A week or so ago, I spent an enjoyable afternoon in the woods northwest of Millinocket, courtesy of the father-and-son guide team of Wiggie and Jay Robinson.

The green drake hatch was on, and we headed for a local lake hoping to land a few husky trout.

As it turns out, the trout were uncooperative, and as we left we comforted ourselves with the knowledge that better days had to be ahead.

An e-mail dispatch from “Katahdin Country” I received on Monday morning proved the point, as Jay Robinson checked in to tell me about a memorable outing he had a few days after my visit.

“My 10-year-old son Michael and I ventured up to Daicey Pond in Baxter Park Saturday evening and had a fine time fishing the drake hatch up there,” Jay wrote.

Before we go any further, you ought to know that Jay Robinson is an avid fly-rodder, and has been sharing his passion for angling with the limber stick with his son. On Saturday, that work paid off for both.

“Michael caught his first trout on a fly rod – a nice 13-incher – all by himself. Of course Big Dad was excitedly coaching him all the way on playing the fish in before netting it for him. A proud moment for me indeed, and hopefully [one of] many more to come.”

The story would be special for the Robinsons even if it ended here. Fortunately, Jay and Michael were just getting started.

“On the last cast of the evening, it was my turn as I hooked onto a 15-incher and Mike returned the favor, netting it for his dad. A super evening!”

I’m sure it was … and hearing that Jay and Michael enjoyed a special night makes our previous unsuccessful evening seem immaterial.

Jay’s final paragraph puts my trip in context, and serves as a valuable reminder: There’s more to fishing than the fish … and there’s always tomorrow.

“I really wish the fish would have cooperated for us Tuesday evening, but at least the weather held off and we saw a few animals and had a good feed at camp. Le me know when and if you want to come up again, John. This hatch should last another couple weeks yet.”

Sounds good to me.

There are, we native Pine Tree Staters tell each other, plenty of ways to tell a “true Mainer” from those we (for one silly and convoluted reason or other) choose to toss out of our semi-exclusive club.

As you may know, we Mainers thrive on our reputations as being (depending on who you ask), original, independent, eccentric, or, perhaps, downright odd.

The other day I heard another definition of “true Mainers” I had to share.

The scene: Hampden Country Club, where my group had just finished playing in a tournament to benefit Maine’s Youth Fish & Game Association.

My friend, Chris (an undisputed true Mainer if there ever was one) bowed out on the post-round barbecue because he had commitments for the afternoon.

As it turned out, his plans included firing up his chainsaw, heading out behind his Orrington home, and spending a few hours reducing his rotting deck to slabs of mulch.

My first thought (which I quickly shared with him): “Great! Firewood!”

Chris paused for a second, nodded his head, and shared this pearl:

“You know,” he said, beginning to grin. “I don’t figure you’re a real Mainer until you cut off a piece of your own house … and burn it.”

Well said.

For the record, I’m not sure if his is an original thought; with all the Maine humorists earning their livings by making similar observations, he may well have been passing along a second-hand joke.

Still, it was new to me … and, I figured, pretty accurate.

Since my (somewhat) recent affliction with the fly-fishing bug, I have received plenty of advice from readers and friends on what to do, what not to do, and where to go. OK. People have been telling me where to go for years. But now, I’m beginning to listen to them.

Among the most popular suggestions: Go to New Brunswick and fish for Atlantic salmon.

Until now, I haven’t done so, for a couple of reasons. First, I think the focus of this column ought to be Maine, and I wanted to go easy on the “exotic” destinations … at least in the beginning.

And second, many people have told me that if I do go to Canada (Maine’s Atlantic salmon rivers are, of course, closed at this point), and if I do hook a fish, I’d be in for a life-altering experience.

One guide (who has refused to fish for Atlantic salmon for just such a reason) told me his father used to be a well-rounded, avid angler … until he hooked his first salmon.

Then his life changed, and he devoted it to the pursuit of the fish.

“I don’t want that to happen to me,” the guide told me (admitting, however, that the thought of playing a 15-pound salmon on a fly rod was near perfection in his book).

Well, I’ve decided I’m willing to take the chance, and beginning Wednesday, I’ll be spending a few days at Millbrook Farm, the Upsalquitch River fishing lodge owned by NEWS publisher Rick Warren.

I know this is a dangerous business, and I may be risking my future fishing enjoyment by giving up a week of catching and releasing 7-inch trout to pursue the “King of Gamefish.”

But after much careful consideration, I’ve decided it’s a risk I’m willing to take. I’ll let you know how it all turns out.

John Holyoke can be reached at jholyoke@bangrodailynews.net or by calling 990-8214 or 1-800-310-8600.