Over my many years of rubbing shoulders with the members of Maine’s angling fraternity I’ve noted that most of the fly fishermen exhibit three very distinct traits: dedication, determination, and diversity. Dedication is what keeps a guy flinging a gaudy feathered hook when the fellow downstream keeps hauling in fish on angleworms. Determination is evident when a caster works a pool again and again, regularly changing flies until just the right one is rewarded with a strike. Diversity! Well, that’s the attribute most difficult to explain but often most rewarding to the angler.

Despite the great brook trout and landlocked salmon fishing available throughout the Pine Tree State, outdoorsmen still have the yen to drift a fly along Alaskan rivers. Regardless of how well the smallmouth are biting, a visit to New Brunswick or Quebec Atlantic salmon rivers is often planned each summer. And when the togue are taking downrigger baits, fly rodders still find time to traipse off after tarpon, steelhead, sailfish or some other exotic species. My personal summer diversity is striped bass.

Although my wife doesn’t fully understand the need to diversify casting experiences, she good naturedly tolerates these tangent trips clear across the state. An avid golfer, my mate of 30 some years got the idea when I explained “it’s like visiting a new golf course after playing only the home links for two months.” And so it was, with fly rod and golf bag packed in the trunk, we headed for Portland last week.

Angling ambition

An old coach told me that striving for seemingly unattainable goals is what makes a good athlete, and I’ve always felt the same theory applies to hunting and fishing. Just settling yields second-rate results. My aspiration for the last four summers has been to catch a 30-inch or longer striped bass on a fly. Having to travel more than five hours to reach striper infested salt water is a stumbling block that limits me to only two or three outings a year, but that’s just another puzzle piece of the challenge. Captain Tim Rafford of Calendar Island Guide Service of Yarmouth spends day after day poling his shallow-draft flats boat around the shorelines and islands of Casco Bay sight fishing for cruising striped bass. Although Tim does guide spin casters using plastic flukes and bait, his specialty is spotting laid-up fish and silently poling his sports within fly-casting range. It’s a combo of hunt and stalk and angling that is a bit challenging but very exciting and rewarding when everything works out.

Buddy Horr, a longtime hunting partner who lives in Dedham, isn’t really into fishing, especially fly casting, but when he learned I was going after stripers, Buddy opted to join up and use spinning gear. I spent the night in Portland, while Bud had to leave home at 2:30 a.m. to rendezvous with us on the Royal River dock by 5:30, but there he was, all smiles and eager anticipation when our trio joined up in the pre-dawn.

As we rigged rods and loaded gear aboard the boat, not another soul or sound interloped on the quiet harbor, lightly shrouded in sea fog. Later that Saturday morning the wharf and water would be a bustle of boats and weekend seafarers, but as our quiet 4-stroke motor purred and pushed us toward the bay, only a solitary seal curiously observed our departure. Our trio zipped up and buttoned on extra layers of shirts and fleece jackets, for while mid-day promised to be 80 degrees, it was currently 47 and likely to become much more windy and chilly when Captain Tim took us up to cruising speed.

Roughly 15 minutes later the boat slowed and dropped off plane near the tip of Bustins Island, and each of us wiped away tears brought on by the chilly, speedy ride. Pulling my hands from my jacket pockets I grabbed my 7-weight rod and hopped up on the bow casting platform. As I stripped out my sinking-tip fly line and tied on a white bead-eye Clouser minnow pattern, Buddy dug out his spinning rod and Tim mounted his elevated poling platform. With the tide just beginning to drop the stripers ought to be schooled up along ledges, troughs and dropoffs waiting to ambush bait fish, so we would blind cast along likely runs until the sun was high enough to sight fish.

There’s no substitute for experience and Capt. Tim got it right the first try, on only my second cast we both spotted a flash as a fish swung for the fly, and I felt a light tug but no hookup. “Keep your rod tip right on the water surface and strip faster,” Tim suggested. As it was I had been stripping in line about five times the speed a cast trout fly would be retrieved, but as soon as my fly hit the water on my third cast I picked up the speed even more. A solid strike before the weighted Clouser moved three feet proved the speed theory in a hurry.

A 17-inch striper made a short run, then leaped and cavorted across the surface for a few minutes before finally giving in to rod pressure and wallowing in the waves beside the boat so I could lip and release it. As Tim poled us along the 75- yard shoal I hooked and lost a second striper, saw another swing at the fly and turn away at the last second, and played and released a 16-inch schoolie.

Buddy had a couple of swirls around his white plastic Sluggo, just window shoppers, until just before we were ready to motor back to the top of the river and make another pass. That’s when a really nice fish grabbed the bait and headed for Portland Harbor at a rapid clip. Tim lifted a 22-inch beauty on board for a quick, pre-release photo after an exciting tug of war interspaced with a couple of leaps, splashing on the surface, and one episode of deep diving and head shaking.

We subsequently made three more passes along the island edge before the falling tide forced us to seek another location. Every float got better for me as the tide dropped and I ended us boating eight fish between 12 and 18 inches and losing four more. Plastic wasn’t in demand like feathers, but Bud accounted for two more stripers and Tim even managed to hook up three schoolies and land two.

Our next two stopovers were upper and lower Goose Island and each spot offered action on the fly, three stripers at upper and two at lower, but still no bragging-size bass. A long, rock shoreline along Whaleboat Island was the next spot and this 100-yard stretch was alive with small stripers. Unfortunately most were hit-and-run experts so out of a dozen hookups I lipped and landed only four 14- to 16-inch fish. Buddy on the other hand enticed and played three stripers, but one was the jackpot fish to that point. His catch was no 30-incher, but after a fierce surface strike and several minutes of serious give and take line-burning, rod bending action, Tim brought a 27-inch, vividly marked bass aboard.

So close

Around 8 o’clock the sun had risen high enough for sight fishing the rocky, weed-infested shallow shoreline, and it was finally warm enough to shed our outer layers of clothing. We’d been silently poling along, all eyes scanning for shadows or motion when everyone began chattering at once as at least a dozen fish suddenly finned into view. Buddy and I both laid out a cast into the path of the approaching school, waited for them to get within a few feet of the baits and began to strip in line. Apparently the position of the fly and plastic fluke were wrong because tossing a hand grenade wouldn’t have sent the stripers skittering every which way any faster.

Further on another shadow gave away the position of a fish holding near a large rock. This time I made a long cast and worked my fly past the striper at an angle. Before my feathered feast got within six feet the fish dashed out and muckled onto what was supposed to be lunch. We both got a surprise; lunch had a hook in it and this was no striper. It was an 18-inch bluefish with a bad attitude and plenty of sharp teeth. I was astonished it didn’t cut my leader and very pleased with the new species and a very exciting fight.

Our light just got better as the sun climbed higher and at the next stop Tim spotted a striper more than 30 inches just hovering mid-depth in six feet of water. My first cast was a good one as far as distance and location were concerned, and so were my second, third and fourth, but the big bass showed not an iota of interest. We even changed to a larger fly with more flash, but finally the striper sank serenely to the bottom and finned slowly out of sight.

Tim hadn’t poled 50 yards farther when from the height of the tower he spotted a trio of very large bass approaching from the opposite direction. Neither Buddy nor I could see the fish, so Tim verbally directed my cast for perfect length and location, and once the fly landed I allowed it to slowly sink. Suddenly I sighted the stripers and caught my breath, every one of the triad was more than 30 inches, maybe 35 or better!

When the three fish were about 10 feet from my fly I began a short, rapid retrieve, springing the feathered bait imitation into view as if it were trying to escape. All three stripers turned as one to follow the fly and the middle fish sped right up behind my pattern, opened its mouth as if to suck in the tasty morsel – causing me to hold my breath and Tim to exclaim “Get Ready to Strike.” Then the big bass stopped, closed its mouth, turned and finned off after its two companions.

I was that close! My boat buddies and I went from elated to deflated in a heartbeat and I actually sat down to regain strength in my knees. “It just doesn’t get any closer than that,” Buddy said. All Tim could muster was a subdued “It happens.”

It was almost 11 a.m. and boat traffic was really picking up. Everything from a sloop to a sailboat and a kayak to a waveruner were zipping here and there around the bay. I’d enjoyed the earlier hours when we watched baitfish schools frolic on the surface, then cast to some stripers, observed a trio of osprey do a bit of aerial dive bomber fishing, then quietly cast to some more stripers, and finally relaxed and contemplated lobstermen and seals catching food in their own ways. After that brief respite had come the “almost trophy 30-inch striped bass” fiasco.

It was worth the drive and the pre-dawn alarm clock. It’s hard to believe how great the striped bass fishing it throughout Casco Bay within sight of city high-rise buildings. Any angler visiting Portland for business or pleasure should consider calling Capt. Tim Rafford at 207-829-4578 or e-mail him at trafford@maine.rr.com to set up a great striper fishing outing. For more information check out Tim’s Web site at www.Patagoniaanglingadventures.com. Maybe there’s a 30-inch fish in your future, there still is in mine.

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