Near the Kennebec, stripers just aren’t taking lures

If my well-being depended on the fish I caught this spring and summer, I’d be in rough shape. Aside from fooling a few landlocked salmon with streamer flies right after ice out and aggravating spawning bass with fly rod poppers in June, most of my outings amounted to no more than glorified boat rides.

After last weekend, I can tell you my luck hasn’t changed. After boarding my son-in-law, Matt Marston’s, boat on Saturday morning, we ran for the Sheepscot River’s striper grounds. With Southport astern, we swung into the river’s estuary, tossed our lures overboard, and trolled a northerly course between Barter’s and Westport islands.

Crossing the upper tip of Westport Island, we fished the tide rips boiling below the Wiscasset Bridge, then turned and fished down the Back River all the way to its confluence with the Kennebec. Along the way, we saw the wakes and workings of stripers – big stripers – in tide-flooded coves. A few times, the fish swirled mightily at our cast lures but never so much as touched them; and never once would the stripers give us a second look.

In a cove below Squirrel Point Light on the Kennebec, terns were swooping and diving at small, silvery bait fish that launched themselves into the air like miniature missiles. Obviously, the fish were avoiding the attack of what we hoped was a school of stripers. But my luck held and our cast and trolled invitations were ignored.

Our rods didn’t suffer any abrupt cases of the bends as we fished the rips running off Goat and Lee islands, nor did we see any other fishermen relieving their rods of that pleasant affliction – and there were boats everywhere. After fishing our way through Fiddler’s Reach, we continued toward Wiscasset. Below the Route 1 bridge, a fleet of anchored boats awaited the launching of the Aegis-class destroyer, USS Paul Hamilton, at Bath Iron Works. Not wanting to miss anything, we dropped anchor and joined the party.

I have to say I was a bit disappointed because just below the bridge, where the Sasanoa River wanders away from the Kennebec, there was a large outcropping of ledge along which stripers were known to lounge. But because of the spectator fleet, fishing was impossible. So we waited and watched, and I have to admit I was glad we did.

Ever see a ship launched? It’s impressive. At the appointed time, about 5:30 p.m., the 400-foot “greyhound of the seas” slid down the ways while flags waved, whistles and horns blew and blared, and cheers arose from the crowds gathered on both sides of the river as well as on it. Even the quarter moon turned out to see the spectacular event.

When it was over, we entered the Sasanoa River and cruised and fished all the way back to the Sheepscot without a touch. That’s a lot of water and a lot of fishing without putting any scales in the boat. But because there are a lot of people who would pay dearly just for the opportunity to see the seals and gulls and ospreys playing their parts in that wondrous marine theater, I didn’t complain.

Yesterday, however, I talked with Harry Vanderweide of Augusta, who provided some consolation. You know Harry. He publishes the Maine Sportsman and puts together a weekly television show for outdoors addicts. He also does a lot of striper fishing. When I told him about my lack of luck, he chuckled and replied: “What you just said is typical of what’s been happening around the Kennebec for the past couple of weeks. The stripers just aren’t taking lures. Like you said, even when you raise one, you can’t get it to come back.

“They’re feeding on small fish, probably what you saw breaking. Some guys are tying up small – 3- to 4-inch – bright flies with white bucktail and Crystal Flash toppings. They’re tying several flies to a leader to imitate a school. Some of them are having some luck, but nothing special. A few guys are getting stripers on bait, but I don’t like bait fishing.”

Regarding bluefish, Harry said schools had been seen offshore by fishermen, but a drastic change in ocean temperature seemed to be holding the tackle-testing fish back. “The ocean was up to 63 degrees a couple of weeks ago,” the well-known sportsman explained, “but when the weather cooled off it dropped back to around 57 degrees. That’s a dramatic change.” It sure is, and it’s sure to disrupt the arrival of the battling “blues.”

Bob Hunt of Phillips Lake phoned recently to report what he described as a “strange fish” showing up in his bait trap. “It’s a small fish, about 3 or 4 inches long,” said Bob, “and it has a single spine on its back and one on each side.”

“Is it a small hornpout?” I asked.

“Nope, it’s not a hornpout,” Bob answered.

To get a professional’s input, I called Fred Kircheis, a fisheries research biologist with the Dept. of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife. Fred allowed the fish Bob Hunt described were three-spined sticklebacks. “They have three spines on their backs,” Fred explained, “but often the second two spines don’t show. They also have a spine on each side at the front of the pectoral fin.”

I’ve always said the best part of writing this column is readers’ response and input. There you have an example of it.