Named after Maine’s largest county, the Aroostook River actually has its roots in the northwest tip of Penobscot County where it gathers flowage from several lakes, brooks, and streams. Then this scenic sapphire ribbon of liquid wanders through forest, farmland, and well over a dozen towns and villages before flowing into Canada over 20 circuitous miles later. Long ago, before the power dams, the Aroostook’s claim to fame was as an Atlantic salmon river, but more recently a bountiful supply of hearty colorfully marked native brook trout are its foremost feature.

Over the last decade worm dunkers and fly flingers have prospered from ice-out until autumn along the entire length of this Crown of Maine waterway. Over the last five seasons however, from the extensive personal experience, the Aroostook River may well be the most aesthetically pleasing and angler rewarding brook trout river in the entire state. Catching and releasing a dozen hard-hitting, tough battling brookies during a two- or three hour pre-work or evening casting outing is common place. Best of all, there are bound to be several 12- to 16-inch fish among the takers and often one or two 17- to 20-inch bragging size beauties as well.

During a normal spring, if there actually is such an annual entity in Aroostook, water clarity, height and speed on the Aroostook generally allows spring trolling around the last week of May. Large, stable canoes and 12- to 16-foot V-hulls and John boats are the safest bets, and a dozen maintained public launch ramps as well as four times that many secondary road and farm field road access sites offer anglers spots to float a boat all along the entire flowage. I’d used several such sites earlier this season.

Trout trolling

Roger Shaw and I made our first trout fishing foray on the Aroostook the last week of May, using the same river rocks, islands, dams and brook inlets that we’d depended on for years to gauge acceptable water levels for not only safe, but productive trolling. It turned out to be just a few days early for the stretch of river we selected, although we did manage to catch and release a few fish in about two hours. As it turned out, our particular segment of water was flowing so quickly that we could only troll with the current, trying to work baits upstream resulted in lures and weighted streamers being swept along the surface.

Four days later my cousin Mike Wallace happened to be visiting relatives in the Crown of Maine and had presence of mind enough to pack his fishing gear. He and I investigated a stretch of stream near Fort Fairfield, zigging and zagging our lures around a set of various size islands in the Aroostook. Every time we managed to drag a copper Sutton spoon or Mooselook wobbler along a seam between heavy current and an eddy below or above one of the island we hooked up.

After the first half dozen brookies were caught and released we both switched from spinning rods to single hook Carrie Stevens style streamer flies on 6-weight fly rods. Red and white bucktails, little brook trout and jasbo patterns on size 8, 4X long shank hooks enticed strike after strike. Although we lost almost half the trout during the tussles in the river’s fast flow, since single hooks never hold fish like a set of trebles, the fights were much more exciting. Of the eleven fish landed, six were 13- to 15-inches and one big bruiser that Mike gently released was just under 17 inches and fat as a football.

Heavy rain arrived that evening, raising the river a foot by mid-day and giving it the appearance of coffee with lots of cream. Mike’s and my evening outing had to be cancelled and it was two more days before the Aroostook began to recede and take on the color of weak tea. Eager to get trolling again I called fishing pal Roger Shaw, but pre- graduation festivities and class get-togethers on the school calendar filled his entire week. I chided him about priorities; “Trolling is hot and heavy right now, the students probably won’t even miss you at class night,” I suggested. He wavered but finally fought off fish fever and stayed the company line.

Tom Tardiff was my next call, and as luck would have it not only was he eager to go but had a stretch of river near Washburn in mind. During each spring Tom is a commercial fiddlehead picker visiting many shoreline spots along the Aroostook River, and knew one particular wide, slower and shallower run that would be perfect trolling under the current high water conditions.

After enjoying an hour of steady action on spoons, lures and streamers, from trout ranging between 10- and 16-inches, Tom noticed a couple of May flies floating downstream. Within 10 minutes we both spotted fish rising along a shoreline ledge and motoring within casting distance I dropped anchor. For the following 45 minutes we took turns casting, a Henryville Special for me, a Hendrickson for Tom, to brookies devouring hatching insects.

Spot a rise, present a cast within a foot of the rise ring and the trout would come right back and strike. Foot-long trout in a steady current put up a great tug of war on a light five- weight dry fly rod. We enjoyed consistent results by simply lifting the anchor, drifting downstream a canoe length and casting over fresh fish. This went on until the hatch slowly dissipated and then ceased. Having boated over two dozen brook trout and releasing all but two that were hooked deep and bleeding, we slowly idled back to the launch site to the tune of song birds welcoming dusk.

From boats to boots

Twice more within five days thunderstorms swept the area with heavy rain, once again altering river height and coloration. Pre- and post-work casting calls were postponed by the showers and suddenly with all the yard work and family commitments a full week had passed without a single trout trip. Calls were made, schedules were altered and despite the higher than expected river level here, Tom, Roger and I had rods ready with trout rising steadily, enticingly.

During the five minutes since the three of us had arrived on the riverbank we had counted nine trout rising to slurp insects from the surface. An encouraging but fairly unusual occurrence for mid-June in Northern Maine, especially when waterways continue to run moderately high and fast from the spring freshet and bi-weekly rainstorms. Our trio of fly-casters spread out to prospect for feeding fish and soon found out just how high the stream was. We weren’t able to reach mid-river, even with our chest waders, and actually could have fished the run from a canoe as we had several times over the previous two weeks.

High-water wading is tricky business, even with felt-soled boots once an angler has water rise above waist level some amount of body buoyancy occurs. At chest level every step is an adventure and the current only makes matters more difficult. I slide my front foot forward, not just to explore for rocks that might trip me but to keep my center of gravity low and avoid being unbalanced by water flow while one leg is lifted too high. I also wear polarized sunglasses to help discern stream bottom contours and obstacles.

Even with all my cautions the wade to mid-river was harrowing and I ended up on tip toes with my fly vest in water, causing me to turn back and re-route twice. Roger used a collapsible wading staff to manage the venture and later told us that without it he could not have made his way to the rising fish. Tom, who is nearly a foot shorter than Roger and I, made the smart choice, crossing downstream in a fast but shallow run and fished the eddies, runs and shallower pools.

Despite how slowly and quietly I made my way toward any fish I spotted rising regularly, invariably they would either relocate or stop feeding. The other guys were experiencing the same dilemma, I swear the trout were teasing us, trying to get us to go over our waders or slip while trying to get a step or two closer for a cast. After nearly taking a dunk I made up my mind to stand quietly in one spot and wait for a fish to rise within a reasonable casting distance.

Within three minutes the trick worked, a trout took a bug with a big splash and I gently laid a dark Hendrickson two feet above the rise rings. No more had the fly floated a foot when a 14-inch brookie came right clear of the water to engulf my dry fly and hooked itself. It was a great fight with lots of head shaking and a couple long runs in the current, but most enjoyable were the four times the feisty fish half-leaped and thrashed on the surface. Still full of fight when I pulled the small hook from its lower jaw, the speckled beauty showed its spunk with a tail splash that left water dripping from my nose and chin.

Between the three of us, 18 trout were hooked, 13 landed and only two kept by the time the hatch had finally petered out. On the walk back to the truck we located several patches of fiddleheads and stopped to fill a hat. Few meals surpass new potatoes, fresh steamed fiddleheads and pan- fried brook trout. For the hordes of mosquitoes, black flies, and no-see-ums however, the taste treat of the evening seemed to be Aroostook River anglers sauteed in DEET flavored insect spray!

It rained again two days later, the river stayed up, making wading just as difficult, but an after-supper outing produced steady dry-fly action once again. So far this week it’s showered twice and more rain is promised for this weekend. I’m not sure if I’ll be in a canoe or my chest boots, but I do know where I’ll be fishing. If you’re an avid angler, perhaps the Aroostook River should be on your to-do list. Fishing should remain excellent for at least a couple more weeks, and what a perfect setting for a float and fly casting Fourth of July.

bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com