Me & Den

Fishing in a Limo, Part V

One great thing about camping at Elsemore, there’s a high bank by the lake facing directly east. If you’re lucky and get there before the weekend mob, you’ll see what I mean. Brilliant warm sun in the morning fills the tent. No choice but to roll out of the sleeping bag. Lake beckons with “come hither gesture.” This is “way” Downeast Maine. Sun strikes here first and sunrises can take your breath away.

Up early that morning as sun began its daily labor of warming our side of the world, we shivered our way into the lake for two stroke baths and shaves, then warmed around a freshly lit campfire as the aroma of morning coffee drifted from the camp pot. Harley had boiled coffee, settling the grounds with a dash of cold water and broken egg shells. Old fashioned way. Agreed we wouldn’t mind dropping back in time on a daily basis to enjoy coffee brewed like that.

By the time we’d dressed, re-organized the canoe, gassed up, and Den had locked his tackle box, Harley set out breakfast. Wild mushroom omelettes, last night’s leftovers and heated rolls with some home-fried potatoes seasoned with scallions fried crisp. There was oatmeal for Den, “Bloodys” all around. Not too spicey. Sufficient tucker for a run up the lake and short portage over the dam to Sysladopsis, locally known as “Sys” Lake.

By nine we’d worked our way up to the small dam and unloaded the canoe. Took the motor off, slid canoe to the other side, reloaded and were soon out on “Sys” with a brilliant sun overhead. Del was at the helm, Den guarding the bow while I took middle seat.

Sysladopsis is a 7-mile-long, skinny, north/south lake, with a view of Farrow and Tomah mountains to the northeast. Encompasses some marsh lands where moose can often be found eating succulent water bulbs and new grasses. It’s a beautiful lake. Not the first time me and Den had come for the spring trout. We’d pitch our tents at a camping spot just south of Cranberry Point, bring about a gallon of bug spray, spend a few days chasing trout and salmon. Overgrown tote road off the Depot Road leads to within carrying distance of Sys and the legal camping area is just around the corner. We’d caught some beautiful fish out of her over the years and she holds a special place in our memory log.

Idea was to run over to Chain Island at the outlet to Lower Chain Lake watershed and throw some dry flies. From there we’d work up aways on Lower Chain Lake Stream, gather back at the mouth for lunch, troll in the afternoon.

We pulled up close to the rocky, unbeachable, shore on Chain, set off the small grappling anchor in the stern, ran the line through an eye in the stern, then through the bow eye, and with bow and stern lines in hand, pulled the canoe off shore with the stern line and tied both lines around a handy boulder. Canoe sat quite happily there for the morning, awaiting our return.

I decided to try an “ugly fly/dryfly” pattern since I’d had such good luck on the Machias with the wet fly version. Large boulders lay off to the right of our tie-up spot, one in particular being relatively flat, I waded over and hoisted up. Den and Del waded around the western side, spread out, and we started throwing flies. Hot area for a hot fly. Seemed like every other cast was a hookup. 8s, 10s, 12s, on up to an occasional 16". Creel limit was five fish. Made no difference. This time of the day was all catch and release. Lost a fly as a lovely brookie decided to head downwind around a jagged rock.

“What in hell are you throwing for a fly?” Del hollered.

I responded with something unintelligible as he asked again, I shot back the same reply then returned to casting. Some minutes later, unseen, Den had waded around behind me, waited for a low backhand then grabbed the line as it went through. Caught off balance, I stumbled back, twisted, and fell sideways into the water. Den quickly nips off the fly then slips to the left, as I regain my balance and climb back on the rock. Thinking I had simply caught a snag and lost another fly, I search my two fly folders for another, finally realizing I brought just two ugly dry flies. In the water again and retrace my backhand path. Nothing, strangely enough. And not much to catch a fly on either.

I watch Den for a few minutes before climbing on the rock for third time. He’s beginning to bring in a few more fish. I settle for another pattern. Strip off shirt to dry in the sun, pour water from waders and go back to casting. Curtain had come down on Act One. Occasional strike but nothing remotely like the previous action. This happens when one fishes, so best not spend valuable time in analysis. The grand “Poobah” of all fish just says stop and they stop biting. Funny though, Del and I weren’t catching a thing and yet Den, he continued hooking up with most every cast. I should have realized something was amiss when in that short time Den moved to high rod.

We cast for another half hour or so until Del yelled over that maybe we should move to the stream and try our luck there. We agreed, took a few more casts, and made our way to the canoe. Den had kept one of his fish, a nice fat brook looking to be over 16-17". He mumbles something about losing his fly. I console him. He asks again if I’m alright. I say yes, just a few bruises and some embarassment, and we head across to Lower Chain Lake Stream and pull the canoe up and into the marsh grass. Del suggests we meet back at the mouth in two hours for lunch. He and I take the north side and Den stays on the south. We would leapfrog each other up the pools and rapids so as to cast over virgin water as we worked our way upstream. Sun was working it’s way high overhead, with just a hint of breeze and few clouds. Felt good as my wet clothes were beginning to dry.

With decree from the lady of the house to “get rid of some books,” I started looking over the cookbook categories, soon got sidetracked as always where food is concerned, and ran across this number which looks like fun when the snow melts around the barbecue.

• RECIPE •

Italian-style Hot Dogs
8 oz. minced steak
1/2 c chopped onion
1/2 c chopped celery
2 oz. Butter
1/2 c tomato ketchup
1/2 c water
1 beef stock cube
2 T German mustard
salt and pepper
1 pound hot dogs (your choice)

Brown minced steak, onion, and celery in butter. Add ketchup, water, beef cube, and mustard. Mix thoroughly and simmer uncovered 15­20 minutes. Season to taste. Slit dogs lengthways, not quite through. Barbecue over med. coals for 7-10 minutes turning frequently. Stuff with meat sauce. Serve on rolls or by themselves.

Fair Winds and Good Roads
– Lee Wilbur