The decision to fish Indian Pond in Northern Maine was a last minute one. My wife keeps her horse about 45 minutes away from the lake, at a long time friend's house. Through their relationship I've become friends with her husband Bob, an avid fisherman, snowmobiler and all around good guy. Bob had picked up a sweet Lund Alaskan fishing boat and was itching to take it on it's first run this year. It required about 30 seconds of arm twisting for me to get on board for the 2 hour trip North to Bingham. We rolled in, threw the fishing gear in the truck, made a pit stop for Fritos and chocolate bars (two of the four food groups) and pointed the truck to the south end of Indian pond.
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| Apparently all you need for the "hard to catch" brook trout. |
We arrived at the lake greeted by bluebird skies, 60+ degree temps and a cranking 15 knot west wind. The west wind was warm but it was going to make fishing sketchy, most likely forcing us to find shelter on the west side or in some wind protected coves or inlets. For any of this to happen the boat
was going to have to run, which was proving to be a little bit of a problem . We dropped the boat in the water, tossed our gear in, turned the key, and wuh! Nothing. An hour and a half, about 2 dozen four letter words, and one repaired battery connection later, we were on our way down the lake. We hit up an inlet, where Bob had caught some nice native brookies in the past, to a whole lot less wind and zero success for the first hour or so. We threw just about anything we thought might work, and were just about to try another spot when Bob hooked up with a nice 10" brook trout. It's funny how one quick fish can erase an hour and a half of skunkage. With a fresh boost of adrenaline from getting a fish in the boat, we decided to head another 5 miles up the lake to a spot Bob thought might get us into some more brookies and possibly some smallmouth. We pulled into this unnamed spot, (go find it yourself if you want the goods) set the trolling motor on a heading and started slinging some spinners. About 10 minutes in I hooked up with a nice smallmouth that reminded me why I love catching this particular fish. Strong and fast fights with a whole lot of air time. We continued further up this inlet,(another clue?) without any success until we arrive at a beautiful spot with a little more current and a whole lot of potential. Bob had had quite a bit of success with smallies in this spot in the past by throwing a good size spinner bait. He hooked on a double bladed rig and started flipping it toward anything that looked like it might hold some hungry smallmouth. I was at the front of the boat doing the same when I heard a splash, followed by some choice 4 letter words. Bob's reel had snagged on a cast and the weight of the lure when it fetched up, ripped the pole out of his hands and sent it about 8' down to the bottom of the river bed. I saw what happened and before we moved off the spot and lost the pole for good, I took my spinner off and put on the biggest hook I could find and tried to snag his sunken fishing pole. I had gone back and forth a half dozen times when, SLAM my pole just about gets ripped out of my hands! I recovered from the initial shock and started fighting what I initially thought was a smallmouth. I started reeling and caught a flash of silver. Not a bass? Reeled a little more. Trout! Reeled a little more and got him a little closer. Big brook trout! I yard him up into the boat just as he shakes the baitless, weighted, fishing pole dredging hook I had on and lands in the boat. Bob and I look at each other in disbelief and just start laughing like crazy, taking pictures and just enjoying the hell out of one of the wierder fishing moments either of us had ever experienced.