It was a warm, sunny Saturday afternoon, about 84 degrees, and just the hint of a breeze caressed and riffled the river’s surface as I maneuvered the boat closer to a rocky, stump-strewn shoreline. Standing in the bow and using the foot pedal control to steer the electric trolling motor, I positioned us so my fishing partner in the stern could get a good cast to a likely smallmouth bass lie in a cove on the Penobscot River. I just held my bass rod and watched. Normally, I wouldn’t be so solicitous, but this would be his premiere offering with a brand-new spincast combo, and what better way to break in an unseasoned rod and reel than tying into a feisty acrobatic smallie.

Roger Shaw of Mars Hill has been an educator for 40 years – a teacher, principal and, for the last 15 years, superintendent of schools for SAD 42 – and let me say right up front he’s a better administrator than a bass caster. Or at least that’s what I tell him every time we go fishing. He reminds me his results would improve dramatically if only he got to be in the front of the boat and controlling the motor occasionally. Over the last five seasons, Roger and I have become bass buddies, totally enthralled with casting bass bugs on fly rods and top-water plugs on spinning rods to entice explosive surface strikes from hard-fighting, high-leaping bronzebacks.

Two hours previously as we were transferring his equipment into my truck, Roger had produced a new graphite spinning rod and reel for me to check out. It was a sharp-looking outfit, light and well-balanced but with enough rod backbone to pressure a big bass and plenty of reel drag to tame a hefty pickerel. If the combo could cast as smoothly and long as it felt it should, I might just have to buy a duplicate set up for myself, I told Roger as we packed it away and began our two-hour drive to the Penobscot.

Truth be told, our bass fishing trips could more aptly be called tours since they often entail the best part of a day. There are a couple of sporting goods stores along the way and we generally stop at one or the other for half an hour to peruse the stock. Often, despite already having tackle boxes that are so stuffed we have to fight to close the lid, one or both of us ends up finding another lure or plug we can’t live without. Just about then it’s time for lunch, and since the Brookside Restaurant in Smyrna is on the route and close at hand, we stop by for a visit. The fact that Brookside has a vast selection of homemade pies and desserts that may just be the finest in the Crown of Maine may enter into our decision even more than the proximity. You can’t fight fish all afternoon on an empty stomach. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it!

By the time we reach Medway, it’s a perfect opportunity to stretch our legs before we pack and launch the boat, and as luck would have it, Two Rivers Canoe and Tackle sits right beside the main road. On the pretense of asking Barry how the fishing is, as if we might skip it and return home if the action has been slow, Roger and I chat and spend another half-hour checking out the vast selection of guns, fishing gear and outdoor clothing. Once again, if we get back to the truck without a bag, it’s not just unusual, it’s a small miracle.

And about half an hour later, there we are, up to speed, with me watching expectantly as Roger cocks his wrist, flips the rod tip, and releases the monofilament with his fingertip initiating the inaugural cast of his new rod. Arcing out into the sky, the blue and silver Heddon Torpedo sailed in perfect alignment with its target, a stump protruding from the water. Roger was grinning from ear to ear at the perfectly placed cast, and then looks of amazement, bewilderment and finally dismay crossed his face as the plug kept on going. Over the stump; seemingly gaining height and speed, and then over a wide patch of cattails, and on into the woods beyond, bouncing noisily from tree to tree before plummeting out of sight.

I know I look surprised, but I’d have given a bag of money for a photo of Roger’s face. The visage of incredulity and confusion was priceless. It was then that I noticed the length of limp, broken line hanging from his rod tip. Since the reel had arrived pre-spooled, it was our immediate conclusion that the mono had been crimped or nicked leading to a weakness. Mourning his lost lure, Roger tied on a new hook, bullet weight and dug out a plastic worm. Trying to suppress my mirth as he mumbled and regrouped, I went ahead and caught a bass.

A few minutes later Roger was back in business and had made several casts. I was just landing another smallie when I heard an exclamation from the back of the boat. There stood my bass buddy, a forlorn look on his face and a length of loose line dangling from the rod tip again. He had a strike, set the hook, and snap – no hook, no worm, no fish, nothing! His face was so red I feared he might explode, or beat me with the rod, so I wiped the smile from my face, quit casting and went back to check out his line.

After close inspection we found two frayed sections, so we peeled off 10 feet or so until we located solid monofilament, and even tested it a couple of times for any weakness. Roger went back to rerigging with hook and worm and I went back to casting and catching. That my partner didn’t respond to his frustrating dilemma and my success by name-calling and aspersions on my lineage speaks highly of his character. Were situations reversed I might not have been so calm and collected, and it’s a big reason I treasure his company on outdoor excursions.

Less than five minutes later my boat buddy was into a fish, about a 2-pounder I judged as it leapt near the boat. About a minute into the tussle the bass made another jump and then a quick dive almost under the stern, and that’s when the taut line broke again with an audible twang. As my dear old mom used to say: It was enough to make a preacher swear, and even stoic Roger started to utter an oath, but choked it back and gritted his teeth in frustration. Upon checking the remaining end of his line, we found it to be frayed once again.

“Enough is enough,” I decided and we both sat down to inspect the outfit completely. I even dismantled the spincast reel and checked over the interior edges, cogs and gears for a sharp edge, but the effort was fruitless. In desperation we again blamed the line and decided to strip it all off the spool and replace it with a bit heavier, high quality monofilament from a new package in my tackle case. It was only about 10 minutes and we were back in business, and then less than five minutes after that we were right back where we started.

After tying on another Heddon Torpedo, it only took a couple of casts to entice a smallie to explode under and engulf the noisy surface plug during a retrieve. When Roger reared back to set the hook his line once again parted like a wet noodle, leaving the fish with his new $7 lure! As we both looked on in disbelief, the water boiled and bubbled again as the fish rolled and there floating in the riffles was the dislodged blue and silver plug. We quickly motored over to retrieve the lure before another fish could eat it, adding insult to injury. Our dark cloud had a small silver lining, but we were no closer to solving Roger’s rod problem.

Suggesting it was due time to resort to his old but always dependable backup rod, I asked to inspect the new outfit once again knowing we must have overlooked something. Inch by inch, part by part, I examined the reel and rod until finally, on the next to last rod guide, I located the fault. During manufacture or shipping a wee section of the guide’s inner ceramic ring had broken away leaving a small but razor sharp edge exposed. Almost invisible to the naked eye due to its location, only by inserting the tip of my little finger was I able to feel and then see the damaged area.

Roger and I couldn’t believe such a tiny spot could wreak so much havoc. I might have quipped how lucky it was to uncover the problem when we did or a trip back to the tackle shop would have been necessary to restock his supply of hooks and plugs. He might have made an unkind and very descriptive reference to my heritage. What I do know for sure is that a certain mail-order sporting goods company was going to have a spinning rod and reel returned along with a cryptic note in the very near future.

Our quandary just proves that even new equipment can have flaws: small, hard-to-find defects that cost time, money and irritation. We lost at least an hour of fishing time and our patience, and Roger lost several hooks, plastic baits and expensive lures. It didn’t take Roger long to stow the irksome rod and get back in business with is old standby outfit. Since I’d been doing more fishing than repair work, my fish tally was notably higher than my partner’s. After we had each caught and released a couple more fish, I ribbed him a bit about being behind and using second-rate gear. I suggested he might catch up if he used a rod in each hand!

Roger took my good-natured teasing in stride, and as always seems to be the case, fate then took a hand. Bass suddenly seemed to have lockjaw as far as my baits were concerned, and when I did hook a fish, more often than not it fought free before I could land it. My bass buddy on the other hand kept hooking and boating the odd fish, and his total was gaining on mine, a situation he was quick to mention. Sometimes he just kept silent and grinned as he landed and released a smallmouth – I’m not sure which scenario was more annoying, but I had it coming.

In one stump-strewn, particularly fishy cove, Roger was casting his favorite blue and white Heddon torpedo again, watching it gurgle and splash across the surface, when the water exploded, the plug disappeared, the rod double over and the reel buzzed. After hearing line go out several times, I knew it had to be a good-sized bass, so I put my rod down and picked up the landing net.

Several minutes passed as the fish dove, ran out more line and even tried to go under the boat and around the motor but never made a jump, and we wondered if it was perhaps a big pickerel. Finally the fish surfaced and that’s when I glimpsed something I’ve seen only one other time in all of my years of fishing. Roger had two bass on the same lure at the same time! I netted the pair, one about a pound and the other closer to 2 pounds, then grabbed my camera for a quick photo of the rare event.

I guess I don’t need to tell you who took the verbal abuse after that, and I became humble in a hurry. Anglers who can catch two at a time can make any fishing partner look bad, and I didn’t need help in that area. It was a day to remember and a lesson learned: No matter what bad luck you’re experiencing while fishing, it only takes a second to turn things around and yield an experience and memory of a lifetime. I’m so glad I was there to witness the unique event, and I’m still waiting for my turn at two-at-a-time fishing.

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