Any angler can tell you that there are plenty of big fish (and other critters) in the Penobscot River. Atlantic salmon still return, an occasional seal makes its way up to Bangor, and a couple years back a pilot whale even made a visit.

But when Keith Bates pulled off at the popular angling turnout in South Brewer two weeks ago, all he was thinking about was striped bass.

Boy, was he in for a surprise.

Bates’ fish tale began when he decided to check his bait after having no luck in an hour of angling.

“It [caught] on bottom and I pulled on it real hard,” the Brewer man recalled. “I felt [my line] move toward me and then it pulled my rod about a foot forward.”

While Bates had initially been snagged on a rock, the sudden jerk told him a fish had been hooked.

He quickly learned that the fish was a whopper … though not the kind of whopper he thought.

Armed with an Ugly Stick rod outfitted with 25-pound test line, Bates tried to play what he thought must be a striper in excess of 40 inches.

As often happens in the small city riverside park, it didn’t take long for Bates to find he had a rapt audience.

“[None of the other fishermen] knew what it was, of course, and they were all following me down the stream,” Bates said.

Bates ended up battling the fish for about 15 minutes, and followed the bruiser about 40 feet down the shoreline before bringing it close to shore.

That’s when all of the fishermen got a big surprise: The striper wasn’t a striper at all.

“It was a huge sturgeon, and it was foul hooked,” Bates said.

Bates explained that when he dislodged his weight from the river bottom, his hook ended up next to the sturgeon’s tail.

Sturgeon are a protected species in Maine, and Bates’ fishing buddy tried to release the fish without letting the fish injure itself on the rocky riverbank.

That proved easy enough.

“The fish never got hurt at all,” he said. “[My friend] had a hold of the line really tight and the line snapped right down where the hook was.”

Bates estimated the fish at 5 to 51/2 feet long; that’s huge, but sturgeon can get much bigger.

“It was just massive, but I’m sure there are bigger ones down there,” he said.

According to the Penobscot Partners Web site, Atlantic sturgeon can grow to 18 feet long, while shortnose sturgeon rarely exceed four feet.

Bates said he has seen sturgeon jump out of the water on the Penobscot before, but had never seen one caught.

“I’d heard tell of people catching them, but I didn’t know if it was true,” he said. “I do now.”

Unfortunately for Bates, he had no camera and didn’t get a picture of the sturgeon before it was released.

“The worst part of it was a guy showed up with a video camera about a half hour after I landed it,” Bates said. “That wold have been great to have on video.”

Bates said that at times during the battle, he feared that his fishing rod might break in half. But two weeks later, he’s still happy to tell his fish story.

“It just so happened that I was right there and it was a nice day,” he said. “I stopped down there on my lunch break. Where else can you get a thrill like that on your lunch break?”

‘Brat’ visiting Dedham

Every now and then readers call or write to let me know about interesting happenings in the woods of Maine.

As a largely rural state, “the woods” are often as close as our own backyards, as Pauline Young of Dedham can attest.

Young wrote and sent a photo of a frequent visitor she calls “The Brat.”

The Brat is a black bear. Here’s what Young had to say about her pesky “neighbor.”

“This little guy, although not so little, visits when it’s time to [move] the bird feeders from the porch to the pole about 15 feet from our house,” she wrote. “He does not come when we are out, but shortly after we come in. He is healthy and has a very pretty coat.

“He comes around 8 to 10 p.m. and 6 to 8 a.m. The trash container is also a specialty, so that is left in the garage until trash pickup. [The bears] are hungry until the berries are out; He knows he is not welcome. We don’t feed the bear.”

Young says she makes an effort to let The Brat know he ought to head elsewhere for his daily snack break.

“We open a window and when he goes to reach for a feeder, we say ‘No.’ Each time he looks at us and lowers his paw. He keeps trying, [and] each time the ‘No’ gets a little louder,” she wrote.

“He looks at us as to say ‘Oh, please.’ We get a little louder so he just slowly walks away. I have [bears visiting] each year. Last year a larger one [came by].”

Thanks for the letter, Pauline. And good luck with The Brat.

Lac Barbel trip a success

When you pack up a pair of trucks with fishing gear (five rods per person seemed to work just fine), point those trucks north, and drive 18 hours into the woods, it would seem that the potential for logistical disaster looms large.

I’m happy to report that this year’s trip to the former mining town of Gagnon, Quebec -my third in six years – went off without a hitch … almost.

Sure, I nearly toppled off a mossy river ledge … twice … while trying to work my way down into (what I assumed must be) the perfect fly fishing pool.

And sure, I ended up breaking my favorite fly rod in my final tumble. And yes, I bled a bit, bruised a few things, and ended up catching nothing for my effort.

If you’re one of those unenlightened anglers who judge the success or failure of a trip based solely on fish caught (or blood not shed, or rods not broken), I suppose this year’s trip would seem a failure.

To me (and those fishing fools like me) it was nothing of the sort.

This year’s junket to Timbuktu Lodge, the camp owned by Tim Lander of Eddington, was just perfect, I figure.

We ate too much, fished too much, and snored just the right amount.

Best of all, perhaps, we swapped stories (and good-natured insults) and laughed. Constantly.

For this year’s trip to the end of the earth (or so it seemed, 12 hours into the 730-mile journey), the brothers Lander – Tim, Billy and Chris – invited me, co-worker Pete Warner, and their pal Dale McDonald of Clifton for a week of fun.

And fun we had.

Warner earned the “game hog” title early on, as he latched onto the three biggest brook trout he’d ever caught on just seven productive casts on the first full day of fishing.

Things didn’t get much worse, as each of us had our successes and our failures.

But while we all called the journey a “fishing trip,” defining a weeklong excursion so narrowly is risky.

There were fish involved in our trip … the five rods per man certainly proves that.

But there was much more. Like a porcupine basking on a river rock, a young moose playing chicken with a truck outside of Rockwood, and a pesky Quebec red squirrel who has proven an equal match (thus far) for the owner of Timbuktu.

And there were the beluga whales of Tadoussac, Quebec, who entertained us for a few minutes during our equally long drive home.

Fly rods can be repaired. Bruises will heal. But memories from trips like this? They’re permanent.

And that, I figure, is another reason we headed into the woods in the first place.

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