Upsalquitch trip provides special treat for anglers

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In downtown Campbellton, New Brunswick, a monstrous sculpture of an Atlantic salmon reminds casual visitors what the region is famous for.

The Restigouche River separates the town from the province of Quebec. Nearby are other famous salmon rivers, each with a name that is at once magical and musical to the ears of anglers who dream of visiting one … once … some day.

Casacapedia. Matapedia. Patapedia. Kedgwick.

And then there’s the Upsalquitch.

For three glorious days last week – thanks to the generous hospitality of BDN publisher Rick Warren – five Bangor-area fishermen joined me at Millbrook Farm, the salmon lodge Warren owns not far from the mouth of the Upsalquitch.

The group was an eclectic mix: Steven Mogul and John Kirk are (officially) lawyers, though unofficially each holds a graduate degree in fly-fishing.

Dave Simpson is the head cameraman at ABC-7 in Bangor, and is responsible for all the breathtaking video that appears in our weekly TV collaboration, “Going Outdoors.” If you ever see disconcerting, Blair-Witch-Project-style video in any of our pieces, chances are good that I was the cameraman that day.

Marty Kelly is a genuine Moosetowner, which, if you’ve visited his hometown, ought to make perfect sense. If not, here’s a quick geography lesson: Kelly is originally from Allagash, and shares several traits with other Moosetowners I’ve been fortunate to meet over the years: He’s quite a sportsman … and he’s got far more funny stories to share than your average city slicker does.

And Kelly’s buddy Shawn Spellman has a hunting resume I’d love to say is my own. Heck, he even found a way to put his brother Chris onto a deer last fall, after Chris had spent 30 fruitless years sitting in trees and tromping through swamps, hoping to someday bag a buck.

Atlantic salmon fishing, our party quickly learned, can be a perplexing pursuit for rookies and semi-veterans alike.

Spellman, Simpson and I had fished the Upsalquitch before. Kelly and our makeshift legal team – Mogul and Kirk – were new to the river, and to the fish of 1,000 casts.

“It’s maddening,” Kirk told me one night, as we sat on the screen porch, scratched at no-see-um bites, and relived the day’s adventures.

In Kirk’s world, you must understand, fish are either entirely predictable, or they can be more or less figured out … sometimes.

Fish hold in places veteran anglers expect them to hold. They eat things that are somewhat simple to ascertain … for some.

And if you make a perfect cast, to the perfect lie, with the perfectly matched fly, the fish will cooperate … sometimes.

Atlantic salmon won’t … most of the time.

And after Simpson and I lucked into a pair of four-pound grilse apiece in our first two sessions of fishing, Kirk figured out the essence of salmon fishing.

It doesn’t matter how much line you can throw. It doesn’t matter how many hours you fish each year.

It just matters that on one cast, to one invisible lie, there’s one curious or angry or foolish fish nearby, willing to humor you.

The journey to Millbrook Farm was a special one for all of us. For me, it was nice to get to fish with head guide Bill Murray again – and to catch both of my grilse under his watchful gaze … and within earshot of his mostly good-natured verbal zingers.

For Simpson, it was a chance to (in the vernacular of lake trollers) wash the skunk out of the boat. Last year, he and his wife enjoyed their Upsalquitch experience, even though all four anglers in our party wound up fishless.

This year, he caught two grilse … and somehow managed to forget about his diet for three days.

Mogul caught his first Atlantic salmon – the largest grilse of the bunch – and returned to camp for his evening cigar with a silly grin pasted to his face.

Kelly kept us in stitches. Spellman caught a grilse of his own.

And John Kirk took a long-awaited trip for himself, and for others who never got to go.

Among Kirk’s many fly rods, you see, is a beautiful Orvis Battenkill GBG eight-weight. It’s a bamboo rod that his father bought back in 1961 for a planned salmon-fishing excursion on New Brunswick’s famed Miramichi River.

“Miramichi was a sort of mystical word when I was a kid,” Kirk says. “It evoked all sorts of images that I never got to see, except in my head.”

Sadly, neither did his father or grandfather.

Kirk’s grandmother took ill before the Miramichi trip could be taken, and had surgery. The journey never took place.

Kirk’s father was diagnosed with Hodgkins disease in 1973 and died in 1976. His grandfather passed away in 1991.

Both of the rods that were purchased for that trip did get use, however. Kirk’s grandfather bought a fiberglass rod he nicknamed “Black Maria,” and let his grandson use it.

“The first photographic evidence of me fishing was [from about] 1966, in diapers and slippers, fishing in the pond for sunnies holding ‘Black Maria,'” Kirk says.

“I caught bass on ‘Black Maria’ when I was older. It finally fell apart,” he said.

Last week, he took the other rod – that precious Battenkill bamboo eight-weight – to the Upsalquitch.

Kirk wasn’t using it when he hooked and landed his first Atlantic salmon, a feisty grilse that he chased halfway to the Restigouche from the Mouth pool.

But when we left the river and returned to camp for the last time, beginning our evening storytelling ritual, Kirk said he’d done all he could.

For three hours straight, he had cast flies with that bamboo Battenkill.

For his dad. For his grandfather. Perhaps, Kirk would likely admit, for the antique rod itself.

The fish just weren’t cooperating that night.

But as the sun set over another glorious day on the Upsalquitch, nobody was complaining about the fish we didn’t catch.

There were plenty of other things to discuss. And other days to dream about catching the fish that had eluded us.

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

PHOTO BY DAVE SIMPSON

BDN outdoor columnist John Holyoke crouches to look at a four-pound Atlantic salmon grilse as guide Bill Murray releases it on the Upsalquitch River in New Brunswick last week.