Some fishing trips turn into major productions. That’s half the fun, I figure. We brainstorm all winter, think and rethink, and then … finally … meet with our fishing buddies and begin working on our official master plan.

We compile lists of gear and tackle, try to figure out the optimal departure time (accounting, of course, for the fact that we want to arrive at a time of day when we can begin fishing … productively … as soon as possible).

Then, eventually, after loading up two or three trucks with boats, motors, rods, reels, food, and (if we remember) clean clothing, we roll out of town.

Those trips are great. They’re memorable. And they’re guaranteed to provide plenty of stories to toss back and forth across the campfire in years to come.

But some of the best fishing trips are the ones you didn’t know you were taking. There was no plan. There were no meetings.

There was just an idea … the freedom to scrap the day’s other tasks … and the willingness to say, Why not? Instead of We just don’t have time.

I took one of those trips the other day. Sarah, my fiancee’s daughter, was sitting on the couch after three days spent playing Perfect Big Sister for her recently tonsil-less sis, Molly.

Molly got the surgery and the ice cream, and lost her tonsils. Sarah – though she’d never say it – got bored … and temporarily lost her always-available, ready-for-anything pal.

“What are you doing this afternoon?” I asked.

“Nothing,” she said, barely glancing up from the TV.

“Well … what would you think about going fishing for an hour or two?” I asked.

The question, you may have guessed, was entirely rhetorical.

Sarah and Molly both love to fish, and 10-year-old Sarah doesn’t let the fact that she doesn’t fly fish get in the way of her passion for sitting at a vise and tying the flies she encourages me to try.

She perked up … glanced at her ice-cream-eating sister … and gave me the answer I’d expected: “Yesssssss!”

“I’ve got to go write for a bit,” I told her. “All you’ve got to do is find some warm clothes … and a fishing hat.”

A fishing hat, I explained, was a necessary part of the equation. It gave the angler a sense of purpose. It told the fish that we meant business. It showed that we had the proper fishing disposition.

She nodded and told me that when I returned from work, she’d be ready.

She was. Hat and all.

A lunch was quickly prepared and packed. Lunch is one of the most important parts of fishing, I told her. We can’t control the fish … but we can control lunch.

We packed camping chairs and sodas and Oreo cookies and peanut butter-and-jelly sandwiches. We packed potato chips and fishing gear.

A quick stop at the local store (for a container of worms, some more hooks, bobbers, sinkers, and a bag of those crunchy neon orange Cheetos Sarah and I like to call “Cheesy Riders”) and we were ready … finally … to fish.

“We might not catch any fish,” I told her (again). “I’ve never caught a fish in this spot we’re going. But we’ll be fishing, at least.”

She nodded.

After a short drive, we were there. I unpacked, rigged a rod, and tossed a worm into the flow where a stream fed into the lake.

Sarah unfolded chairs, got lunch ready, and sat down to wait.

“Watch the bobber,” I told her. “If it sinks, we’ve got a fish.”

“Crunch, crunch, crunch,” she replied, attacking the bag of Cheesy Riders enthusiastically.

For a couple hours, we sat in the sun, watched the bobber swing in the flow … and devoured our sandwiches, our Cheesy Riders, and our Oreos.

We talked about fishing, and why fish (theoretically) bite and (actually) don’t bite.

We talked about the lake, and the stream, and the people rebuilding their float nearby.

We soaked in the rays, realized that the wind off the water was pretty chilly, and decided we were lucky we weren’t out there on the lake … in a boat … freezing.

Eventually, we’d had enough, and packed up to head home.

“I’m sorry we didn’t catch any fish,” I told Sarah as we began our return journey.

I had tried to make sure that her expectations were modest, and that she realized the chance of us actually hooking a stray fish in the spot we had visited was low.

Still, I thought she might view the afternoon as a waste of time.

I needn’t have worried.

“That’s OK,” she said, before turning one of my favorite phrases on me.

“You know, there’s more to fishing than catching something,” she said.

I drove on … a smile spreading across my face.

Yes. There certainly is.

Coming up: On Saturday I’ll take you back to Grand Lake Stream for a chat with Kurt Cressey, the personable (and knowledgeable) owner of the Pine Tree Store.

Most of the people who pass through town also end up passing through the doors of the store Cressey and his wife, Kathy, own.

Frequent visitors don’t consider a trip to Grand Lake Stream complete unless they stop by, take a seat on the “liar’s bench,” and chat for a bit.

The result: The Cresseys have a pretty good idea of what’s going on in one of Maine’s most famous inland “fishing villages.”

Kurt and I talked about ice … fishing … the stream … and how easy it can be to “float your hat” while wading thanks to winter water-flow patterns coming out of West Grand Lake into Grand Lake Stream.

Ten minutes spent with Kurt Cressey is a sure-fire way to fill a column with informative, interesting (and often funny) tales from the Maine woods.

Also on Saturday, I’ll pass on all the ice-out information readers have passed along thus far.

Your help in adding to that list would be appreciated.

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