With only one day remaining in our theoretical summer, an invitation to head north, leave paved roads behind, and sample some late-season fishing in Baxter State Park proved too enticing to pass up.

According to the plan, guide Jay Robinson would lead us into a couple of remote ponds. The fish, he (more or less) guaranteed, would cooperate. And even if they didn’t, we’d eat like kings.

If, that is, I agreed to bring along a bit of bear steak from my recently butchered bruin.

“I’ve never tried bear meat and am anxious to try it,” Robinson confided in an e-mail. “I was thinking a feed of those steaks might go over pretty good, cooked outdoors on one last trout-fishing trip in Baxter. I’d bring my Coleman stove, some of my garden vegetables, and hopefully a few fresh wild mushrooms picked along the way into another remote pond you’ve never been to.”

As you may realize, that’s the kind of offer you can’t afford to pass up … and I didn’t.

Robinson is one of those guides whose fishing creed is pretty simple: If you’re willing to wear out a bit of boot leather in your pursuit of good fishing, you’re very likely to find it.

And if you don’t, on a given day, you’re still very likely to have a pristine Baxter State Park pond all to yourself.

Up in “Katahdin Country,” as Robinson calls it, it’s still pretty easy to find places like that. All you have to do is look at a few maps … and walk a few miles. Fortunately for us, many anglers subscribe to the “easier-is-better” school of thought, and don’t feel like heading any farther afield than absolutely necessary.

“This is a good sign,” Robinson said as we trudged over rocks and roots en route to one of his favorites. He stopped, brushed unseen debris off his face, and smiled.

“Cobwebs everywhere,” he said. “I doubt anyone’s been in here.”

He was right. After hiking a mile or two, we reached a canoe he and his father, legendary Maine guide Wiggie Robinson, had stashed on the shores of the pond.

As expected, we had the place to ourselves.

The barest of ripples marred the perfect surface, but did nothing to diminish the views of majestic OJI Mountain, Doubletop, and distant Katahdin.

“What do you think?” he asked … needlessly, it seemed.

“This is great,” I said, as he knew I would. “This is great.”

Shortly after that, Robinson paddled us from spot to spot as we slowly stalked rising trout. A few – including a 16-inch male in brilliant spawning colors – were lured to net.

All but one – the “surf” in our previously planned rustic “surf-and-turf” feast – were quickly released.

A large bull moose called attention to himself with a grunt, then began drinking at the pond’s edge. Our efforts to engage him in conversation failed – the moose seemed to know that the calls emanating from the canoe had nothing to do with mating … or moose – but he did stick around and made a slow half-hour of fishing much more enjoyable.

After the moose left, we headed ashore, laid out our supplies on a mossy, rough-hewn picnic table, and prepared to eat.

The ensuing feast proved again that many times, the most satisfying meals are those you fix for yourself, miles from the nearest five-star restaurant.

“You know,” Robinson reminded me as we began greedily chomping bear meat seconds after removing it from the pan, “Nothing we’re eating came from a store.”

Well, almost nothing.

The beans, cucumbers, green peppers and tomatoes came from Robinson’s garden. The chanterelle and shaggy mane mushrooms had been picked a day earlier. Robinson caught the trout. I bagged the bear.

The only “cheating” we did: We relied on store-bought olive oil, garlic salt, and pepper – forgivable sins, we figured.

After our late lunch, we decided we’d abandon the finicky fish in hopes of finding others at a nearby pond.

A quick half-mile hike put us back on the water just as the breeze lulled, and as the sun began to set.

On a small, glassy pond, the rings left by rising trout are obvious markers even non-guides like me can recognize.

Robinson again began stalking the trout, trying to figure out where a feeding fish would rise next.

After five minutes, we found out: A 15-inch male – also sporting a bright orange belly – was lured to net and released.

Though rises weren’t constant, they were frequent enough that both of us refused to switch to heavier, sinking lines, and continued to flick dry flies onto the surface of the glassy pond.

An hour later, with another 15-incher to our credit, we finally called it a day and began a silent twilight hike back to the truck.

After sitting for several hours in small canoes – and without the anticipation of a day of fishing driving us – the roots seemed bigger, the rocks more slippery, than they had that morning.

But before we headed our separate ways, we made plans to head into the woods again … soon.

As long as I agreed to bring the bear meat.

All in all, another memorable day spent in the Maine woods.

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