For every trial, tribulation, and test that outdoors enthusiasts brave in order to enjoy their particular pursuits (see Tuesday’s column on recent vacation mishaps), there are plenty of reasons we return home, rest for a bit, then begin planning our next journey.

It’s been almost a week since I got back from Quebec and Timbuktu Lodge. I’ve almost forgotten the fact that on the first day, we had to steer the boat with a pair of Vise-Grips that we clamped onto the broken motor.

And I’ve nearly forgotten that the bugs were biting, I found myself missing loved ones here, and that I spent a lot of time bushwhacking through alder trees in a futile search of Moby Trout’s home waters.

Now, days later, I remember the peace … the quiet … the special camaraderie you get when you spend a week cooking over a campfire, sleeping in sleeping bags, and dividing your day into four separate fishing blocks.

We had a morning troll and an evening troll, both, customarily, on Lac Barbel. We had a mid-morning jaunt to one of several nearby rivers. And we had an afternoon exploring session, when we tried to go somewhere we’d never been before.

All in all, it was a much better trip than I let on Tuesday. It took a few days to realize it … but I do. Now, I remember all the fish we caught and released, and all the laughs we had at our own (occasional) misfortunes.

Now, I don’t remember the bug bites and the smell of Ben’s 100. Now, I focus on other things.

I remember rolling into the former mining town of Gagnon and having the same reaction I did three years ago, when I first made the trip 723 miles north.

After three or four hours on a gravel highway, we emerged onto pavement. In the middle of nowhere. With no town in sight.

There is an old iron mine in Gagnon. You can visit it, if you like. Heck, you can actually fish it – they filled it with water after the decision was made to abandon the town … bulldoze it … and move on.

(For the record, we did fish it. We didn’t catch anything. Next topic, please).

The scene in Gagnon is jarring, and its effect never seems to change. Each day we ventured into the woods, looking for fishing holes, we drove off the pavement and back onto gravel roads … or worse.

And each time we returned, my Fishing Buddy and I became silent when the dirt-on-rubber rumble stopped, and the paved road hum began.

Eventually, one of us would look out into the clearings that used to be neighborhoods … into the stands of alders that used to be lawns … and say the same thing.

Man, this is weird.

And the other would reply the same way.

It would have been nice to have seen this place when it was still a town.

Crumbling concrete of old foundations is visible … if you look carefully. The outlines of side streets aren’t. Not really. But there are still manhole covers, and sewer grates, on Route 389, the straight-shot thoroughfare from Baie Comeau to Labrador City. There’s still a median between the two northbound lanes and the twin southbound ribbon of blacktop.

And every time you drive the road, you realize that there are plenty of memories here, not unlike the ones you’ll take home with you.

Somebody used to live here … and moved on.

And somewhere, those people aren’t talking about the bugs, or having to steer their boats with a set of Vise-Grips after one mishap or another.

They’re talking about the other stuff. The fishing. The campfires. Heading home at night after working hard in the mine all day.

That, I figure, can provide a lesson for all of us.

If you’re a non-angler, or if you focus your fishing efforts on fresh-water species, you may have driven down South Main Street in Brewer recently and asked yourself a question that is posed to me quite regularly: Why are there so many cars parked on the side of the road down near Pendleton Street?

The answer’s not too complicated: The stripers are in.

When the Penobscot River’s waters warm enough … but not too warm … striped bass work their way up this far, and folks have figured out that they can have a lot of fun fishing for them right from shore.

A couple nights back I visited the city park that serves as the de facto in-town headquarters for striper anglers, and spoke with a few people.

I’ll share their views, advice, and opinions with you in Saturday’s column.

And if you’re a salt-water rookie and you really want to try your hand at striper fishing between now and then? Well, many of the fishermen and fisherwomen you’ll meet on the riverbank would probably be happy to give you a few pointers that will get you started.

The only catch? Well, you’re going to have to get used to handling blood worms. That – along with sand worms – is the striper’s food of choice at this location, anglers say.

Finally, a quick word about Tuesday’s tragedy down in Ellsworth, during which a local youngster drowned after a canoe capsized in the Union River.

Every year, several incidents like this further illustrate the value of wearing a personal flotation device.

Especially when the water is cool, as it still is in many coastal rivers, the practice can do more than give you peace of mind. It can save your life.

It’s worth considering.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangordailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.