My journey into exploring ponds began before I learned to fly fish. One time when visiting my parents, I found my dad poring over L.L.Bean and Orvis catalogs. When I asked him why, he explained that a colleague had promised to take him to Secret Pond, rumored to teem with massive brook trout.
We bought fly rods and learned the art, but that promised trip never materialized.
Undeterred, we embarked on our quest to find Secret Pond. We learned through trial and error what gear to pack and the most accessible routes.
Each summer since, we’ve dedicated ourselves to mastering this pond. We’ve hauled canoes along rugged paths because while float tubes ease access to ponds statewide, they’re exhausting to fish from. I find joy in discovering old boats and canoes strewn along shorelines, remnants of Maine’s fishing history that hint at promising waters.
This year, despite a busy schedule, I carved out time to check on the canoes. With a client rescheduled, I invited Stac to hike in with me and even fish after our canoe inspection.
After two hours of bushwhacking and clearing a path, the pond finally came into view. One of my favorite moments on a fishing trip is cresting a knoll and seeing the pond below, a sight that quickens my step and stirs excitement.
May fishing was new to me, so I sought advice from local expert, Jim McCloskey. He generously shared tactics and fly patterns for the season, recommending a full-sink line stripped slowly.
Lacking that line, I brought a floating line, sink tip and intermediate Airflo line, ready to adapt as needed.
After inspecting the canoes, we loaded one with gear when we heard a disturbance on the water. Fish were surfacing like stripers on the hunt.
Hastening our pace, we paddled toward the commotion, planning to test different lines and flies until we found what worked. After a few casts, I hooked into a robust brook trout, 14 inches of health and vigor, though not the Maine trophy we sought — the kind that graces magazine covers.
Fish continued to break the surface around us, hitting our flies when cast nearby. The winning combo turned out to be the intermediate line with a streamer, of which we had only one. Stac secured that setup while I struggled with a sinking line that sank too fast and a floating line that didn’t reach the depths. (That’s my excuse for being out-fished.)
Occasionally, a massive rise would disrupt the calm water, akin to a boulder thrown into the pond. By the time I maneuvered the canoe close enough, the opportunity often slipped away.
Finally, a substantial rise near us spurred me to action. I paddled swiftly and cast where the water still swirled from the fish’s ascent, but luck wasn’t on my side. Stac, casting beside me, struck gold instantly.
Excitement filled the air as she battled the fish, proclaiming it a true trophy. Maneuvering the canoe twice as she directed, I readied the net and camera.
After an exhilarating struggle, we netted a magnificent 20-inch brook trout, Stac’s largest catch to date.
With the canoe stable near shore, I captured Stac’s joy as she lifted the fish for photos, showcasing its size beside the net. We ended the day with nine trout landed and released.
Stace teased me good-naturedly about my single catch, a tale she recounted on our podcast, “On The Reel.”
While Stac gains a reputation for landing the big ones, rest assured, she’s also adept at catching the smaller ones — just like us everyday fishermen.
