around the bend, and into the entrance of a beautiful remote pond. All around the shoreline, trees of time-past leaned palely over the cobalt waters. Only here, close to the shore, was the water deep enough for the native brook trout to survive.
I tied on a black ghost and my uncle chose on a woods special, two streamers that have been known to catch some trout. Though these two flies’ patterns have different colors, it would help us narrow down what the fish were biting. We started off by trolling the streamers behind the back of the boat, though when a promising spot along the shoreline presented itself, I hauled in some fly-line and cast towards it in order to tempt any lurking trout.
We soon received quick hits that we both missed with disappointment, but a short while later I had another strike, only this time I was able to properly set the hook and eventually reel in a healthy 11-inch brook trout. These fish, no matter their size, are a pleasure to reel in; there aren’t many species that hit as quick and aggressively as a brook trout, especially a native brook trout which has a life-long experience of providing for itself and doing what it takes to survive. It did not take long for my uncle to pull in a similar-sized trout.
At one point while trolling along, a muskrat swam up to the boat with what looked like a bouquet of bulrushes in its mouth. Upon reaching us, it dived down and swam underneath the boat to continue on its way. I wondered if this mouthful of vegetation was being transported to build the lodge–some Native Americans use the muskrat, or “musquash” as the Algonquin tribe calls them, to help predict how extreme the upcoming winter will be by observing the size and timing of the lodge. Judging by the pace and perseverance of this muskrat, we better get ready for a long winter!
The black ghost proved to be the fly to have on as I got another hit shortly after, this time a much larger fish. After playing it for a while on my 6 weight fly-rod, I got it to the edge of the boat before it worked itself off the hook. Judging from the size of it, it looked to be about 14 inches long and thick through the belly.
It wasn’t until just before we planned to leave that I received a strike that made me lift my feet off the bottom of the boat and yell, “Whoa!” as I struggled to manage the full-on attack with just a little fly-reel. It was easy for my uncle to see that I had a good one on, so he cut the motor and began reeling in his line so it wouldn’t get in the way. The trout took off away from the boat, stripping line quickly from my reel. Though I eventually got it under control, it had yet to see the boat. When it finally did spot us, the trout went crazy once more. Eventually the large fish did tire out and came within reach for my uncle to net it. The smile on my face didn’t fade until long after releasing the beautiful trout back into its home waters.
After a pleasant day of putting around the pond, we changed our course for home and made our way back through the outlet to where our vehicle awaited us. These remote trout ponds are some of the most rewarding places to go in Maine, offering the dedicated angler a chance to catch some native trout amid a pristine backdrop. On the way out we were pleased to see a moose, several hawks, two bald eagles and a coyote. The great Maine woods is where it’s at folks, but don’t tell my uncle I said that. Happy fishing!
What a nice trout! And a great article, too.
What a wonderful article and great pics! Thank you so much!! Very well written!
I used to have a little 4-ft. rod and reel with which to fish brown brook trout in a small stream the flowed through the woods in my back yard growing up in Strong. We tried really hard to never bring home any shorter than 6 inches (the law) but my, to this day, they make the bestfast I ever had. My mouth waters just thinking about it. I learned to catch and release any fish we didn’t eat for a meal that day, but I still love any trout and try to eat them at least once a week even here in Maryland. I realize that I am not getting wild trout by rather fish grown for sale in some facilty to insure they will be all of the same size and quality. Oh, well. Not perfect like those fished in the Maine woods, but it’s better than no trout at all!!
Nice article and great pics, Sam!! While reading this part I used the voice of Cliff Clavin from Cheers “–some Native Americans use the muskrat, or “musquash” as the Algonquin tribe calls them, to help predict how extreme the upcoming winter will be by observing the size and timing of the lodge.” Haaa musquash, awesome. Nice job keeping our secret…. Also, Busch beer Dad….really?
Great read Sam. Aren’t you lucky to have an uncle that will show you the coveted fishing spot. Ah…..the great Maine outdoors, there’s nothing like it. Great photos.
Keep the place secret and I may show you another
Great article and some nice looking fish. Beautiful looking little pond, I wish I had an uncle like that to show me a few secret spots…