I drove down the icy drive and parked among a myriad of cars and trucks in the dark.
Trudging to the office, I stepped into a smoky single-wide trailer along the frozen river. Plopping down my rental fee for the night, the smelt camp manager handed me a plastic bag containing seaweed and a stash of bloodworms, the most terrifying creature known to man (or at least me).
Over the crackling radio, he grumbled, “You got shack 32.” I walked the gangway over a thin strip of open water until I was safely on the ice. Upon reaching #32, I stepped inside and was warmed by the fire in the wood stove, a makeshift contraption built from a welded propane tank with a smokestack. I sat on the bench and prepared my gear, careful not to slip into the race hole.
I could have used the house lines — heavy green cord with monofilament leaders, a hefty lead sinker, and a tiny hook — but I brought my own gear. My ultralight rods were rigged with weighted jigs in a variety of colors.
I cut one of the bloodworms into tiny pieces (after beheading the monster) on the supplied wooden board and threaded a small piece onto each jig before lowering them at varying depths into the slack current.
I then attached my Sabiki rig, an umbrella-like contraption made of small hooks dressed with tinsel and spread apart to entice a school of smelt. I lowered it off one of the house lines, poured a cup of coffee from my thermos and adjusted to the heat of the wood stove.
Within minutes, one of my jig rod tips began twitching. I snatched it up and reeled in my prize, a 6-inch smelt. This was smelt fishing at a coastal Maine river camp.
Thanks to cold temperatures to start the year, coastal smelt camps are opening after several years of poor ice conditions. These harbingers of winter have long provided families and friends a way to embrace the season. A true cottage industry, these camps spring up almost overnight when the ice is safe and are busiest on weekends.
I always enjoy a night on the ice and make sure to bring a stew or chowder to cook on the wood stove while I wait for the next nibble. Many ice shanty crews enjoy a little liquid refreshment, and you can usually tell which camps are hosting a few drinks by the increasing noise as the night goes on.
My longtime fishing partner told a story of a drunken angler who fell into his race hole, only to pop up in a shack downstream. Another time, a muskrat popped into his shack, looked around and then departed. I guess anything is possible on the ice.
Anglers fish for rainbow smelt, an anadromous species that spawns upriver in the spring but spends the winter in coastal rivers, providing sport for the stalwart souls of the ice shanty. Harvest limits vary by location, but anglers from the New Hampshire border to Owls Head Light may keep up to four quarts — enough for a hearty meal.
Most anglers snip off the heads, remove the entrails and dredge the smelt in flour or cornmeal before frying them until crisp. Fins and bones provide a satisfying crunch, and the light, delicate flesh is a true treat.
It’s worth giving smelting a try. It’s a great family outing and a fun way to pass the long Maine winter.
