SEARSMONT, Maine — Traditionalists might try to tell you that April 1 is the day fly fishers can finally dust off a winter’s worth of rust, haul on their waders, grab a rod and head to their favorite local fishing hole … if, that is, it’s free of ice.
Those same traditionalists might tell you that they had spent countless winter hours hunched over their tying vises, crafting the flies that they’ll be using all spring and summer.
But actually fish during winter? That, for years, was left to those auger-toting, shack-dwelling ice anglers.
Not any more.
On a recent balmy Sunday, John Kirk of Winterport and Steve Mogul of Bangor met at Kirk’s house before heading to the St. George River, one of the Maine rivers where fly fishing is allowed year-round.
Mark Latti, who handles outreach and communication for the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife, said the movement toward opening rivers to catch-and-release fly fishing began in the mid- to late 1990s in southern Maine, and spread north during the ensuing years.
The friends, both attorneys in Bangor, have been making monthly pilgrimages to the St. George for a few years, and say that on days when the temperatures soar above 40 — Mogul’s self-imposed threshold for fishing or staying home — they’ll likely find other like-minded anglers.
On this day, just after a blizzard dumped 2 feet of snow on the area, the duo didn’t know exactly what to expect at the river.
“It’s going to be tough getting to the river,” Mogul predicted. “I’ve got snowshoes.”
Kirk didn’t know exactly where his snowshoes were — perhaps in his barn, which was sealed shut by a huge snowbank — but had a plan of his own.
“What I’ll do is hand him my rod, then jump off the snowbank and land in the snow at the bottom,” Kirk said. “But really, I don’t think getting to the river is going to be the biggest problem. I think getting over the snowbank at the back of the parking lot is going to be the biggest problem. I’ll bet it’s 20 feet tall at this point.”
Luckily, it wasn’t. But that doesn’t mean that access to the river was easy: Mogul and Kirk hiked through hip-deep snow, “post-holing” their way down the embankment before Kirk noticed another ominous sign.
“There’s a lot of shelf ice, Stevie,” he said, warning his fishing buddy of a potentially dangerous hazard. “We’ve got to be real careful.”
Kirk explained that “shelf ice,” or ice that hangs out from the riverbank, revealing flowing water in the middle, can end a wading angler’s day … or his life.
The fishermen wade in the frigid water, but their goal is to remain upright.
“When you walk out onto the shelf ice and it breaks off and you fall into the river, see ya,” Kirk said. “This pool down here [below the place the shelf ice] is very deep. If you get out onto the shelf ice too far and it breaks off, [your waders] fill up. It would be bad.”
Both anglers avoided the hazards and settled into their spots, where they cast flies that both have learned will produce … if there are fish present.
This winter, however, there might not be many fish in the St. George.
“The problem this year with the St. George is that the water was so low in the fall that [state fish hatchery personnel] didn’t fall stock it at all,” Kirk said.
Without those stocked fish present, the anglers expected the fishing to be slow, and it was.
After casting for a half hour, they met up back on shore, fishless, but in good spirits.
“It’s one thing when you’re catching fish. It’s another when you’re standing around in rubber pants, looking funny,” Kirk said, crediting the line to one famous fly fishing author or another.
While anglers can wade all day, if they choose, during the summer, winter wading is much colder, with water temps hovering right around 33 degrees. In those conditions, fishermen may only stay in the water for an hour or so, then head ashore to warm up a bit.
Over the past several years, Kirk and Mogul have spent plenty of time standing around in rubber pants, looking funny. They’ve also spent a lot of time catching fish.
And on every outing, their expectations are similar.
“We’ll go fishing,” Mogul said, simply.
Not, you notice, “We’ll catch fish.” The difference, unstated, is clear: Fishing is about more than catching.
“Fun,” the usually verbose Kirk said, settling for a single word that summed up his love of the sport.
Mogul said that in 2015, he fly fished at least once every month. He missed getting out in January of this year, and is starting a new streak of his own.
Kirk’s streak is even longer: February’s outing marked the 36th straight month that he has fly fished on flowing water — a river or stream — in Maine.
“For some reason, I had a weekend in March, in 2014, when I didn’t go to Sugarloaf,” said Kirk, an avid skier. “It was really nice out, so I said, ‘I’m going fishing.’ I drove down here and caught a fish.”
On this day, a snowmobiler buzzed by the first spot the duo fished, and a pair of cross country skiers shared the parking lot with the fly fishermen. At another spot a couple miles away, an ice fisherman tended traps on Sennebec Pond, just 50 yards above where Mogul and Kirk fished where the pond drains into the St. George.
This stretch of water, Kirk points out, isn’t nearly as nice as the first. Here, a busy road is nearby; at the other, more peaceful spot, trees line both sides of the river.
“That’s why I don’t come here very often,” Kirk said, sharing a common sentiment among fly fishers. “Plenty of fish. Not as pretty.”
After another half hour of casting in the icy pool, the anglers head back to the car for the final time.
No fish? No problem.
But fun?
You bet.
