Outdoors
The BDN outdoors section brings readers into the woods, waters and wild places of Maine. It features stories on hunting, fishing, wildlife, conservation and recreation, told by people who live these experiences. This section emphasizes hands-on knowledge, field reports, issues, trends and the traditions that define life outside in Maine. Read more Outdoors stories here.
In 2016, I decided I wanted to catch a musky on a fly rod. I had never done it before and really didn’t know where to start.
A friend introduced me to an angler from northern Maine who had fished for musky a few times. He told me orange and yellow flies worked well, so I went home and started watching YouTube videos about tying musky flies. Using what I learned, I came up with an articulated fly of my own. I had no idea if it would work, but it did.
For my first musky trip, I took my son, Jax, who was 14 at the time. We spent two days exploring the St. John River, armed with little more than a vague idea of where to fish. Over those two days, we had 18 follows. Jax accounted for 15 of them and even landed a 40-inch musky.
That trip hooked me on musky fishing.
Since then, I’ve spent countless days chasing musky and guiding clients who want to catch their first. I guide only fly anglers for musky, which limits the number of people I can take. The fishing is demanding, both physically and mentally.
You need to be comfortable casting a 10- to 12-weight fly rod with a heavy line and flies ranging from 4 to 12 inches long. You cast repeatedly, strip the fly aggressively toward the boat and work it in a figure eight beside the boat before casting again.
Then you do it all over.
You can spend hours casting without a bite. Even getting a fish to follow your fly is an accomplishment.
Recently, one of my longtime clients, Mark, decided it was time to try musky fishing. We had been planning the trip for more than a year. He had previously fished with a guide in Virginia but had never seen a musky, so his expectations were probably pretty low.
A few days before the trip, he started asking questions about flies and leaders. I told him my goal was to get a follow first, then an eat, then a fish in the net. After that, we could work on finding a bigger one.
Mark drove up from Massachusetts on Friday, and we left at 5 a.m. Saturday. During the three- to four-hour drive, he mentioned that he hadn’t seen a moose in years.
Along the way, I spotted a car pulled over on the side of the road.
“They’re either peeing or they see a moose,” I said.
I was wrong. There wasn’t just one moose. There were four.
Mark got his wish before we even reached the river.
We had three days of fishing ahead of us, and the first day brought winds around 20 mph. The wind made casting difficult and controlling the boat a challenge. I had to work to keep Mark in position to cast effectively.
We hadn’t been fishing for more than 30 minutes when he had his first follow.
The wind forced me to try some new spots, and by the end of the day, Mark had seen 11 musky and landed his first one. It measured 22 inches, not a giant by musky standards but a special fish nonetheless.
We had accomplished the first two goals: getting follows and landing a fish.
Day two brought better conditions, with little wind and cloudy skies. Although we were fishing the same general stretch of river, I moved to different spots. The day before, most of our follows had come on black flies, but Mark had caught his fish on yellow.
I decided to start with a larger yellow fly in hopes of finding a bigger fish.
About 30 minutes into the morning, I looked away for a second. When I looked back, Mark was hooked up.
I could tell he didn’t think it was a particularly big fish.
“It’s bigger than you think,” I told him.
Just then, the musky took off. Mark moved to the back of the boat as the fish made a powerful run. Because we were fishing deep water, the musky headed down and put up a tough fight.
Mark brought it close to the net several times, but each time we thought we had it, the fish took off again.
On our final attempt, the musky jumped and the hook came free. Fortunately, I managed to scoop it into the net before it could swim away.
Mark had landed a 30-inch musky.
The day continued to get better. He finished with nine eats, four follows and three landed fish, including another musky measuring 25 inches.
We also found a bigger fish, one I estimated to be in the high 30-inch range. It followed the fly right to the boat and appeared to be chewing on it, but it wouldn’t commit.
We changed flies four times and got the fish to follow five times without an eat. Twice, it followed a small pink fly, a color I had never tried for musky.
We decided to stick with pink for the rest of the day. Mark had three more follows, and the final one turned out to be his biggest fish of the trip.
It was a 34-inch musky with a much heavier body than the 30-inch fish he had caught earlier.
As I brought it to the net, Mark asked, “Now can I be done?”
He was exhausted.
Day three was even tougher, with high winds and rain. We moved only three fish, including one I estimated to be around 40 inches. We tried several flies to get it to follow again, but it never showed itself.
Around noon, I suggested we eat lunch and let the boat drift. After eating about half my sandwich, I decided to make a few casts. Catching a musky during a lunch break isn’t something you count on, but it was worth a try.
On one cast, I hooked the bottom in about 2 feet of water. After freeing the fly, I cast toward the middle of the river.
The fly hit something almost immediately.
At first, I thought I had hooked the bottom again. Then it moved.
I had caught my lunch-break musky, a 25-inch fish.
We didn’t move another fish that day, but the trip had already given us plenty to remember.
Over three days, we had seen more than 20 musky and landed five. Mark had experienced nearly every aspect of musky fishing, from the excitement of a follow to the frustration of a fish refusing a fly and the satisfaction of bringing several fish to the net.
Chasing them has also taught me that success isn’t always measured by the size or number of fish you catch. Sometimes, just seeing one follow your fly is enough to keep you coming back.
But when you finally get an eat, set the hook and feel a big musky pulling against your line, you understand why people become obsessed with these fish.
