Going Fishing
By A. Sayward Lamb

Several boys from the neighborhood, including my brothers, and myself, spent many happy hours throughout the summer fishing for whatever we could catch in the river, including suckers, shiners, chubs, and once in awhile, we might even hook onto a trout. Sometimes when several of us were fishing together, we would catch many suckers and save them in pails to take to a blind man by the name of Kasper Pulkkinen. He was a farmer of Finnish extraction and would gladly accept all the suckers we caught so that he could salt them down and store them in containers for future consumption. I remember that he always wore a bandana that was rolled up and placed over his eyes and held in place with a knot tied behind his head. We were amazed at his dexterity as he cleaned the fish by himself and we would spend time talking with him and watched intently as he prepared them for salting down.

As I got older, I sometimes went fishing with my father at Sawyer Brook in Andover, Maine. At that time there was no bridge across the Androscoggin River at Rumford Point, so we had to take a ferry ride to get across the river. The ferry ride was a treat for me and I was amazed at the simplicity of the locomotion that propelled the ferry from one side of the river to the other. There was a cable that stretched across the river several feet above the water and at each end of the ferry were ropes and pulleys that attached to the cable. These were adjustable, so in order to cross, the ferry was angled slightly perpendicular to the current and the force of the water flowing against the side of the ferry caused it to move slowly across the river. If I remember correctly, the ferry was basically a flat floating raft large enough to accommodate a couple of vehicles; passengers had to stand, holding on to the railings. After ferrying across the river, we had to drive a few more miles to a point north of Andover, before we started fishing.

I looked forward to hiking upstream along the brook until we reached some quiet water, with large pools that were crystal clear. We had to use extreme care when approaching those pools. They were often full of nice fat trout, and if we managed to sneak up closely without shaking the embankment, and drop our worm-baited hook into the pool, the trout would bite very quickly. If we hurriedly approached the brook, the trout would feel the vibrations of our approach, and hide underneath the overhanging banking. When that happened, we had to wait quietly for several minutes to let things quiet down before dropping our fishing lines into the brook to begin fishing.

I never had such a thing as a fishing pole when I was young. I would cut a fairly straight small sapling long enough to use and tie on as much fishing line as I needed. Then I would wind the line around the tip of the pole for storage. When I got ready to fish I usually unwound enough line to equal the length of the pole that I fished with. I usually had a small metallic spinner and a sinker to place ahead of the hook. It was all I needed to go brook fishing. One year, my father invited a friend, Jim White, to go fishing at Sawyer Brook with him. I was talking with Jim prior to the trip and he happened to ask me what I was going to use to fish with? I told him I would take some fishing line, hooks, and sinkers, with me and cut a sapling to use for a fishing pole when I got there. Jim worked in a local woodworking mill, but he also sold fishing equipment from his home. He invited me to go up to his house with him because he said he might have a fishing pole I could use. Once we got to his house he gave me a steel telescoping fishing rod, a small fishing reel, some spinners, along with line, and sinkers. Talk about being an excited and happy boy! I never imagined he would be so kind to me. Jim was my hero and friend forever! I could hardly wait to get up to Sawyer Brook and try out my new fishing outfit. We always dug plenty of angleworms to take on these trips. The limit on brook trout at that time was twenty-five trout per person, with a minimum length of six inches. Of course, we never caught all the fish that bit the hook, and the smaller trout were “bait robbers”, so we took lots of worms on every fishing trip. Many of the neighbors had chicken or cattle, so we would go dig near their manure piles and found plenty of worms without too much effort. If I remember correctly, we most always came home with our limit of brook trout and we looked forward to having our mother fry up a good feed of brook trout fried to a golden brown. With eight of us in the family, they didn't last long around our house

We didn't always have to ride several miles to go fishing, because all of us youngsters knew of several small nearby streams that had brook trout in them. I remember how anxious we would get in the spring of the year when the snow melted and the weather warmed. One of the old sayings that I heard from older fishermen was to wait for two things to enjoy good trout fishing. One was to wait for the leaf buds on the trees to be as big as a mouse's ears, and the other was to wait until the black flies started biting. When these events happened it was time to go catch a mess of brook trout.

During the summer months, some of us would sometimes walk five miles from West Paris, to Greenwood City, to go fishing for pickerel at Hicks Pond. There was a hermit, by the name of Benjamin “Benny” Wells, who lived adjacent to the pond in a small camp. He happened to have a flat bottomed row boat that we could rent. We didn't have any money to pay Benny, but he was willing to barter for food in exchange for the boat rental. Our father managed a grocery store, so we had access to items, such as moldy bread and over-ripe fruits and vegetables. Benny was a bit eccentric but still an interesting character who wasn't too fussy when it came to his diet. He gladly accepted the food we offered for use of his boat, so we could enjoy fishing on Hicks Pond. Of course we had no outboard motor, so we either had to row the boat or still fish over the side of the boat

As I grew older, I was able to ride with my oldest brother, in his automobile, when we went fishing. Every spring we would go smelting in streams that ran into many of the several ponds and lakes that exist in the area. Smelts are an anadromous fish that run upstream from ponds and lakes to spawn in the streams soon after the ice goes out. Nets are usually used to dip them. They generally do not move upstream until after dark, so this means going smelting can mean getting home at a reasonable time, if the smelts run good. If not, then it sometimes means being out searching the brooks for those small fish until the wee hours of the morning. When I first started smelting the limit was four quarts per day per person. Now it is only two quarts per day per person. By the time I was in high school, World War II was on and gasoline and tires were rationed. Very few high school students were able to own their own automobiles, so we spent a lot of time walking to our fishing destinations, which naturally were quite close to home. Still, our fishing was fun, because our ponds and lakes held a great variety of fish. The cold water bodies of water held Trout; Lake Trout (Togue); Smelts; Whitefish; etc. The warm water lakes and ponds held Smallmouth and Largemouth Bass; Pickerel; Hornpout; White Perch; Yellow Perch; Suckers; Shiners; etc. If I was lucky enough to be invited to go fishing with someone who owned a boat, I was very appreciative. My father owned a Rangeley boat and once or twice a year he would take some of us boys to fish for Salmon on Rangeley Lake. The boat trailer was custom made and could be used as a regular box trailer or converted to hold the boat, which was transported right side up. If the weather was good, he would let a couple of us boys ride in the boat by sitting in the bottom, all the way to Rangeley. He did not own an outboard motor, so we all had to help by taking our turns rowing the boat, while we trolled our worms and spinners up and down the lake. Several years after I was married, I began to get interested in woodworking and my first attempt at woodworking began in the mid 1950's when my wife and I purchased a camp lot on North Pond in Woodstock, Maine and I built us a camp. After that I decided I needed a boat, so I built a flat bottom rowboat out of wide pine boards for the sides, and used marine plywood for the bottom. I used that boat for fishing, and powered it with a 5 HP outboard motor. A few years later I sold the boat and purchased a “V” bottom aluminum boat and upgraded to a 9.9 HP outboard and a boat trailer. This broadened my fishing territories and ever since then I have enjoyed fishing many waters in Maine.

I enjoy all types of fishing, such as still fishing, trolling with spoons and other lures, and even “togue” fishing, which usually requires heavy sinkers and lead line. These were necessary in order to reach near the bottom of lakes where togues are usually found. As I grew older I broadened by woodworking and became interested in constructing myself a canoe. Ernest “Skip” Morris, formerly of Greenwood City, taught me how to build canoes in the traditional manner, using rib and plank construction. This entailed steaming the cedar ribs and planking and tacking it together with thousands of copper tacks (with each of them individually headed over) and covering the outside with some type of fabric and completed by applying a painted or varnished finish. I built a few canoes this way and later purchased an excellent book, written by Gil Gilpatrick that clearly shows how to build several designs of cedar strip canoes. I found this a much easier method of canoe construction because it entailed using narrow cedar strips that were formed over a special form. Then the outside and inside of the canoe is covered with fiberglass cloth and resin, making it a very pretty, strong, and durable canoe.

I built several of these craft and kept three different designs of canoes for my own personal use. One is a whitewater canoe, the second is a flat water canoe and the third is a “puddle jumper.” By this time I had already become “hooked” on fly fishing and this is one of the reasons I built three different types of canoes to use for specific purposes. I went to night school and learned how to cane the canoe seats and “Skip” Morris also taught me how to hand hew my own ash canoe paddles. I also learned how to tie my own flies, so now I get real satisfaction when I go out fishing and catch fish, using my own flies and other equipment that I have made. My favorite of the three canoes is the ten and a half foot “puddle jumper”, because it is light enough to be carried back into remote ponds, where access is only by foot power and can be done alone. Originally I made only one seat, but found that even though conditions are cramped, two persons can fish from it. Most of these remote ponds are restricted to fly fishing, so when two of us are casting flies, timing is of the essence, to prevent tangled fly lines. Many times I have strapped my canoe paddle and fly rod to the inside of the canoe, and then packed my knapsack with trout flies, folding landing net and lunch. With the pack on my back and the small canoe on my shoulders, I have hiked in to some remote pond to enjoy the solitude and quietness of a day of fly fishing. Someone once told me that trout only live in beautiful places. I have found this to be very true. All of us have our favorite places to fish and return to these places as often as we can to enjoy them for each of our own personal reasons. It may be for the good fishing, viewing wildlife, listening to the ripple of the water, or the wind blowing through the trees; maybe a beautiful sunset or sunrise. Whatever it is it will always remain your own personal favorite and very special fishing spot

I have caught my share of fish over the years and have been fortunate to have lived in the State of Maine where I have had the opportunity to fish for a great variety of fish, all the way from the rockbound coast, to many remote and undeveloped inland areas. I like to tell folks that I am a country boy and had much rather be fishing in the north Maine Woods than being confined in some big city. I have taken trips to Alaska and Canada, where I enjoyed excellent fishing. Many of these fishing experiences are being compiled in a manuscript that I hope to publish very soon. In the meantime, I will continue to enjoy fishing with my friends, my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren. The memories of these wonderful experiences will remain with me for the rest of my lifetime. Remember, you will never get into much trouble when you tell someone that you are “Going fishing”!

By A. Sayward Lamb