After suffering through a long, difficult winter, I view May’s open water fishing opportunities like a starving man surveys a smorgasbord. So many options and so little time, it’s hard to decide where to start. Add in work, family obligations and Mother Nature’s proclivity for wet, windy, spring weather, and planning an outing gives way to “get when the getting’s good!” With that in mind, let me tell you how I managed my casting getaways last week in the Crown of Maine.

Heavy rain and steady snow melt had local rivers and streams fast, dirty, debris-filled, and back-in-the-woods high. Even if you owned a river barge the waterways were unfishable. All of the big lakes still wore their winter’s mantle of ice – black, thin and unstable in many cases – but not yet ready to break up, disperse and allow winter-worn rod wielders their due. Thankfully a few of the small lakes and ponds were open for business, and as far as I’m concerned even slow fishing is better than no fishing.

Bait and bobber

Make no mistake, flinging about a wad of feathers and fur on a small hook is my favored style of trout fishing, but as I mentioned, desperate times require desperate measures. In such situations I’m not a bit above reverting to my youthful ways and dunking a worm if that’s what it takes. As unlikely as it may seem to a few elite fly fishers, trout taste not an iota different whether caught on a fake or live bait, and the fight is just as rewarding.

Although the robins seemed to be having no problem prospecting for angleworms, several shovels of dirt along the flower garden edges produced not a single bait. Next stop, the compost heap, where a dozen spadefulls of soft, moist earth finally produced a half-dozen lively baits large enough to be first cousins to a nightcrawler. With less than two hours before dark and water conditions what they were, I figured six was enough and, placing them in a plastic butter container with a couple of handfuls of dirt, I headed for the truck.

Hanson Lake is a small suburban waterway, with a maximum depth of only 32 feet, that lies just past the northern end of Presque Isle airport’s main runway. The fact Hanson is one of the first area waterways to be free of ice and that it’s only four miles from my home made it a likely spot for a quick-fix outing. A late-fall stocking of 16-inch brook trout, which I figured had grown in size during the winter, was also a major consideration.

Deep, rutted tire tracks on the field road leading to a rough boat launch provided evidence other anglers had preceded me. Water-filled depressions along the shoreline and Y-shaped alder branches stuck in the bankside mud to support bait rods gave further proof. Yet at 6:15 on this Saturday evening not another soul was around as I parked, got out my rod and bait, a folding seat and a long-trundled net … just in case. I threaded worm on the hook, set the bobber location on the line for about 6 to 8 feet of water depth and made a slow arcing cast that landed about 20 yards out.

As I watched the water rings spread out from the bobber, I listened to a red-winged black bird call and mallards murmur subdued quacks and chortles from down the lake. A couple of minutes later a trio of ducks paddled into sight and I watched them brazenly float closer; someone has been feeding them, I thought to myself, and then as my eyes refocused beyond them I realized the wily fowl weren’t the only ones looking for food – my bobber was gone! Grabbing up the rod I gave a huge yank, felt the slightest resistance for only a split second and then reeled in a bare hook.

“You’ll be back,” I muttered, “the first snack may be free, but next time I won’t be gawking at the ducks.” I tossed out my line in the same spot and sat and stared intently, the bait-and- wait game was on. Just the slightest twitch sent ripples around the red and white plastic bobber, then it went halfway under water and began to move parallel to the shore. I reared back to set the hook, felt the fish on the other end of the line and grinned from ear to ear knowing I’d just caught my first trout of the year. My smile was quickly erased when a big chub flopped onto the muddy beach.

Twenty minutes later I’d had another worm pilfered with no hookup and finally hooked, landed, and released a 10-inch brook trout. Moving a dozen yards along the shoreline I tried another spot in shallower water with my fifth worm. When a bite finally bounced my bobber I took in the slack line until I could feel the fish on the other end, then sharply lifted the rod tip. I felt the hook catch, then quickly pull free, and reeled in a bare hook.

My last worm had been stewing in the lake for better than 15 minutes with no apparent appetizer appeal to the trout. My concentration had wandered again, this time to a nearby woodpecker drumming a dead tree. When I glanced back there was no bobber in sight and my rod tip was dipping sharply on its alder support. When I grabbed the rod a fish was already on and making a run, a real battle ensued with plenty of head-shaking as large brookies are wont to do.

Luckily the bait hook wasn’t swallowed, but imbedded into the lower jaw and easy to remove. My last worm had been the charm, but the 17-inch trout had left only a quarter-inch of bait on the barb so I was done for the day. The fish revived quickly in the cold water but my fingers were already numb as it finned off to fight another day. As I was driving away from the lake two partridge stepped into the road. As I watched them I couldn’t help but think that bait-and-bobber fishing wasn’t so bad after all, especially when it’s the only game in town.

Trolling time

Three days after my urban trout trip I heard that the ice had finally broken up and cleared from Square Lake, one of the six sister gems in the Fish River chain of lakes. Spring trolling with tandem streamer flies is a big part of Maine’s angling heritage, often the best fishing and largest fish of the year are enjoyed just after ice-out, and Square Lake has been my favorite May haunt for more than three decades.

A short work sabbatical was declared the very next afternoon and Mike Wallace and I were motoring along the Cross/Square thoroughfare by 1 o’clock. Let me confess right up front that from my prolonged experience, spring trolling success is every bit as much luck as skill. Right day, right time, right place and right fly equals success, one factor out of place and it turns into just a nice boat ride. I couldn’t begin to enumerate the days I’ve spent five or six hours dragging every feathered bait in my fly box through each nook and cranny of a favorite lake soon after ice-out and been rewarded with only chilled hands, wind burn and a sore butt.

Fast fishing is a term seldom associated with early trolling, but for most of us it’s the chance to boat one trophy fish that keeps our heart in the game. A 2-pound native brookie or a 3-pound landlocked are basic goals, anything larger is just more grist for the bragging mill. For the first hour we trolled the thoroughfare and made several passes along the often productive Rocky Point, and not once was our conversation interrupted by a noisy reel spitting out line.

Soon after arriving at Yerxa’s Cove I enjoyed a heavy strike and nice tussle punctuated with four leaps from a silver leaper just more than 3 pounds. Mike hooked and landed a fat 161/2-inch trout on a tandem red and white bucktail 45 minutes later near the mouth of Goddard Brook. Half an hour after that another foot-long trout grabbed my gray ghost only to spit it out right beside the boat in the final seconds of the fray.

With more than three hours of trolling and only three fish hooked we headed back toward the thoroughfare. Before heading to the boat ramp we decided to at least work our flies through the current where game fish often lay in wait for smelt running from one lake to the other. We were actually back trolling, almost at a standstill in the fast current, with our flies swinging and swaying in less than three feet of water when a fish struck, almost yanking the rod from Mike’s hand.

It was a real circus for the next 15 minutes, and after the first of five jumps we both knew the salmon was a wallhanger. After floating into deeper water Mike was able to put more pressure on the chrome torpedo and finally the largest salmon of his life, a 251/2-inch, 61/4- pound beauty was in the net. Spring trolling is often slow, but just one strike away from a lifelong memory.

Run the river

As luck would have it, three days later the Aroostook River had receded and cleared enough to allow trolling, so Roger Shaw, Mike Wallace and I decided to venture forth. Using an array of streamers, small lures and spoons, we fished floating with the current and then trolled back against the flow, traversing back and forth between shorelines. Fishing was superb. Not 10 minutes passed without one of us hooking and playing a trout and twice we enjoyed double hookups.

Within two hours we brought 12 brookies to the boat and lost four others in mid tug-of-war, the smallest was 10 inches and the largest a hefty 16-inch beauty caught by Roger. During one of our trolling passes near a brook outlet and large eddy, Mike spotted a trout rise, then another. We stopped, anchored and set up a dry fly rod and, during the next half-hour until the unusually early hatch ended, we took turns catching 8- to 10-inch trout on a Henryville special.

All in all it has been quite a first week for me. I fished whatever was available as ice and water conditions allowed. My friends and I made some memories, shook off the winter cobwebs and for the most part stayed dry and uninjured. This coming week the fishing should be even better – I can’t wait, and even if it’s not fast and furious there’s no such thing as a bad day fishing!

bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com