Millbrook Farm is six hours north of Bangor, a half-hour south of Campbellton, New Brunswick, and a world away from assorted everyday worries.

When you’re “in camp,” in the vernacular chosen by some long-ago angler and embraced by every salmon-fishing operation in New Brunswick, fishing is the top priority.

Well, sometimes it is.

In truth, “fishing” often clings to that that position of prominence tenuously. Depending on the time of day, and a particular angler’s appetite, “breakfast,” “lunch,” “supper,” and “nap” win out and take top billing.

Rick Warren, the publisher of the Bangor Daily News, owns Millbrook Farm. He regularly issues invitations to Millbrook to various employees of the NEWS, as well as personal friends of his.

Those invitations are coveted, and the resulting trips produce the kinds of tales that are whispered back and forth at the water cooler for months.

Those water cooler stories always begin, covertly, cautiously, with the same five words.

“Have you been to Millbrook?”

As of last week, I have. And as the miles melted away on our return trip, I began savoring the journey to a truly magical place.

Six of us met up at Millbrook Farm, which sits placidly on a flawless stretch of the Upsalquitch River. Horses prance in the nearby corral. Somewhere, salmon await … at least, that’s what we told each other.

Tim Reynolds and Stephen Katz of the NEWS and Ivan McPike of Hampden met Jay and David McCrum of Mars Hill at Millbrook and we all enjoyed a few days of salmon camp camaraderie and tale-swapping.

The fishing, to be honest, was spotty. That’s what happens when the water level drops, and when salmon decide they don’t feel like scraping their bellies on rocks on the way up river.

That’s what the guides said, at least. And since I’m a novice salmon angler (and since they weren’t blaming me for my own lack of success), I chose to believe them.

A few miles downriver, the Upsalquitch merges with the Restigouche, another famed Atlantic salmon river. Millbrook Farm enjoys access rights to five pools – Home, Crib, Moore’s, Church, and Mouth.

Each is beautiful. The water is crystal clear, the air pure and clean, and the scenery largely unspoiled.

Most (our guides told us) were devoid of fish … not that we complained much.

The fishing is what lured us to Millbrook. The memories we’ll take away from it have a little to do with fish … and more to do with new friendships being forged, and of old tales being told to new audiences … as we sat on a screen porch and swatted swarms of no-see-ums in the dark.

Jay McCrum and his brother, David, are in the potato-farming business. They’re good enough at it to have been named Maine’s farm family of the year a couple years back.

They’re also avid salmon anglers who dealt with the apparent national fish shortage with grace and humor.

McPike is a born story-teller who owns Fitzco Farm Center, a fertilizer business in Hampden. Reynolds is the controller here at the NEWS, so I won’t say anything about him, except that he generously approves my expense accounts each month.

Katz is a photographer by trade, an angler by choice, and (for this trip) my teammate in our daily salmon expeditions.

We became a team an hour into our first night on the water, as I coaxed a 3-pound grilse to a Grizzly King, then battled him to hand as Katz blazed away with his Nikon. (When a guy drops his own fly rod just so he can document your first Atlantic salmon, I figure he’s a pretty good teammate).

Katz’s photo skills weren’t missed by many, including our guide for the first two fishing sessions, Billy Murray.

“You keep that up and I’ll have to throw your camera in the river,” Murray said as Katz took candid shots of our guide as the canoe headed up river.

“Why not throw him in?” I asked, innocently (this suggestion, of course, came before Katz and I had officially decided we were a team).

“If I throw a photographer in, he’ll just swim to shore, get back in, and do it all over again,” said Murray in the tone of a man who has dealt with plenty of photographers in his day.

Katz and I solidified our team bond the next morning, as a Home Pool salmon – a full-fledged 12-pounder, not a juvenile like mine – took his Rusty Rat and began peeling off line.

Eight leaps and several reel-squealing runs later, Katz had caught his first Atlantic salmon, and I returned the favor by firing off a few shots with his camera.

Days at Millbrook are regimented (if, that is, you feel brave enough to call fishing at specific times, then gorging yourself on all the food you can eat at other specific times “regimented”).

You fish from 9 a.m. to noon. You eat from 1 p.m. until 2. You nap or kill time until 6, then head back on the water for a few hours.

Then, you sit in the dark (so the no-see-ums won’t see you … which sounds good in theory, but doesn’t really work too well) and tell stories.

Stories about fish you caught, and fish you didn’t. About trips you’ve taken, and trips you dream about.

Stories about friends you fish with all the time … and stories that are met by the laughter of friends you’ve just met.

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