Snow is falling outside, and it brings memories of seasons past. I think of that landlocked salmon in Maine, the one that so many years ago splashed through Warden’s Pool below the powerhouse on the lower stretch of the Magalloway River. It leaped free of the surface not once, but at least six times. A streamer pattern, which I can no longer recall, was hooked in the corner of its jagged kype.
Then there was the rainy evening, droplets sliding off the brim of my cap. One minute, the Hornberg tied to my tippet bounced across a pool on the Little Magalloway River. The next, it was swept high into the air by the wind whipping at my back.
I can still remember the thrill when the largest brook trout I’ve ever encountered, its caudal fin clearing the storm-driven wavelets, leapt through the air to grab the fly. My sense of hopelessness came after a long struggle, one knee bent, hand outstretched, when the fish turned, snapping the tippet and carrying the classic pattern to the bottom of that black pool.
Over the last forty years, I’ve had the privilege of casting my flies on waters hallowed by history. Our camp is not far from Upper Dam, a place central during the “Golden Age” of Maine fly fishing. Wallace Stevens once guided anglers here, and his wife, Carrie, became famous for tying the streamer patterns that remain legendary today.
These rivers are steeped in stories. Shang Wheeler made the legend of White Nose Pete famous, and Joseph Bates learned lessons here that he later incorporated into his books on fishing. A bit farther down the road is Haines Landing, where fly-fishing renaissance man Herbert Welch, taking time from his paintings and sculptures, created the Black Ghost.
Most winter evenings like this one find me seated beside the woodstove with a good book. Two of my favorites are “Carrie Stevens: Maker of Rangeley favorite trout & salmon flies” and “Herbert L. Welch: Black ghosts and art in a Maine guide’s wilderness,” both written by Graydon R. Hilyard and his son, Leslie.
These richly illustrated, coffee-table style books provide a vivid account of what it was like to cast a fly on the rivers and streams around Rangeley, Maine, from the 1920s through the 1960s.
If you’ve ever felt the pull of a brook trout on a Carrie Stevens pattern or watched a landlocked salmon dance across a pool with a Black Ghost gripped in its jaw, you owe a debt to these sporting legends.
Over the years, I’ve also had the pleasure of meeting two of today’s fly-fishing notables. In 2004, I began work on a series of essays that would become “Shadows in the stream,” my first book celebrating the Rangeley Lakes Region.
Four years earlier, Graydon Hilyard had published his beautifully researched and illustrated book about Maine fly-fishing legends. Its depth and craftsmanship made me worry that my own work would interest few readers.
Gathering my courage, I wrote to Graydon — known as Bob by his friends — and asked if he would review the manuscript. He responded with a few kind words, which now grace the cover of the book that, after three printings, is no longer in circulation.
The following year, I spent a weekend promoting “Shadows” at the Fly Fishing Show in Marlborough, Massachusetts. Late Sunday afternoon, an older man with snow-white hair falling over his shoulders approached the bookstore booth. He wore a tattered khaki-green jacket like those sold in military surplus stores.
His beard was as white as his hair, unruly, and his mustache drooped over his lips. As he ambled closer, his bright blue eyes betrayed an impish sense of humor. I’d read about leprechauns, but had not yet met one.
Having never met Graydon, I was surprised when he introduced himself. In awe of this sporting historian, I struggled to express my appreciation for his intellect and skill. But his warm demeanor quickly drew me in, and we had a pleasant conversation.
Like so many in the fly-fishing community, I was saddened by his death in 2020. His three books remain classics of Maine fly-fishing literature.
I attended a fly-fishing festival in Bethel, Maine. It was the first of its kind in the town. Local guides competed in a “one fly” contest. Among them was the only woman, Selene Frohmberg, who before marrying the well-known entomologist Eric Frohmberg, was known as Selene Dumaine.
Selene was an accomplished guide, known for her ability to tie streamers in the tradition of Carrie Stevens. Like her predecessor, she could tie flies without the benefit of a vise.
Like Mr. Welch, Selene is a fly-fishing renaissance woman. She is not only a celebrated fly tyer and Maine-registered guide, but also an artist and owner of Selene’s Fly Shop in Gardiner, Maine.
As a little-known writer, not a guide and not from Maine, I felt like a brook trout out of water that afternoon. But Selene went out of her way to welcome me. Although I only run into her and Eric every few years, we have developed a lasting friendship.
Like the men and women chronicled in Graydon Hilyard’s books, he too has passed on. His son, Leslie Hilyard, a celebrated fly tyer and collector of sporting memorabilia, carries on his father’s passion for western Maine’s rich sporting tradition.
Perhaps someday I will read a book about today’s sporting personalities — men like Graydon and Leslie Hilyard, whose careful research brings back a previous generation of fly-fishing luminaries, and women like Selene Frohmberg, who strive to keep Maine’s sporting tradition alive.
More information about Graydon and Leslie Hilyard’s books can be obtained by emailing Leslie Hilyard at rangeleyfavorite@gmail.com. Information about Selene and David Frohmberg can be found at www.selenesflyshop.com.