Each month the Pine Tree State offers a variety of outdoor options, but only during May can regional sportsmen participate in a traditional fin-and-fern outing. For only a few weeks each spring, anglers may venture to a neighboring waterway to catch a couple of trout and pick a hatful of fiddleheads from along the shoreline, and a few hours later enjoy a fish-and-fern taste treat fit for a king. Trout fishing will continue to improve throughout the summer, but prime fiddleheading season is now, although recent rains may gift us with an extra week or so of precious picking time for this short-lived Maine delicacy.

Rain showers of varied intensity pelted the area for two days early last week making outdoor endeavors less than comfortable and far from enjoyable. I had been eager to do a bit of river trolling and my impatience grew with each passing shower. Local weather reports promised two more days of a steady, heavy downpour that would raise the river and shut down trolling for a full week. As it was, the Aroostook River was fairly high and tea colored from the constant drizzle and intermittent squalls. When the rain stopped and the wind dropped on the evening of the second day, I hooked up the canoe trailer on a desperate whim and headed out.

Twilight trolling

I knew a remote section of the river with a couple of brook inlets that wasn’t fished too heavily due to the difficulty of access. I also was aware of an old farm field road that offered a perfect bankside launch site and had permission from the owner, an old chum from high school. As I bumped along the rutted gravel road and worrying about the river’s height and color, the sun actually sneaked a few rays between the clouds as a sign of encouragement. Whatever the fishing conditions, I had a backup plan involving tasty, tightly curled fiddlehead greens that would assure my outing wouldn’t be a total failure.

As I rolled my stable 20-foot Scott square stern off the trailer and anchored it along shore, I noted the river was high and tainted amber but certainly fishable. While pulling the trailer from the stream and parking the truck, I considered my trolling options and decided that conditions called for a lure rather than a streamer fly. Instead of a spinning rod, I’d stick with my 6-weight, 9-foot fly rod, however, and use a short leader and a size 44 Sutton spoon, silver on one side and copper on the other.

I’d learned years ago from river trollers with far more years experience than myself that when water levels are moderate to high, always troll with the current. Many times, just to prove a point, I’ve trolled upriver as well as down, and nine times out of 10, spring fish are caught while moving with the flow. Proper trolling speed is simple to judge with a spoon, as the rod tip will nod and bob a steady rhythm that means the lure is dancing an attractive jig in the current.

Motoring upriver, well past a brook mouth, I turned just below an island and let out my fly line as I skirted the near shore, and much to my delight a fish hit just as I passed the creek. Dropping the bow anchor and snubbing the canoe like a dog on a tether, I cut the motor and turned attention to playing the fish. Despite being only 10 inches, the brightly spotted brookie gave a good account of itself in the swift water, and after an enjoyable tussle I secured the treble hooks with needle-nose pliers and quickly released it.

While pulling the anchor, starting the motor, and heading back upstream, I wondered if I was being cavalier releasing the first trout. I fully intended to keep two trout for a tasty fish-and-fern repast, and was confident due to the quick strike, but what if I’d been too hasty! Two more trolling passes without a hit did little to buoy my confidence. On a whim I changed to an all-bronze, size 16 Sutton spoon and made a pass on the far side of the island where I hadn’t explored yet.

Having just made my turn toward the shoreline and starting downriver, I held the rod high so the lure wouldn’t snag. I’d no more than straightened the tiller when a solid strike bowed the rod tip. As the trout used the current and spun line from the reel, I knew this was no 10-incher. After two more runs and a tussle that featured lots of head shaking, I slipped the boat net under a fat 151/2-inch beauty. For some reason, copper must have shown up better in the tea-tinged water, for it wasn’t 100 yards and I had another fish on the line, this one a 13-inch brookie that I released.

Over the next hour I worked my way upriver, around a couple of small isles, and past another creek inlet, enjoying steady action from 8- to 14-inch trout. With twilight cloaking the tall firs along the shoreline, I boated and kept my second supper entree, a 101/2-inch fighter with bright yellow spots and very pinkish-orange flanks. Seven trout and two long-line releases in an hour and a half and not a sprinkle of rain. Now to acquire the second course of my evening repast, I thought to myself, so I motored back to the first big island near my launch site.

Flavorful ferns

No other vegetable offers the delicate, unique flavor of fiddleheads, and most folks throughout North America will never even enjoy their savory taste each short but regular spring season. Despite the dozens of vegetables and fruits that can be “home grown” or even farmed, fiddleheads continue to confuse and stymie botanical researchers. Not one has been able to figure a consistent method to plant, cultivate, and harvest even moderate quantities of this special fern shaped like the tuning head of a violin. Two of the main stumbling blocks are the plant’s aversion to direct sunlight and the necessity of consistent soil moisture. The horticulturist who finally solves the mystery of commercially cultivating fiddleheads will be rich and world-renowned.

Considering the circumstances, Mainers are fortunate in their wealth of fiddleheads and ease of access. In truth, picking your own ferns adds to the mystique and all-around enjoyment of this short-lived spring taste tradition. Fear not, however, for those unable to get into the woods along a lake or beside a riverbank because commercial pickers will answer the call. These hearty souls pick, clean, wash, and wholesale upwards of 100 pounds of fiddleheads a day for area grocery stores and supermarkets. Drive along Main Street in many regional towns and a roadside vendor of fresh ferns will likely be spotted, and for only $1 to $1.50 for half a pound, it’s a bargain.

I killed the motor and tilted it up, allowing the forward motion to slide the bow onto a grassy point. Then I slipped into the shallow water with my knee-high boots, pulled the canoe farther inland, set the anchor and grabbed a small plastic pail from amidships. Peepers and frogs were tuning up for their nightly symphony as I applied another layer of fly dope for the black flies and mosquitoes that had swarmed me for an evening snack. Not five steps into the grass and sparse brush I located my first group of tightly wound green ferns.

The fiddlehead is actually an Ostrich fern, so named in 1753, and didn’t receive its botanical name Mattecia until 100 years later. For centuries the Maliseet Indians have called them Mahos; something highly thought of, to be esteemed, and they consumed great quantities, considering the ferns to be a magical and protective spring tonic of sorts. This supposed well-being probably came from the natural nutrients, including niacin, potassium, magnesium, riboflavin, phosphorous, and Vitamins A and C, and half a cup of fiddleheads has only 16 calories.

Many pickers visit shorelines, but islands are more difficult to reach, so in less than 15 minutes my bucket was full. Tender heads sprouted three to eight inches above the moist, dark soil, and I pinched off only the tasty top three inches of coiled fern and stem. Back at the boat I poured the fiddleheads into my fish net and swished and dunked my bounty in the river a dozen times to clean away brown casings and debris, then I cleaned my two trout in the waning light and laid them in wet, broad-blade grass for the short trip home.

As I motored toward the landing and while I loaded the canoe, my mind was already considering how I would prepare my fish and ferns supper, and my mouth was watering. Often simplest is best; broiled trout and steamed greens, about 8-12 minutes with a light touch of butter, salt, pepper, or perhaps a dash of vinegar. Over the years I’d tried fiddleheads in souffles, soups, salads, and quiche to name a few epicurean delights. None were disappointing. Let me relate the two simple recipes I settled on last week for my wife and I.

Fiddleheads, fried bread crumbs

1 cup clarified unsalted butter, 1/2 tsp chopped garlic, 6 tbsp hard bread crumbs, salt and pepper, 1 pound fiddleheads, cleaned and blanched, 2 tbsp unsalted butter

Heat the clarified butter and add the garlic and bread crumbs. Saut? until the bread crumbs are golden brown and then season with a bit of salt and pepper. Now saut? the fiddleheads in 2 tablespoons of butter until they are hot. Toss the bread crumbs and fiddleheads together in a salad bowl and check for proper seasoning. Serve immediately.

Grilled herbed trout

3-6 brook trout (8-10 inches), 2 tbsp chopped parsley, 1/2 cup soft margarine or butter, 1/2 tsp basil, 1/4 cup lemon juice, 1/2 tsp chervil, 1/4 cup lime juice, 1/2 tsp tarragon, 4 green onions, chopped, 1/2 tsp salt and pepper

Clean and behead trout, rinse and pat dry with paper towel. Lay trout on a greased hinged grill and salt and pepper inside cavity. Mix all of the ingredients together (melting butter if necessary) and brush each side of trout thoroughly. Close and lock grill and suspend 4-6 inches over a charcoal or gas grill, or 10-12 inches over coals of an open fire. Turn the hand-held grill rack every two minutes, basting fish each time, and grill for 10 minutes or until the fish flakes when fork tested.

Time is growing short

It only takes a couple of hours before or after work to provide the main ingredients for a fish-and-fern feast, but time is growing short for this fiddlehead season. There are many rites of spring, but few are as steeped in Maine’s heritage, not to mention tantalizing tastes, as fishing and fiddleheading. Not that most sportsmen need another reason to grab the fishing rod, but bringing home supper from afield is rewarding before and during the meal. Give it a try.

Outdoor feature writer Bill Graves can be reached via e-mail at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com

Trolling the Aroostook River with small lures on a fly rod produces steady spring action as BDN columnist Bill Graves experienced during a recent outing.