“Wow! Nice ones! Do you ever keep one to eat?”
“There’s no way you released them all.”
If you grew up fishing in Maine, chances are you were taught that if you caught brook trout or landlocked salmon, you kept your limit and brought them home for dinner. The old-school mindset was simple: If you bought a fishing license, you had every right to keep what you caught. Years ago, many anglers believed every legal fish should go in the cooler.
When I started fly fishing 25 years ago, I spent countless hours watching fly-fishing videos and television shows. One film that has always stuck with me was the Lee Wulff Master Collection, which features Lee Wulff flying into Labrador to explore potential fishing outposts for the government.
One of Lee Wulff’s most famous quotes is:
“The finest gift you can give to any fisherman is to put a good fish back, and who knows whether the fish you caught isn’t someone else’s gift to you.”
That quote has stayed with me ever since.
I understand why Maine’s fisheries biologists establish harvest limits. Those regulations exist for many reasons: to prevent overpopulation in some waters, rebuild struggling fisheries, protect larger breeding fish and even reduce invasive species. Personally, I’ve always had a hard time killing something just because I legally can. That said, I understand why anglers harvest smallmouth bass in the Rapid River or northern pike in the Penobscot. Those are different conversations.
The reality is that one or two anglers randomly killing fish isn’t going to solve those issues. If it did, there wouldn’t be any bass left in the Rapid River. I’ve watched people harvest bass there for what feels like 20 years, and they’re still there.
Growing up, my dad and his buddies took annual fishing trips. They always kept fish and had a traditional fish fry. Later, when I discovered fly fishing, I started planning our trips to destinations that were fly-fishing-only and catch-and-release waters.
It drove my cousin crazy to release beautiful brook trout, but I always insisted.
One trip still stands out. We were fishing on a pond near Ashland. My dad and uncle kept their legal limit of brook trout. Back at camp, we cleaned them and nearly every fish was full of worms. It wasn’t exactly the memorable fish dinner we’d hoped for.
Am I against legally keeping fish? Absolutely not. If you’re following the law, it doesn’t bother me one bit. I simply practice 100% catch and release.
As a fishing guide, I feel that if I’m killing fish, I’m slowly killing my business. People often point out that some released fish eventually die, and that’s true. But when I release a fish, it has a chance to survive. If I keep it, that chance is zero.
Recently, Stac and I hosted a trip to Igloo Lake Lodge in Labrador. Their policy is simple: fly fishing only, barbless hooks and catch and release. When someone lands the fish of a lifetime, the guides take length and girth measurements if the angler wants a fiberglass replica made.
The lodge protects those giant brook trout because they know those fish are the future of their fishery. If they harvested every trophy trout, there would be no reason for anglers to return, and eventually the fishery — and the business — would disappear.
One day on our trip, Stac, Paul, Jeremy and I hiked into Burton Pond, a place known for producing incredible fish. Last year, Stac landed a 40-inch northern pike and a five-pound brook trout on back-to-back casts. The pond is loaded with aquatic insects, providing the perfect environment for giant fish to thrive.
Stac and I anchored one boat while Paul and Jeremy anchored nearby. We were close enough to talk but were covering different water. Giant caddisflies were coming off, and Stac started with a Stimulator. After getting no action, I tied one on as well.
Still nothing.
As I stripped the fly in to make another cast, it disappeared under the surface. Instantly, I broke off a fish. On the very next cast, I missed another strike. Then, on the third cast, I connected with a five-pound brook trout.
I yelled over to the other boat.
Jeremy switched to the same fly and immediately hooked into another giant trout. Moments later, Paul came tight on a beautiful fish while fishing a red Humpy that he had tied himself.
Stac looked at me and laughed.
“I better not be the only one who doesn’t catch one.”
Almost on cue, her fly disappeared and she was hooked up.
Now Stac was fighting a big trout in our boat while Paul was still battling his. I was filming the entire thing and managed to capture an incredible double hookup.
As Paul finally landed his giant brook trout, we heard Travis yelling:
“Franky! Derek! It’s Franky!”
After we photographed the trout and carefully released it, Travis explained that he had caught that exact fish just two weeks earlier — more than a half mile away on another part of the lake.
That’s exactly why we practice catch and release.
That same brook trout measured an incredible 27 inches.
A true Labrador trophy that weighed about 9 pounds.
It was living proof of Lee Wulff’s famous quote:
“Game fish are too valuable to be caught only once.”
That fish had already created memories for one angler and, because it was released, it created unforgettable memories for another.
So maybe the next time you catch a true Maine gem — or any fish of a lifetime — you’ll consider taking a few pictures, watching it swim away and giving someone else the opportunity to experience that same moment.
