Marshall casts tall tales and fishy stories

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A cool breeze blew up the Upsalquitch River on Tuesday night as Ollie Marshall completed another season of fishing at the Mouth Pool he patrols most summer evenings.

“I don’t know how many more years I’m gonna spend packing and unpacking,” he said with a grin, as he loaded fly boxes and other tools of the guiding trade into a well-worn canvas satchel.

Marshall is a spry 65, with a quick grin and even quicker lip. He can tell you stories about anglers who have come and gone, fish that have been caught and lost, and the eel that nearly bit his hand off while he was cleaning a fish (or something like that).

All it takes is a question or two, and the willingness to sit back and laugh at his stories, and an angler sharing Marshall’s boat will undoubtedly go back to camp with a smile on his face, whether the Atlantic salmon are taking flies or not.

For 26 years, Marshall has guided out of MacLennan Lodge, once owned by A. Tucker Cluett and now owned by BDN publisher Rick Warren.

And for 26 years, he has taken his daily turns at one of the lower river pools, just above the confluence of the Upsalquitch and the Restigouche, in rural Robinsonville, New Brunswick.

Moore’s Pool for a session. Mouth Pool for a session. The next day, the pattern will be the same. These pools are his summer home, and he spends nearly as many hours on them as he does at home.

Sometimes, he teaches fledgling anglers how to make a limber rod propel a tiny fly into a fertile pool. Other times, he teaches them how to avoid hooking their guide too often.

And still other times, he hunkers down in the stern of his canoe, lights a cigarette, and watches the crystal-clear water roll by as more experienced anglers practice their craft.

No matter the clientele, Marshall is likely to launch into a far-fetched tale or fire a good-natured barb at his sport.

On this breezy evening, casting proved difficult. At least, that’s one caster’s reason for a variety of wind-blown snarls, miscues and the assorted welts and punctures that a small fly will leave when it makes contact with the person doing the casting.

Marshall, safely hidden in the stern, merely shook his head at each unnatural sound, then uttered the same question.

“What was that?”

Not, for the record, because he didn’t know that the angler in question was having a tough time with the breeze, and had repeatedly pelted himself with rusty rats, green machines, and a butterfly or two.

Instead, I think, Marshall was keeping count; he wanted to know what part of the caster’s anatomy had stopped an otherwise perfect (or not) cast.

“Arm.”

“Oh, OK,” he’d reply.

“Neck.”

“I thought so,” he’d say.

“Back.”

“You going to tell your friends about this?” he finally asked.

Of course you would. Because not doing so would be committing an unthinkable sin at MacLennan Lodge: Leaving another story for Ollie Marshall to call his own … and to spread far and wide, trademark mischievous grin no doubt plastered on his face.

The MacLennan Lodge staff shares some of Marshall’s tendencies (though, publicly, they’d never admit it).

Before my own welcome mat is permanently removed from the establishment, I’ll explain: All of the people who work there are fun-loving folks who love a good laugh … even at their own expense.

Guides David Mann and his brother Shane Mann have been at MacLennan for 27 years. Nancy Firth, who keeps the tidiest camp you’ve ever seen, among other duties, also has 27 years of service. Ann Murray has been cooking up sumptuous meals for the past 12 years. David’s wife, Sue Mann, began welcoming anglers off the water each evening just this year.

Anglers enter the lodge as guests, and leave at the end of three days feeling like friends. That, I figure, is about as good as it gets.

Each trip here, to this special place in the woods of New Brunswick, begins with high hopes and ends with smiles, but a few regrets.

Will you ever get the chance to go back? Will the same guides be there to share their tales? Will Ollie Marshall have stopped spending his evenings sitting in Mouth Pool, telling stories as the setting sun casts a widening shadow across the river?

Marshall, for the record, has been warning his co-workers of his impending retirement for quite some time.

And after 50 years on the river, he may not be ready to hang up his well-worn satchel quite yet.

Yes, he’s 65. But that doesn’t mean much, in the long run.

“I feel like a trout,” he says, grinning broadly.

You hear that and grin … even if you’re not quite sure what it means.

Salmon postscript: On this trip, Dave Simpson of Eddington and Dave Huntress of Orono, won top rod honors. Each landed two grilse. The guides called the duo Big Dave and Little Dave, but the head guide, David Mann, saved the moniker “Smart Dave” for himself.

The rest of the staff seemed to disagree with awarding him that new nickname, however.

Little Dave’s fish were his first Atlantic salmon, and provided one highlight of the trip.

His uncle, Judd Goodwin of Eliot, also fared well, landing a nice grilse of his own.

I may have landed a fish … and may have lost another.

I may have welts on my back and my neck and my arm.

Of course, you’d have to ask Smart Dave and Ollie about that.

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