During a last-winter outing of the Phillips Lake Friendly Ice Fishermen’s Association, Al Soucie’s eyes widened when I told about fly-fishing for blue sharks as long as an ice shack. “Man!” he exclaimed. “That’s what I want to hook onto, something so big I won’t have to wonder if it’s legal length.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” said Ken Lynch.

“Gotta do it,” Earl Hamm agreed. Referring to my oldest offspring, I allowed, “Jeff and I are going again, so we might as well all ship out together.” ‘Nuff said. The stamp of approval was applied with a round of refreshments.

When I contacted Captain Dave Dooley, whose fully equipped 29-foot sportfisherman “Kayla-D” was berthed at Bath’s town dock, he said, “I’ve got August 25th open. Other than that, I’m booked for the month.” That’s how popular shark fishing has become in the past couple of years. “Put an anchor on that date,” I replied. “There’ll be five of us.”

“The fishing’s been unbelievable,” Dave continued. “We’re averaging 20 hook-ups a trip, on baits and flies, and people are breaking fly rods right and left. I tell them they’re not playing with bass, but they just keep clamping down on those monsters.” When he called a week ago to make sure we hadn’t hit any snags, Dave advised: “Bring plenty of Ben-Gay, you guys are in for a workout.”

Naturally, a lot can happen to “backlash” a fishing trip planned months ahead, but our fisherman’s luck held like a blood knot. The Kennebec River was flooded with sunlight when we boarded the Kayla-D at 7:30 a.m. Travis Dooley, Dave’s 16-year-old son and first mate, was twisting wire leaders onto 7/0 hooks. When asked jokingly if he’d been busy, Travis admitted, “We’re nearly played out. We’ve only had a couple of days off all summer – and then we worked on the boat and gear.”

After a 20-mile run on a gently rolling sea, the roar of the twin diesels subsided to a pulsating drone. After cutting the engines, the concern in Dave’s voice was as clear as the cloudless sky: “The water temperature dropped four degrees during the night. That’s a lot. Right now it’s at 63.”

“Don’t get nervous, those fish haven’t gone anywhere,” said Travis as he dropped a plastic milk crate containing a”chum ball” – ground, frozen fish – over the stern and secured the line to a cleat. As the chum deteriorates, it creates a slick of oil and fish particles that attracts sharks. Directly, Travis rigged four rods for what he described as “bobber fishing.” Hooks baited with cut bluefish were attached to varied lengths of 200-pound test monofilament drop leaders. The leaders then were connected to the lines, to which balloons were tied and set adrift. Two of the rods were about as flexible as broom sticks and held reels as big as winches. The other two were spinning outfits.

At last, after months of anticipation, we were fishing. But on the bridge, Dave Dooley was thinking aloud: “I don’t like this temperature. We’re not getting enough drift, either, the chum’s not getting out there.” A fishless half hour or so later, I was beginning to wonder if we’d been foul-hooked by conditions. But shortly thereafter, the balloon nearest the boat bobbed and began leaving a wake. Al Soucie yanked the bucking rod from its holder. “Holy lovin’ —,” he blurted as he dug his toenails into the deck. When asked if he thought the fish was legal length, the veteran angler grunted, “I’d say so!”

That was the start of it. From then on it was brace your feet as balloons popped, reels buzzed, and sunlight glistened on stretched lines humming wind songs. Ken Lynch fought a fish on spinning gear while Earl Hamm arm-wrestled with a swift-finned brawler that he said broke off somewhere south of Matinicus. In the meantime, I got into a long-term tug of war with a shark that took a big, red and white streamer fly tossed to it, literally, with a 9 1/2-foot rod and a reel holding sinking-tip line and 300 yards of backing. Don’t ever let anyone tell you presentation is a factor in fly-fishing for sharks. All it amounts to is tossing a fly and about 10 feet of line overboard and letting it trail in the tide.

Because the sharks’ teeth and highly abrasive skins often parted our terminal tackle, we lost more fish than we caught, including the proverbial “one that got away.” Jeff was reeling in to check a bait set deep and far astern when his rod did an abrupt backbend that brought long applause from the reel. Minutes later, though, the stout rod straightened as what was obviously a large and powerful fish broke free. When the line was reeled in we all stared at the straightened hook. “Jeff, ol’ boy,” said Dave, “I suspect you were hooked to a tuna.”

By early afternoon, a strong west wind was building 4-foot seas. We had fished through two chum balls, 27 hooks, and half a dozen flies, which indicated 33 hook-ups. Voluntarily or otherwise, the sharks were all released. Shortly before setting a course for Bath, Jeff hooked another heavyweight on a bait set deep and was gaining line on the fish after it made several long, high-speed runs. But when the Kayla-D rolled into the trough of the sea, the line slackened just enough to tighten abruptly and part cleanly when the boat lifted.

Without question, shark fishing is an unforgettable experience. But for my money, the most memorable event of our recent offshore outing was when a humpback whale breached twice within 50 yards of the boat. Seemingly in slow motion, the enormous mammal rose from the sea trailing veils of spray. Then, with a sound like thunder, it fell to the surface with an explosion of white water and disappeared into the depths. With only sea and sky for background, a sight like that makes you realize you’re only a small part of God’s masterpiece.

It wasn’t surprising when, after docking, Al Soucie asked about making a reservation for next year. Nor was it surprising when Dave Dooley said: “Call me come spring – early spring.” That’s how popular shark fishing has become in the past couple of years.