Bear-ly a whimper as season gets started

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Two years ago, as Labor Day weekend approached, you would have been well aware of one piece of outdoor trivia: Bear season was upon us.

Back then, several months of contentious debate had raged on, and as hunters headed into the woods, many half-expected to find protesters sitting in their tree stands when they arrived.

OK. Perhaps it wasn’t that bad. But in certain towns that largely embrace bear hunters and bear hunting, it was close.

Hunters were on edge and wondered if that 2004 hunt was going to be the state’s last foray into baiting bears, hounding them, and the use of traps.

As it turned out, the referendum didn’t pass, and although those against the practices have continued to say the battle isn’t over, things have quieted down substantially since then.

And though you may not have even realized it, on Monday afternoon, a new bear season dawned, and hunters headed into the woods for yet another season.

They will don their camouflage gear, climb ladders, and sit silently in trees for hours.

They will try not to twitch, nor scratch, nor sneeze, lest a nearby bear take notice and not approach the bait.

Eventually, if they’re very still, and very lucky, and if a hungry bear happens to pass by during legal hunting hours, those hunters may get a chance to watch the bruin feed.

They may take video of the event.

And if the bear is large enough, and isn’t a female with cubs in tow, they may decide to shoot it.

But contrary to the opinion of some, that’s not a given.

Not even close.

Two years ago, on my first bear hunting trip, I was fortunate and harvested a 228-pounder on the second day of my hunt.

Last year, I sat in trees through hot weather and cold weather, and the thunder and lightning and torrential downpours that marked the remnants of Hurricane Katrina.

For six days I sat, silent. Still. No twitching. No sneezing.

And all I saw was a rabbit.

If you’re in the state for the bear hunt, good luck to you. I hope you have a great time.

But before you head home again, do me a favor: Thank your bear guide for everything he or she did to make sure you even got the chance to sit over a bait this fall.

Two years ago, that prospect was far from a sure thing.

And we shouldn’t ever forget that.

Bassin’ the Penobscot

For the past several years, I’ve heard glowing reports about the bass fishing prospects to be found on the Penobscot River.

Many local anglers credit Eddie Reif, the late proprietor of Eddie’s Fly Shop in Bangor, with popularizing the pastime, which many Maine anglers initially dismissed.

Waste time casting for a “trash fish?” Mainers were likely to say with a scowl.

Seriously.

Well, Reif was serious. And over the years he converted plenty of local folks to his way of thinking and convinced them how much fun they could have battling river bass on a fly rod.

Up until last Thursday, river bassin’ was something that had seemingly taken up permanent residence on my “to-do” list.

I’d trolled a few times and heaved traditional bass lures with spin-casting rods but hadn’t tried to entice a bass on a fly.

Now I have.

And (no surprise here) I’ve got a lot to learn.

Don Corey, an accomplished fly fisherman, fly tier, and rod builder, fished nearby. Dave Simpson, the head cameraman for WVII in Bangor, piloted his own boat and filmed for an installment of “Going Outdoors,” the weekly TV segment we work on together.

It didn’t take long to figure out that Corey (who, by default, I had begun thinking of as my own personal bass fishing coach), had been holding out on me.

“All you really need is one fly,” he had told me earlier … even going so far as to hand me one of those secret weapons.

That fly – “Sneaky Pete” – was a floating bass fly that Corey guaranteed would produce (at least, that’s the way I remember it).

It wasn’t until later in the evening, when I heard Don talking to his future son-in-law while landing yet another fish that I realized something might be amiss.

I could have sworn he said something about a “bead-headed white grub” … and nothing about a Sneaky Pete.

“He’s holding secrets,” I told Simpson. “He’s my bass coach, and he told me all I needed to know was that fly right there: Sneaky Pete.”

“It is,” Corey piped up from his boat, chuckling as he busily landed his fish, released it, and cast his Sneaky-Pete-less line back toward the shore.

“Dirty pool,” I muttered.

After that, the evening deteriorated quickly. First, I forgot how to cast and ended up with a large coil of fly line wrapped around my rod, my head, and half the boat.

Then I began switching flies frantically, trying to find something that was less sneaky and more grubby.

It never worked.

Eventually, as the sun finally settled below the horizon, we all headed ashore, laughing about our evening’s efforts.

Fifty bass in one day? Perhaps some can do it.

Me? I was forced to settle for a single sunfish.

Not that I was complaining, mind you. Corey had unwittingly provided me all the excuses I needed.

I just blamed the lack of success on my bass coach.

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