We Took To The Woods

Editor's note: This enjoyable post comes from my good friend Aaron Swanson. He and our buddy Tommy recently made a memorable trip to Maine to catch big native brook trout. 

Fishing in Connecticut during the month of May presents the versatile angler with a problem: too many opportunities. Of course, this is a good problem to have – variety as they say, is the spice of life.

Inland streams are flush with hungry salmonoids; many looking up to slurp the first large rusty colored mayflies hatching in the rapidly warming water. Coastal rivers and tidal zones are infused with the first anadromous visitors – some joining their counterparts who stayed the long grey winter.  Post-spawn pike, pre-spawn bass; both brown and green and pre-spawn carp all present varied and exciting prospects – and this abbreviated list would surely have some grumbling for species omitted.  When presented with the virtual piscatorial mayhem at hand in the Constitution State a friend and I made the easiest choice possible:  get away from it all. 

An invite to stay and fish in western Maine is one that – if possible – you don’t turn down. There, in those woods, resides a special population of brook trout, native char that grow large in the cool clean waters far from parking lots and suburban developments. This invitation was extended to us; just as warming temperatures drove the intensity of the local fishing scene to a level nearing combustion. 

The stampede of anglers falling over each other to get their piece of the local action, the prospect of finding ourselves as far away from people and civilization as we could get sounded just about right. As we set out on our six-hour ride, the 91 degree reading on the truck’s thermometer, the crowded roadways packed with Friday afternoon traffic and the sizzling pavement only helped to reaffirm our decision and destination.

The rivers we fished in western Maine (and the large lakes that feed them) harbor the last of an incredible strain of brook trout.  These fish were recognized by turn of the century sportsman to be worth saving. Thanks to foresight and conservation, there are still a handful of waters where trophy quality brook trout can be found stateside. Combining tips and assistance from one of the area’s top guides with fortuitous timing and find them we did.

But the fish aren’t the only reason to visit this special area. The sensory experience of living history helps to transport you away from the everyday grind of reality experienced back home. The complete lack of cell service instantly facilitates a decreased use of electronic devices and we found ourselves refreshingly unplugged. When we got down the logging roads to Forest Lodge we were reminded of the way folks used to live. This opens the eyes to how good and in some ways, bad we have it. 

Sitting on the Aldro’s back porch after one of the best days of fishing of our lives while guests use the wood-fired hot-tub and the river plays the only soundtrack that fits the scene at hand – this provides a kind of therapy found nowhere else.

We were invited to dinner, to sit in a rustic country kitchen where people have sat for more than a century. We enjoyed a fine meal around the table with a dozen friends, none of whom we had ever met.  That is to fully experience a place where history was chronicled and written and that is a feeling that will take you a million miles away – even if you do have to do the dishes as compensation for your meal…

              

Special thanks go to Dan Thrall of Rx Outdoors for hosting, sharing his immense knowledge of the local area and being an all-around good guy! Thanks to Rufus too...

In Search Of Togue

The tradition lives on! Another great road trip in the books for Sebago Lake's annual lake trout derby. The fishing was tough, but everyone managed to put a togue on the ice. Being the only fools without a snow mobile, I can safely say that we worked harder than any group out there trudging through two feet of snow. The 22.42-pound beast of a trout that won the derby was a welcomed reminder of the potential that Sebago holds, but it's all about the good times and camaraderie that keep us coming back. A special shout out to Wayne from Maine for hosting us again--can't wait for next year!

When Going Gets Tough

It began smack in the middle of February with my yearly journey to see a longtime fishing buddy, Wayne from Maine. For weeks leading up to the trip, I anxiously watched weather forecasts waiting for a windless cold snap that never came. Instead, Sebago Lake remained mostly ice-free for the second year in a row and the annual lake trout derby we've built a tradition around was canceled again. Even though the Big Bay would've required a boat to fish, thankfully two of Sebago's smaller bays had enough ice for our liking and our plans to chase "togue" remained intact.

As always on the eve of our first day of fishing, we made the customary stop to oldschool Jordan's General Store nestled on Sebago Lake's western shore. Jordan's is a tiny one-stop shop for essentials like bait, beer and recent intel from Greg Cutting, the resident lake trout whisperer. Greg had been ice fishing Sebago the past three days with very little to show for it, but he assured us the fish had to eat eventually and why not during the two days I was in town?  Just before leaving, we huddled around a big bathymetric map on the wall and picked a spot that had treated us well in the past; one that could be reached on foot and offered a nice array of drop-offs that lakers seem to love.

Ice huts dot Sebago Lake's Lower Bay

A collection of Swedish Pimples, a tried and true lake trout lure.

After a fun night of catching up over drinks and darts, we gave the sun time to creep up before staking our claim between a few groups already established on Sebago's Lower Bay. In depths ranging from 40 to over 100 feet of water, our crew of four set a large spread of tip-ups with dead suckers on bottom and live smelt hanging just off. In between I drilled a few dozen extra holes for jigging, which is easily my favorite way to fish for lakers. It had been exactly one year since I'd last targeted them and optimism was high right out of the gate. Weather conditions seemed fishy and we dropped down everything but the kitchen sink, yet I can count on one hand the amount of marks that showed up on the electronics that day. Still, a tough outing on Sebago was nothing new for us, nor did it keep us from having a blast in a most beautiful winter setting. Plus we still had a whole day of ice fishing ahead of us, right?

It's a proven fact that breakfast sandwiches taste better on Sebago Lake

Tools of the trade

Jigging like a madman

Day 2: Hell on Ice

When I awoke in the dark the following morning, the wind was already howling and there was a fresh coat of snow covering the ground. The forecast for the day wasn't a good one, but we were accustomed to nasty weather, especially on derby weekend. It became clear just how bad it was going to be while we were unloading our gear in the empty lakeside parking lot. No one, I repeat, no one else was stubborn (read dumb) enough to be out in those punishing conditions, but Wayne and I only get to ice fish together one weekend a year so it wasn't up for debate. 

The chosen location was a different spot than the day before and required about a mile trek to where two points bottleneck the bay. The spot looked great on paper and it made sense to try an area where lake trout could easily ambush prey. The only bad thing about walking a mile to a spot is the walk back and we probably definitely would have abandoned the plan if the wind was in our face to start. Instead we trudged single file in each others footsteps to our destination over 80 feet of water. The pop-up shelter would be a Godsend this day and we all had to work together to make sure it didn't blow across the lake while setting it up. Once everything was anchored down, I drilled some holes inside the hut and set up shop. Wayne, his son and friend were crazy enough to set traps outside, but I focused my efforts inside and hoped the lake trout would come to me.

Even the little things were tough on day two




Brutal is the first word that comes to mind when describing conditions on day two. The situation was so hellish outside the shelter that it easily ranked among the top three worst weather days I've ever fished in. Nevertheless, we still had our chances to hook up. Over the course of the morning, about a half dozen trout showed up on the screen and you could almost cut the tension with a knife each time it happened. No matter what we danced in front of their faces, we couldn't get them to chase.  

With a mile walk and a four hour drive hanging over me, it was an easy decision to call it a day before lunch. The next 45 minutes was something I wouldn't wish on my worse enemy. It was a head-down-hands-in-pockets walk back to the lot, only looking up every few minutes to make sure I was still on the right trajectory. Wayne and I can look back on it now and laugh, but it was tough day to be an ice fisherman. But it's tough days like that Sunday on Sebago that make the good days so sweet. And little did I know that I would have a couple really good days on another famous lake several hundred miles away just a week later.

The walk of shame

All In

Hopes of ice fishing in Connecticut melted away a few weeks ago, but neighbors farther north are still hanging on to a fading season. Each February for the last several years I have traveled to Maine for the Sebago Lake Derbyfest, a massive annual ice fishing tournament focused on lake trout. Being the huge body of water it is, Sebago doesn't always cooperate by locking up with ice from shore to shore and you can't have a an ice fishing event with thousands of people involved if the whole lake isn't 100% good to go. Determined to keep this winter tradition alive, I entered annual Maine's Statewide Derby two weeks later. This ice tournament encompasses all lakes and ponds in the Pine Tree State and, in addition to lake trout, has categories for muskie, pike and pickerel.

Last Friday I drove 215 miles to to the home of my good friend Wayne. He used live across the street from my parents before moving north about eight years ago. We would fish together for striped bass, trout and walleye, as well as drink many a Bud heavy in his garage. As crappy as it was to see him leave Connecticut, Wayne fits in well in Maine and it gives me a great excuse to visit each winter.  His son and brother also made the trek and rounded out a classic crew for the weekend. The only thing left was to settle was where to fish.

No toys were spared for the season-ending voyage

The annual tax-free pitstop

All of us wanted a crack at lake trout, or togue as they are widely known in Maine. We don't have them in our lakes back home and they are fun as hell to target through the ice, especially with a jigging rod. With help from electronics, it won't take long to see why many find fishing for lakers addicting; their cat-and-mouse chase game before striking or passing up an offering. It's an exhilarating feeling to have a big mark on your screen rushing up and down the water column after a jig. Sometimes it's a rapid ascent from the bottom that triggers their interest, while other times they prefer a series of gradual rises and pauses.  Then there are times where they won't commit or the fish finder resembles a barren desert. In short, jigging for lake trout can be active, challenging and fun all bundled together. 

The one and only true trophy lake trout fishery in southern Maine is Sebago Lake. But on the eve of our first day, this vast, deep body of water was 99% ice-free and had full on white caps rolling over where we usually fish. To conjure up game plan, we paid a visit to Greg, the local ice fishing sharpie at the lakeside Jordan's store that I've been dropping by since I was a kid.  He let us know about a cove on the other side of the lake had about 6 inches of ice extending one mile from shore. The revelation that we could fish for togue without driving an hour or more to do so was well taken. We bought white suckers and shiners, soaked in more information and set off for a hearty meal of venison that Wayne's brother Roy harvested during Connecticut's black powder season. The thought of an early alarm clock was neglected for a fun night of drinking, darts and tinkering with tackle. No one was in a crazy rush anyway with the weather forecast on tap.

Last minute tinkering before a weekend on the ice

Cold beers, a warm fire, and "Cricket" passed the hours at headquarters

Rain and ice fishing don't mix well.  All it does is create sloppy conditions and make every task harder to do out there. Saturday's forecast called for mixed precipitation at dawn, changing over to all rain through early afternoon. We knew this well in advance, but there's only so much you can do to prepare for it. The one positive thing about the gnarly weather was that it kept crowding to a minimum that first day. Or maybe it was just that no one wanted to fish the only frozen patch of ice on a gigantic lake. There were only a few trucks in the parking lot when we arrived and we set out towards the black dots on the horizon that were anglers already setting up. 

It was a good mile walk to the point that Greg told us he found fish near the morning before. Each step punched through the melting layer of snow and slowed our progress. The chosen spot featured shoreline 100 yards to our right, anglers 50 yards to our left and open water 30 yards to our front. Underneath us was a gradual drop off from 30 to 60 feet of water; not a bad ambush spot for lake trout, on paper at least. We set up the trusty, yet aging shelter right off the bat. Without it the day would have ended hours sooner than it did.  It leaked like a sieve at the seams, but when the sky opened up we were all  happy to have it. Next everyone got to work. Dozens of holes were drilled, tip-ups were set and jigs were dropped to the bottom. I focused on a long line of holes along the drop off and began mobile jigging, setting a few baited traps as I went. 

After a couple hours of no flags going off and staring at a blank screen in the rain, I headed for the shelter, drilled one more hole and made my last stand. The two "waterproof" outer shells I brought only held up for so long; I was wet to the bone. The temperature was above freezing, but the damp cold was taking its toll. Morale was spiraling downward before Wayne shouted in the distance.  He was setting his last trap a little closer to shore and must have dropped his baitfish right on the head of a hungry lake trout. As soon as he put the tip-up on the ice, its flag tripped and nearly whacked him in the face. Wayne won the brief tug of war and a flopping 24.5-inch lake trout was on the ice and we were on the board.  I couldn't have thought of a better shot in the arm for our group than that first togue.

 

Wayne from Maine showed us how it's done on Sebago Lake.

Great coloration on the fins of this 4-plus pounder.

With a renewed sense of hope, we all got back to work after devouring bacon, egg and cheese sandwiches cooked the only way they could have, on a Coleman stove inside the shelter. The forecast called for sunshine after the rain moved out, so I occasionally glanced at a radar app on my phone with hopes that the yellow and green mess on the screen would pass quicker. During a check in one particularly heavy downpour, a text message from an ice fishing friend flashed across the screen: "Jig 'em up!"  No sooner did the phone go back in a dry sack did the first black mark rise off the bottom on my fish finder. I cranked the reel handle a few turns and the dance began.  The fish followed my chartreuse bucktail jig tipped with a white sucker fillet, but quickly lost interest and headed back down toward bottom. I flipped the bail and dropped the jig below him and, like he saw it for the first time, the togue followed the bucktail up a few feet before again losing interest.  However, the fate of this dance number was already sealed. After a few more rises and falls, the fish couldn't resist and inhaled the jig 35 feet below the ice. The pool cue of a rod made short work of the smallish trout.  For me, it was more about the how, the where, and the when that I was psyched about. I jigged up a togue from Sebago Lake in March!

The one and only lake trout I caught on Saturday



This trout liked the custom made bucktail jig I bought at Jordan's general store a few years ago

The two lake trout we caught on Saturday were hard earned. Our comfort level on a one to 10 scale was hovering near zero.  The rain and slush had cut down our angling effort, but it was obvious by the lack of activity seen that it just wasn't happening. The decision to cut our losses and dry out for day two was an easy one. The prospect of beer and whisky next to a stoked wood stove was hard to pass up. We packed up our wet and now heavier gear and made the long trek back to the lot.  Of course by the time we got there, the sun was finally breaking through the clouds.  

Just by entering lake trout in the Derby, regardless of size, gives anglers a chance to win prizes. So on the drive back we stopped by an official weigh station, which was a convenience store that had a Derby official at a counter with a measuring board and scale. At the time, Wayne's 4.36-pounder was the second place lake trout in the contest, but, as expected, heavier fish came in through the afternoon and the following day.  It was still fun being in the running even if only for a short time. Next we stopped at another bait shop for live smelt at $7 per dozen. These smelt were small, maybe 3 inches long, but were the exact forage Sebago's lakers predominantly feed on. The two dozen we bought would turn out to best money spent all weekend. 

Back at the homestead, Wayne's man cave was turned into a giant clothes line. A bunch of drinks and laughs followed another great meal, especially noteworthy because it was the first time I've ever eaten lake trout.  Wayne prepared "Togue chowda" and faked the thick Boston accent every time he said it. It was excellent and put to rest any misconceptions I've read online about lakers tasting so bad a cat would turn it down. Wayne's brother in-law, one of my childhood friends, stopped over and it was awesome catching up over a beer.  Wayne also broke out his father's Native American artifact collection, which got plenty of "oohs" and "ahhs" as the ancient stone tools were passed around the room. Quitting time was after midnight and the alarm clock came fast once again, but Sunday would offer a welcomed change of pace in both weather and action. 

Drying out in the man cave

"Togue Chowda" was surprisingly and utterly awesome

Wayne shared part of his father's Native American artifact collection.
These quartz projectile points were found in Connecticut farm fields. 

The plan of attack on Sunday was to head back to the same general area and take what we learned and hope some sort of bite materialized.  Surprisingly, even though the weather improved immensely, less anglers were set up on the slowly shrinking cove of ice. The temperatures dipped enough over night to freeze the slush on the ice to aid our mile walk out. Fishermen were already occupying the holes we drilled Saturday, so we pushed closer to the open water and away from the 10 or so others on the cove. There was a light south wind creating a chop and pushing water on to the ice, slowly eating it away. Even though what we were standing on was strong enough to support snow mobiles, the sound of open water so close was a little eerie at times. 

Without the rain bogging us down, everything was easier to do. We set up the shelter, but more to dry it out as we never stepped foot in it being so comfortable out. A few more traps were put in the water on Sunday too, increasing our odds of finding some action. It didn't take long to notice there was more going on below us than the day before in regards to activity.  Our fish finder screens displayed more life right away and that's where the live smelt came into play. On Sunday's jigging mission I drilled another long line of holes, but this time in pairs of two. In one hole I would drop down a jig like a classic white tube, an airplane jig, a Swedish Pimple, or the bucktail that produced the day prior. In the other hole I had a gold willow leaf hook tipped with a live smelt; the theory was the smelt would impart action to the willow leaf, which would put off gold flash and draw in passing fish. So I jigged aggressively to call in fish from the surrounding area. When one came in for a look yet wouldn't chase, then sent down the more subtle and natural offering, the live smelt.  This one-two punch worked on a few different occasions Sunday, but the first time I won't soon forget. 

When a lake trout struck my smelt in 55 feet of water, I set the hook and connected on what felt like an ordinary fish. However, as I horsed it off bottom, my rod tip doubled over and it was apparent this was something heavy. I called over the boys to clear the hole of ice and help grab the fish when it was ready. I had a great feeling for a couple minutes until I looked over to my jigging rod in the other hole and noticed its bail open and line peeling out. This 22-inch fish wrapped itself around my other line and gave the appearance and feeling of a 10-pound trout. Talk about a let down! I went from thinking I had a tournament-winning fish on to learning my lesson of not having both lines down at the same time so close together.  At least we were catching, right?

The 22-inch "10-pound" lake trout and a light jigging rod next to it

A close up of the gold willow leaf hook in the laker's mouth

In the three hours that followed I witnessed my most active period of lake trout activity yet. All four of us were marking targets and getting them to chase. A few different jigs were garnering interest and even our baited tip-ups received a little play. One of my filleted five-inch suckers lying on bottom was picked up and dropped after a 20 yard run as I was busy dealing with a fish on the jigging rod.  Wayne landed another fish on a trap that took a live smelt in about 60-feet of water. Both Roy and Wayne jigged up togue using bucktails tipped with smelt. I also experimented and had success with Gulp smelt, soft-plastic minnows soaked in a stinky concoction. All the fish were in that same lower 20-inch size class, but it was consistent action and loads of fun. If the lake had more ice, we could have ventured to deeper water or to a spot better known for bigger lake trout, though we were glad just to be on Sebago at all. The chance for a trophy is ever present there no matter where you are on the lake. 

The morning bite slowly tapered off around lunch time and eventually the flags and fish finders shut down completely. Another form of entertainment picked up, however, in the form of a family of four bald eagles eating leftover baitfsh on the ice. Two adults and two sub-adults were hanging around us for a while calling to one another and keeping watch for easy meals. Seeing the national bird is a sight that will always stop me in my tracks as it did that day; just awe-inspiring animals, I only wish I had a zoom lens for my camera!

With the four-plus hour drive home looming and work coming early on Monday, it was time to pack up and say goodbye to Sebago and good friends once again. I'm so glad I pulled the trigger on this final ice trip of the season. If nothing else it leaves me with another positive memory of the weakest year of ice fishing that I've ever known. As always, it was great to see Wayne, Roy and Sean. The two days on the ice left us with valuable experience. The crew gained important confidence in a few jigs, baits and techniques. We learned a part of the lake we had never been before. We toughed out some horrible conditions and were rewarded with a banner morning because of it.  The most important thing was that we had a hell of a weekend and are already looking forward to next year. Now it it's up to Old Man Winter to hold up his end bargain and have all of Sebago Lake frozen and fishable next year!

The 2012 Sebago crew (beard mandatory)

The ice sled in all her glory

Happy trails!

Maine Humble Pie

An ice fishing road trip that I pencil in every season is to Maine's Sebago Lake. Good friends of my family have lived next to this massive body of water since I can remember. Every February for the last several years they have hosted me for the Derbyfest. This annual two-day tournament draws thousands of ice addicts from all over New England to Maine's deepest lake to compete for the heaviest lake trout, also referred to as togue or lakers. Coveted prizes like boats and snow mobiles are given out to top finishers, which normally require a trout well over the double-digit mark. To up the ante this year, a $100,000 reward was posted for anyone who could topple the state record togue, a 31-pound beast caught in 1958.

Aaron's new fishing mobile received baptism by fire on this trip

Derrick, Aaron and I met on a rainy Friday morning and packed Aaron's new truck for its inaugural fishing trip.  What a better way to break it in than a run up to Maine in gnarly weather?  We packed as "light" as we could, yet still needed to strap three sleds and a pop-up shelter to the roof just to fit everything.  We made it to Kittery without issue and stopped for some fine New England sea fare at Bob's Clam Hut.  After getting back on the highway, we soon crossed the rain/snow line and the road conditions instantly turned treacherous. An oblivious driver in an FJ Cruiser sped past us in the fast lane, lost control and hit a snow bank, causing the vehicle to barrel-roll three times. Thankfully, it landed right side up and looked relatively unscathed, though I dialed 911 and a few other cars stopped to assist regardless. We continued on at a snail's pace shaking our heads as to what had just happened.

After another long hour on the road, we pulled up to Jordan's, a rustic lake-side general store that's always buzzing come Derby time. This is where we stocked up on bait, live white suckers and rainbow smelt, as well as picked up our Derby registration and three-day licenses. Next stop was Wayne's house, our headquarters for the weekend. After a big Maine dinner, we sat around the wood stove catching up, tinkering with new gear, and hatching a game plan for the next morning. With a fresh foot of powder on the lake and no snow mobile, our crew would be severely limited on where we could fish.  We scoured a Sebago depth chart for some sharp drop-offs that were walkable distances from shore. A spot was agreed upon, yet with no recent scouting it was like throwing a dart at the map.   

Sebago drops to a mind-boggling 314 deep in its Big Bay

We got a later start the first day than we would have liked, mostly due to the home-brew Wayne's brother busted out the night before.  And as expected, the snow slowed us down quite a bit, although we managed to carve out a nice piece of real estate with the depths we were looking for.  Our tip-ups were set off bottom in water ranging from 60 to 110 feet deep.  I also drilled a few dozen extra holes in between for jigging.  It was slow going in terms of action.  We marked some fish on our electronics, though they were acting far from aggressive.  Enticing these lakers into their characteristic cat-and-mouse chase was difficult.  The tip-up action wasn't much better either.  Sometime mid-morning I got my one and only flag of the weekend, which turned out to be a "chew and screw" with about 20 yards of line taken out and no one home.  We kept working hard though, changing jigs and presentations, moving traps around, and varying depths, all the while cooking, eating, and BSing the day away.  Staying mobile and purely jigging is arguably the most effective tactic for icing lake trout, yet with a group of our size that is there for fishing and camaraderie, staying put and hammering a chosen area was the plan of attack.



Trap fishing with smelt set off bottom can be an effective tactic for Sebago lake trout

Derrick eventually put the group on the board when his sole flag of the weekend produced a small lake trout from 67 feet down.  It was the right species, just the wrong size by about 12-pounds we would later find out.  As day one wore on, the lack of life underneath us only became more apparent.  The bite was off plain and simple.  After a full day working hard with little to show, we packed up and went back to the drawing board.  A hot meal was waiting for us back at headquarters and we sat around the table staring at the map again.  We could have easily gone back to spot number one, taken what we had learned and tweaked our presentations for day two.  However, we chose a spot about a mile away, directly in front of the family lake house, hoping that the home turf would would generate some good luck.

Derrick's small lake trout that ate a smelt was the only one we saw all weekend

In short, Sebago didn't treat us any better on Sunday.  Old Man Winter welcomed us back to the lake with a raw wind and mixed precipitation that came in sideways.  The warm confines of the pop-up shelter were inviting, though we mostly braved the elements and jigged like mad-men knowing our time in Maine was growing short.  Unfortunately, for the second day in a row our fish finders stayed blank for the most part.  A few willing fish rose off bottom, yet triggering them into biting was difficult to say the least.  In my limited experience, when the bite is "on", it's really on.  Many seasoned anglers caught their share of lakers that weekend, including one lucky Mainer with a 14.14-pounder that took first place, but we just couldn't make it happen.  However, a phone call one week later had me scratching my head, as our host and his brother caught 10 lake trout a piece up to 6-pounds.  It was like the lake trout action turned on like a light switch.  Air plane jigs, spoons, tip-ups with smelt - it didn't matter.  With my jaw dropped, Wayne told me fish were bursting 40 feet off the bottom in 70 feet of water to smash their baits without hesitation.  Man, I wish that was the case during our trip, but that is the roll of the dice that are road trips.  All in all, it was a classic time as always.  And one of these years we're bound to get lucky and hit pay dirt.  Unbeknownst to me, this trip would be my last real trip of the 2010/2011 ice season.  It will be good to get back in the swing of open water fishing until I'm chomping at the bit for ice again next November... 

The Motley Crew with high hopes on day one

Until next year....