Leaving New Hampshire a day early gave us an extra day in Maine, which we put to good use by heading north to Freeport to check out the L.L. Bean store and then to Bar Harbor by way of Bangor. Unfortunately, it was dusk by the time we reached Mount Desert Island, Acadia National Part, and the familiar BAH HA BAH. We had a great dinner followed by a very long trip back to Portland. While at Bean's I inquired about river fishing. The staff suggested I stop at the Fly Fishing Only shop in Fairfield on our way north and talk to Mike Holt, the store owner. This turned out to be good advise as Mike was very helpful, including giving Margie and I a friend's personal guide to Bar Harbor. He suggested fishing the Kennebec below the Shawmut dam upstream from Fairfield a few miles, providing a detailed map of where to fish. He suggested carrying blue winged olives and a shad imitation streamer. The next morning was our last day in Maine so Margie and I went over to the UPS store after breakfast to send home a few boxes of purchased goodies, afterwhich I dropped her off in town and headed back up to Fairfield for my last river of the trip. Mike had told me the river was wide but I wasn't prepared for the 200+ yards to the opposite side, which was where he suggested I fish. He said that the first 20 yards or so was chest deep but after that it was just 3' deep to the other side where a series of three holes near a large white bolder usually held fish. Without his council I would certainly not have ventured across such big unfamiliar water. Only the occasional Olive appeared on the surface so I spent most of my time streamer fishing. I had several fish show, but no takers. When the urge to pee struck, which unlike fishing never lets me down, I was faced with prospect of a long wade back. The opposite bank, which was now quite close, looked easier but as I eased over that way I was soon chest deep in fast water. So I fished my way back, deciding to return with a nymph rig. The three holes I had been fishing were not very deep and I had already seen fish. As I got out of the water another fisher was walking back up to the parkway. He had been fishing the island downstream which Mike had mentioned and had only caught one small trout on a streamer. "If you have to use streamers in this river you might as well go home", he said. I waded back across rigged with a two nymph set, a #16 beadhead up front with a trailing #18 pheasent tail. As I passed the big boulder I pulled off some line, anticipating a long drift. My experience nymphing the Colorado came to mind. I could hear Terry Gunn's instruction echoing off the walls of Glen Canyon, "It's the first few seconds following the cast that sets up the perfect dead drift, and without a perfect drift there is no strike." I made a long cast against the crossing current into the headwater of the hole, making a long reaching mend, and then another, followed by a quick series of rod whips to let out line. The drift looked good. I kept pealing off line. And then the strike indicator submerged. Not fast, just slow and deliberate. I raised the rod and pulled in the slack. And to my surprise, I had a fish on. It is always surprising since most of the time the exact same response is nothing but bottom. The chunky rainbow put up a good fight in the swift Kennebec current. In the fifteen minutes I had left to fish, my skills were not nearly so well executed, nor lucky. But I felt good about the success, and the progress I've made this year learning to fish these small little subsurface bugs. Wading back I vowed to switch techniques sooner next time. It was a pleasent sunny day and a great way to end a fabulous vacation.
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