On The Road Again: A Trip To Maine’s Rapid River
By: John Kumiski
"I Suck at Fly Fishing." It's a sentence on a bumper sticker gifted to me by a friend. I didn't know how much it applied to me this day, but I certainly sucked at following directions. Bob Duport had emailed them to me, along with a map. I went to the wrong place, and now I was more than 30 minutes late for our rendezvous. Bob was patiently waiting in his truck, which was jauntily wearing a canoe, when I finally showed up.
Bob had been one of my fly anglers on Mosquito Lagoon when I'd been guiding there. Now that I was in Maine, I figured I'd return the favor. He's been guiding all through the Rangeley Lakes region for more than 20 years. I'd always wanted to go to the Rapid River, and this was my chance. I was driving to meet him for the trip, even though the timing season-wise was way off.
Brook trout and landlocked salmon, our target species for the day, are lovers of cold water and high oxygen levels. Early September is prime time for warm water and low oxygen levels. I'd showed up at the worst time of year. Since I was only staying in Maine a short time, we went fishing anyway.
We arrived at the put-in at Pond-in-the-River and muscled the canoe and gear through the woods. The place looked alluring as Bob readied the Old Town- clear water, no development, lots and lots of trees, barely any breeze. When he had the boat ready, I got in. Bob followed, pushing us off and aiming the craft at the lake's inlet stream, the upper Rapid River.
Bob gets the canoe ready at Pond-in-the-River.
Bob shared some of the area's history as we paddled. A loon surprised me by closely approaching us. It was curious, I supposed. I stopped paddling and took a photo, and then photographed Bob while he paddled, too, while I had the camera out.
As we approached our destination, we could see a drift boat anchored at the inlet. The fisherman in the boat was casting a streamer, and hooked and caught a salmon while we watched. I took this as a good omen, although the day turned out to be a tough one, as far as catching brook trout and salmon was concerned. Angling for trout is the weakest of my fly-fishing skills. If that opening sentence has any application to me, it's certainly in the arena of trout fishing. I don't get much practice with trout at home in Florida!
A loon came over to check us out!
Bob landed the boat and left me briefly while he did some scouting. I tied on a wooly bugger and made a cast. A fish, immediately! It was a small smallmouth bass, one of several I would catch. As fishermen go, I'm not very superstitious, but I never like catching a fish on the first cast. So many times, it's the only bite of the day! That turned out not to be the case this time, though.
Bob came back and we started fishing in earnest. We tried streamers, dry flies (one bite, which I missed), wet flies, streamers again, and finally, nymphs. With the exception of a couple small bass and the one strike on the dry fly, I did not get a bite until the nymphs went on.
But while I reeled in one of those bass, a large brook trout followed it most of the way to me, making a couple half-hearted swipes at it and giving me a solid adrenaline shot. I never saw it again, though.
One of the master's fly boxes.
Bob rigged up a pair of nymphs under an indicator. I don't like fishing this way. When I was a youngster learning to fly-fish back in the 1960s, this was not a technique. So now, like the curmudgeon I have sometimes been accused of being, I don't like it! In spite of that, we'd tried everything else. Now it was business time- bring on the bobber.
My technique flinging this rig was suspect. Bob gave me a lesson, patiently. I kept tossing it, and lo! The bobber went down. I came tight, and the heft of a good fish was there. You can say what you like about using a bobber, but there certainly is, there always is, a moment of magic when the float disappears!
The leader was light (5x), so I played the fish gently. But even with the current to help it, it eventually tired, and Bob scooped up my brook trout with the net. A decent fish it was, about a foot long, beautifully fat and colored. We kept it in the water while I tried to get a picture. It thanked us by tossing water all over my lens! In spite of that I thanked the fish for biting, and we released it. Let's get another!
My brook trout.
Not too long after, the bobber went down again. Maybe there's something to this bobber fishing! Again I came tight, and again it felt like a good fish. It was only on for a few short seconds when the pull ceased abruptly, the flies flying out of the water due to the tension on the rod. My prize had been lost, although Izaak Walton said, "You can't lose what you never had." I guess since we never even saw it, I never truly had it. At any rate, that was the last bite I got.
By now the sun was getting low in the west. Where the heck did the day go??? Somewhere in there we had taken a lunch break, but nine or ten hours had flown by. It was time to paddle back to the put-in and reverse the morning's routine.
I had a wonderful day with Bob, and in spite of the season got a nice trout, and lost another. If you're headed to western Maine, he has my highest recommendation. Reach him through his website. Check out my review on Global Outdoors too.
Have you had a great out experience? Join Global Outdoors and write a review to tell everyone about it! We’re building the home for trusted reviews of outdoor experiences, outfitters, and guides.
