“When I Grow Up”
….I want to be part of the research and development team for Loon Outdoors.
No seriously, whoever originally pitched this idea at the Loon product meeting should get an instant induction into the fly fishing hall of fame. Something so simple, so useful, so brilliantly perfect in every way. It’s like they followed the Up’North crew on a fishing trip, reviewed the footage, and designed a product based on what they felt would make our time on the water more enjoyable. The R&D for these nippers must have been priceless, how could it not be? They probably didn’t need to test them on the water, but who would pass up that opportunity? I’ve always been a fan of Loon products, but this addition tops them all. Extra wide thumb pads, hook-eye clearing needle, and…….a bottle opener. This nifty little tool is a long time coming in my neck of the woods.
- Click to purchase the Loon Outdoors “Nip N Sip” tool!
The people at Loon Outdoors undoubtedly realize that R&D doesn’t stop once your product reaches fly shop shelves. Constant testing in the harshest of environments is a necessary part of product development, and I for one would be more than willing to lend a hand in the process. What better place than northern Maine to put your gear through the necessary paces? No such place exists. Please note, I accept free samples for testing purposes. Just sayin’.
In all seriousness, this product is one of those little innovations that just seems to make sense. I commend the people at Loon Outdoors for bringing some refreshing (no pun intended) originality into the nipper department. This is sure to be a huge product for them in 2012, and is already creating a worthy buzz among industry insiders and average Joes alike. Just another “must have” tool to have handy when the Spring salmon run pops off (again, no pun intended) after ice-out.
Pray for hasty thaw!
-Ben
“Hardly Hunting”
Sitting silent listen closely whisper windswept wilderness.
Frozen fingers each breath lingers cotton cammo woolen dress.
Warmth a mystery ancient history snow falls steady forest floor.
Miles from nowhere movement somewhere listen closely breathe no more.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Densely darkened daylight dimming vast horizon fading fast
Sunshine struggles falling farther treeline silhouette is cast.
Honest hours watching waiting notice nothing clear dismay
Deadline drawing nearer precious time ticks hopelessly away.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hardly hunting seldom shooting simply sitting solitude
Finding joy in failure crisp clear mind inspired pleasant mood
Empty handed hasty headed home down back roads steady roll
Surely passing time descending purifying country soul.
Money Money Money
I don’t share a ton of secrets on here, so consider this a little Christmas gift from me to you. The streamer on the top is the latest rendition of my “money-maker,” a proven pattern I am continuously building on season after season. Trial and error have really done the trick for this streamer in recent years, and this version will be the end-all of this pattern. A peek is all you get, so analyze away. The colors are simple enough, but no less than 7 different materials form the tail (a little long here, chop by half), wing, and neck. Tie it weighted if you see fit, but I never felt the need. Trout seem to be first at the table for this meal, but salmon are always a welcome dinner guest.
The soft-hackle pattern is simply braided red/green 70-denier thread with a red neck and tail. It seemed like the obvious “just for fun” wet to tie on Christmas day, but I can see it working come mid-June. Tis the season!
-Ben
Storylines
Scratches, scrapes, dings and dents. Every canoe has them, some worst than others. Minor or major, repaired or left open, each mark tells a story that might inspire laughs, tears, or even a healthy amount of finger pointing.
Lord knows my canoe bears it fair share of scars. A few of the most memorable were acquired during an afternoon portage between Deboullie and Gardiner pond with my buddy Alex. Over rocks and roots, through gravel and mud, from one pond to the other. The bottom of a canoe reads like a map, lines scattered in every direction outstretched like mountain streams. Each one runs differently, signs of character carved one by one, memories of shallow waters and sleepers that wait silently just below the surface. The simple fact is that sometimes canoes just need to take a beating, something most will do willingly year after year. Just like a pickup truck isn’t meant to sit in a showroom, no canoe is bred to take the easy way out.
Storylines
The Chase
Can’t you see the sky is falling
Breezy bitter Winter’s calling
Early darkness quiet appalling
Reds and yellows drifting, stalling.
Grounded graceful calming hues
Crunching underneath my shoes
What a pleasant path to choose
Autumn colors, absent blues
Perfect painted fading sun
Light escaping, on the run
Soon the friendly chase is done
Day defeated, night has won.
Rematch sees the morning break
Frozen fingers, shiver, shake
Remaining leaves begin to quake
Flurries near, make no mistake.
Burn a Candle
There are only a few remaining sporting camps in the North Maine Woods that can trace their true roots back to the 1950s. These extremely remote, remarkably eloquent Historical landmarks are truly frozen in time, rarely disturbed time capsules preserving a piece of Maine’s culture that so few are fortunate enough to recall, let alone experience firsthand.
Well, count me among the lucky ones. Full story coming soon, consider this photo a teaser!
Watch us like a hawk, big things dropping in the coming days.
-Ben
And It Rained.
- Not much to talk about on the fishing front, record rains over the last few weeks have all but washed away any chance of a successful river trip. It started long before any hurricanes crept their way up the coast, and the relentless wrath of mother nature is showing no signs on letting up.
Cabin fever is setting in and my patience is wearing thin. With a mere 25 days left before I’m forced to hang up the rods, it’s a scary thought that the fishing may NEVER recover during our short stretch to October. I’ll never give up, but a battle of epic proportions seems imminent.
Focus.
Calling this season a wash might be an understatement, but lets reflect. Given my days on the water and my success rate, I’d hesitant to blame anything other than location and scheduling conflicts. Maybe conflicts isn’t the right word, but you get the picture. Regardless, all of this time indoors has really allowed me some freedom to dig down deep and reflect. Being home is clearly a good thing; friends, family, and a familiar environment have really taken me back to the golden years. But things are clearly different, not that different is always bad. Like I said, rain makes me think.
Years ago on a pond in the middle of nowhere I found myself in the center of a sudden downpour that I won’t soon forget. Casting quietly from a short aluminum canoe, I was taking advantage of a bright spot that fought its way through an otherwise dismal day. The season was coming to a close, the weather virtually mirrored what we’re seeing this year, and I was in desperate need of some time on the water. After about twenty minutes (and twenty jumping ghost fish) I sat puzzled as to why I wasn’t having any luck. The glassy surface said rain, but at that moment no drops were falling.
Blitz
While the brook trout danced mockingly around me, I ate through my leader changing flies until my fingers went numb. Then, as I was tying on just ONE MORE, someone turned the switch off. The surface of the pond mirrored the hardwood horizon, unbroken and eerily still. Thats when I heard it, a low rumble that seemed to be gaining steam. My instincts told me logging truck, but as the noise intensified I quickly nixed that thought. I clipped the tag on my latest knot and turned my attention to the tree line behind me. What I saw was the most magnificent, awesomely powerful wall of water I had ever laid eyes on. Like a blanket quickly covering the forest, I watched as the sheets of rain raced towards me at full sprint. I flipped my hood up and turned my shoulder as mother nature dumped buckets of water into my canoe. Relentless, unforgiving, cleansing. Time stood still as driving rain played a deafening tune on the back of my jacket. Paddle in hand, I pointed my canoe towards the cabin and the promise of dry cloths and a warm meal. Minutes later found me chatting over some drinks with a few good friends while our clothing and gear drip-dried around the wood stove.
What I experienced that day is something I’ll remember for as long as I fish, and in that long list of memories this one ranks close to the top. Sitting here today, I can honestly say that there isn’t a rainy day that goes by when I don’t think of my experience on that pond. A remote location at the end of the world, the end of my world. Ancient Chinese philosopher Confucius said “No matter where you go, there you are,” and the philosophical redneck in me would have to agree. Lately, rain to me means a fresh start, a clean slate. Here I am, enjoying my little piece of heaven in the only place I know how to be truly content. Here I am, and here I’ll stay.
The sun might not always be shining, but I get along just fine in the rain.
-Ben
Poetic Justice: “Home”
I find myself compelled to tell
A tale of weather, fish, and flies
Of orange autumns and painted skies
The place my memories dwell
Now far removed but close at heart
I sift through dreams that draw me near
To spawning trout and ghostly deer
A past, a present, worlds apart
Where life has grace and time stands still
And simple pleasures foster smiles
Dirt roads and hardwoods stretch for miles
Leaves fall in silence, icy chill
A single breath soon shows its path
Floats like clouds so brisk and bold
Unforgiving frigid cold
Fall retreats from winter’s wrath
I close my eyes and let thoughts roam
To all I’ve loved and left behind
A peace of mind I’ll never find
Return to all I’ve known,
a place that I call home
County List
It’s been a solid six months since the last time I’ve assembled any sort of list on Up’North. Over the course of two years you’ve seen fly rod lists, shotgun lists, various holiday lists, streamer lists, and even the occasional beer list. Seeing as how my recent ventures only put me in the County on a limited basis, I thought it only fitting that I piece together a list of ten random luxuries I miss from the northern reaches of our great State.
The Original Up'North Banner
- Fireside Chats- Random shenanigans and various follies around a real northern campfire. No silly rings, pits, or city ordinances. Using hardwood and cedar you cut during the day from the back of the house. Adirondack chairs, fresh cut steak, homemade wine, and beer that isn’t “brewed” in Germany or Ireland.
- 15-Minute Fishing Trips - Random, unplanned, unprepared fishing trips for no rhyme or reason. Chasing trout and making the most of remaining daylight as the sun fades behind backwoods ridges. Forgetting fly boxes, making the best of knotted and worn leaders, and still feeling completely satisfied when the fish don’t cooperate.
- Porch Sitting- No interstate traffic. Scratch that, no traffic on any kind. Watching the grass grow around my black lab while she sleeps. Tying flies on the picnic table. Old school country, old and new friends. Sleeping where you sit.
- Cruising the River- Stand up carving in an Old Town Canoe. Johnson 8 runs perfect, Johnson 8 wont start. Bringing more fly rods than any three people could ever need. Forgetting food, coolers, but never beer or whiskey.
- Family- Gramp’s stories, Gram’s cooking, hockey with dad, coffee with mom, piecing together the night’s events with my younger brother.
- Ghosts- Not Caspers; Grey Ghosts, Green Ghosts, White and Marabou Ghosts. Size 2-6. Salmon candy. Spring runs, chilly evenings, flannel shirts and tandem streamers. Knowing that your fly is money in all conditions.
- Dirt Roads- Dodging logging trucks, Marine and Murs antennas on the roof of the pickup. 10 ply tires, Katahdin truck racks, rusty ratchet straps, Cooler parties on the tailgate. Endless miles to nowhere.
- Hunting Beard- Sporting the classic Fall scruff. Itchy face for the first few weeks. Not shaving because “it helps keep you warm” on the trail. “Picky” on the ladies’ cheek. The first clean shave after you hang the gun up for the season.
- Fall- The season that sets the standard for all others. Late nights and early mornings at hunting camp. Not too warm, not too cold. Crackling leaves, Autumn colors, camo and fluorescent orange. Trout and Salmon moving back into the rivers. Cast and blast. Seeing your breath on a crisp October morning, lighting the first fire in the wood stove that same night.
- Less is More- Best friends, fishing, hunting, food, family, and everything else is well within reach. It takes 2 minutes instead of 20 to drive 4 miles. No malls, no crowds, no need to lock your truck or house. Everything you need, less of what you don’t. Money in the bank.
The list goes on, and on, and on, but then it wouldn’t be a top ten….with more than ten.
See ya!
Taking Time
We don’t have beaches in Fort Kent, at least not what someone from the Maine Coast would call a beach. Life is certainly different in the southern region of the state, and lately I’ve noticed the subtle differences more frequently than in months past. Some might regard me as an overly critical person, and on some days I might agree. I’ve always been the type to overanalyze even the most simple of situations, so god help me when the right combination of heavy and hectic suddenly find themselves front and center.
Northern Maine is nothing if not simple, and beyond the countless fishing spots I still see in my dreams, I miss having the option of stepping away from reality for a while. Life moves too quickly down here, and my mind just isn’t wired that way. I pause and ponder like a 90 year old man, constantly taking in my surroundings and wondering what I might be missing. Caring too much in a hectic world causes one hell of a headache, and I’m definitely guilty as charged. City livin’ certainly isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
Years ago when I found my mind staggering in a similar fashion, a fishing buddy turned my attention towards a beach not far from the city. His intentions were purely fishing related, but I discovered so much more in the process. Casting into an escaping tide, all that weighs on my mind is suddenly caught in the rhythmic motions of the retreating sea. It isn’t the northern dwellings I prefer, but something about this beach puts my mind at ease. I may not know what the next day, month, or years will hold, but I find myself oddly at ease with all that is unanswered and gray. The good most certainly outweighs the bad, and I would hesitate to call anything about my experience truly bad at all. Different is probably a better description, and in my book different is almost always preferred.
For those who missed the underlying message, I’m fly fishing again.
-Ben
Son of a Beach
Mother of god is it hot in Maine. Head for water, submerge yo’self, sit and wait for winter. Never leaving my air conditioned office again.
Release
Release the stress
Release the tension
Release the headaches we won’t mention
Regroup your thoughts
Relive the bliss
Recover time
Release the fish.
One Final Round
- In the summer of 2009 I was given the rare opportunity to work with one of the most respected firearms companies in the world. Bushmaster Firearms was founded in 1973, and in its thirty-eight year history has grown into the leading AR-15 type rifle manufacturer in the United States. The history of Bushmaster is full of monumental achievements. From world-wide military connections all the way down to individual consumers, Bushmaster has earned the respect of millions with a reputation for quality and friendly customer service. Simply put, Bushmaster Firearms is the real deal.
The Windham, Maine Bushmaster AR-15 "The Last Real Bushmaster"
In early December 2010 it was announced that Bushmaster’s owner Freedom Group would be closing the Windham, Maine plant. The sad news was conveyed to me shortly after my 23rd birthday, and the moment it was spoken to me is one I will never forget. The plant that started it all, the people who formed the very heart of Bushmaster, all of it was soon to be lost due to a corporate decision that few saw coming.
Corporate decision? Bingo.
When the dust settles, Bushmaster will be just another gun company. The blood, sweat, and tears that made Bushmaster Quality Parts a household name will be removed from the equation, replaced instead by a corporate move that reeks of mediocrity and lacks true heart. What the people at Freedom Group fail to understand is that Bushmaster Firearms was much more than a simple gun company. Bushmaster is nothing without the people who invest their lives into making it such a standout product, and a Bushmaster Rifle is nothing without ” Windham Maine” stamped into the lower receiver. The last real Bushmaster rifles will forever stand alone, models of perfection in an industry where quality is quickly becoming second to profits. Bushmaster was not the victim of a struggling economy, but the tragic results of a business move that failed to consider what made it such a successful company.
I for one will never fail to appreciate the hard work and dedication that went into making my rifle. The special attention to detail, and the strong sense of pride that went into assembling a Windham, ME Bushmaster AR-15 can never be recreated using machines, no matter the circumstances. Bushmaster will continue as a brand for years to come, but those who are lucky enough to know better will tell you that Bushmaster Firearms ceases to exist on March 31, 2011. The legacy remains alive in the eyes of those who dedicated their lives to quality for nearly four decades, and those who are truly blessed to own a Windham, Maine rifle.
I would like to thank, from the bottom of my heart, each and every employee who made Bushmaster the standout company that I will always remember. For four short months you took me in as family, allowing me the chance to be a part of something so incredibly rare and unforgettable. The experience changed my life, and I am truly grateful for being allowed to play my small role in such a special piece of history. With every round that passes through my rifle’s chrome-lined barrel, know that you are all in my thoughts and prayers. Know that your efforts and hard work at not lost on my ears, and that the impact of your lasting legacy will echo through the hills of northern Maine every time I pull the trigger.
See you at the range, to fire one final round.
-Benjamin Rioux
Terrible Twos
- Hardy Har Har, Up’North turns two on this glorious day!
From the northern reaches of Maine, to northern California, to Alaska, to Finland, and even mother Russia, Up’North continues to reach a broad audience on a daily basis. Completely blowing away my wildest expectations, Up’North crushed my 100,000 views (in 2 years) goal in December, and welcomed over 24,000 unique visitors in its second year alone. Nearly 700 people follow my tweets, hundreds of guides, company reps, and fly fishing enthusiasts follow via Facebook, not to mention a large local following that includes the most supportive and entertaining group of fellas a fly fisherman could ask for. In the words of Bud Soucy, “CHAOS, WHOOOOOT!”
I am sincerely humbled by the outpouring of support that Up’North has received during the past year alone. L.L.Bean continues to be extremely supportive and helpful, and I would be lost without their guidance and the friendship-Thanks Mac! In addition, Up’North has added some new supporters to the mix during the past year. Life On the Fly Outfitters picked me up as a Fly Fishing Ambassador in October 2010, and owner Michael Davis has been nothing short of inspirational. I look forward to working more closely with LOFTO in the near future, and hope that our continued cooperation will bring rewarding experiences to all involved. Leland Fly Fishing Outfitters has also added me to their affiliate program, giving me access to colorful ads and great deals on thousands of products. In a program that could be extremely impersonal and bland, Ben Paull of Leland has been extremely accommodating and helpful, arranging ads that work for my site, and pumping me full of press releases and the latest gear info. I would like to thank Mr. Paull and the rest of the fellas at Leland for their support, you guys truly are a step above the competition. Graphic artist Steve Daigle at Paper Signs Ink in Fort Kent, for making me a killer banner, business cards, and the decals that grace the back windows of countless trucks in northern Maine and beyond-Thanks for the help spreading the love Steve.
Last but certainly not least, I would like to thank the sites and individuals who have given me support, inspiration, and in many cases, friendship over the last few years. Mr. Jean-Paul Lipton aka The Roughfisher has been a great friend since day one, my brother from anotha motha! Cameron Mortenson of The Fiberglass Manifesto, Lucas Jarrett-my daily fishing buddy during the summer months, and the only guy I know who loves fly fishing in northern Maine as much as I do. Jacob McGlothlin and the fellas at Chi Wulff, Nick English, Mac Mckeever, Michael Gracie of michaelgracie.com, Simon Graham of Pike Fly Fishing Articles, Mr. Brad Bohen of Muskie Country Outfitters, and anyone else who has ever offered up information, sent me flies, gear, or simply tolerated my learning curve when it comes to all things fly fishing.
And who could forget the Up’North crew, Alex Mitchell for accompanying me on backcountry trout ponds when the weather is less than desirable, Derick, Alex and the rest of the Plourde brothers for making catching a Muskie on a fly rod become more of a reality, Jon “Jizzon” Morin for finding the humor in everything and giving me company during those weeknight canoe rides on Soldier Pond. Gary Perry and the Gardner crew for introducing me to the Big Black, in what turned out to be my favorite fishing trip of 2010. Josh Caron for putting my 10wt Silver Ghost to work against some large Atlantic Salmon on the Miramichi. And of course, my family. My father for showing increased interest in the sport I love, and being there every step of the way to support my obsession (thanks for the truck). My mother for having patience with me when I left my waders by the front door, fly tying materials on the kitchen table, and fly rods scattered around the living room. I love you Ma! My brother for proof-reading my work and offering constructive criticism along the way, and anyone else I may have forgotten who has been there since day one. For your support I am extremely grateful, Up’North would be nothing without your continued involvement and inspiration.
At the end of the day, it’s all about the experience. On and off the water, fly fishing has been as much a part of my life as my morning coffee or my last name. To say I love to fish would be the understatement of the century; the locations, the friends, and the memories it has given me help to form the foundation of my life, my moral code, my reason for breathing. It’s not about looking the part, or making money, or gaining any sort of special recognition. For me its about trying to fall asleep at night after a day filled with hungry trout and large landlocked salmon. It’s that feeling you get every Spring when you cast a streamer at the start of another season, or when that fish of a lifetime comes unbuttoned right at the side of the boat. It’s the air you breath on a backcountry pond that just seems more crisp than anywhere else. It’s life, and I’m living the dream.
Thank you all for helping to make even my most distant dreams a reality, I am truly humbled. Look for big things to come this season, and as always,
Tight Lines!
-Ben
This Is Fly: Vol 3-Issue 1
- Typically I post the magazine cover when This Is Fly drops and simply let you do the rest. Form your own opinions, smile your own smiles, grin your own grins. Well, this isn’t your typical issue. To say that this particular installment stopped my heart would be a bit much, but I am truly lost at how to describe the feelings it conjured up inside me.
Click To Read!
If any magazine has ever made you want to get back out on the water, this is it. From cover to cover, Volume 3-Issue 1 is solid gold. But if you take the time to travel into the depths of this gold mine, two real gems stand out among the rest.
Matt Harris has a way with words when describing his adventures that literally had me considering a move to Russia. His story “Where The Wild Things Are” is a magical account of his trip to the Yokanga River, in search of Atlantic Salmon few will ever feast eyes upon during a lifetime on the water. A truly impressive piece of writing, enhanced only by dream invoking photography.
And just when you convince yourself to sit back down and continue reading, Brad Bohen of Muskie Country Outfitters steps up to the plate and hits another one out of the park. My “muskie on the fly” outings have been largely unsuccessful and filled with frustration, but Brad’s article has my muskie fever burning red-hot once again. His feature film “Zero to Hero” drops in February 2011, and I simply can’t wait. Check out the trailer below.
At the end of the day, fly fishing is as much a part of me as my college degree, or my northern Maine roots. Sometimes the long winters can make me forget why I find casting a fly so exciting. I am thankful that there are anglers out there who dedicate their lives to reminding me.
Tight Lines,
-Ben
It Never Changes…
- Hot off the press, here is the latest product from my creative writing class. For this piece I chose to take a more personal approach, not that any of my other stories lack a personal touch. Outside of fishing, life in northern Maine has really helped shape who I am as a writer, and more importantly as a person. I did my best to convey that message through this story. Feedback is welcomed and certainly encouraged, I enjoy reading what you all have to say! So without further ado, before it even graces the desk of my professors office, I give you my latest draft, appropriate titled: “It never changes.” Enjoy!
- It never changes. The breeze is still constant; the trees still grow lush with leaves during the summer, and then drop them like a bad habit in the fall of the year. It never changes, but I prefer it that way. Everybody knows your name, everybody knows your business, everyone acts like they don’t care; but you know they do. You know this because you feel the same way, you act the same way, and you live the same way. Life progresses like this for everyone, regardless of age, gender, or social demographics. It simply never changes, but at least you know what to expect. Or do you? Small towns have their fair share of drama. Liars and cheaters, unfaithful husbands and wives, and troublesome teens that can’t wait to grow up and leave, but they always come back. Why? Because nothing ever changes, and something about that gives people comfort and peace of mind, allowing them to sleep at night without worry or regret. Nothing ever changes, and we like it that way. Small towns are like math equations; add more numbers and symbols and you just complicate things beyond reprise. The same holds true for people, the more you add, the less life seems to make sense. At least that’s the way most people in a small town think; we’ll treat our tourists like gold until they decide to shack up and stay for good, then it’s a battle to save tradition and preserve normalcy. But as long as nothing changes, it’s difficult to find something to frown about. The economy might suck, you might be in debt up to your ears, and your wife might be cheating on you with one of your best friends, but at least you know about it. As fucked up as it is, it never changes. You’ve just grown to like it that way, or at least live with the hard truth.
My name is Benjamin Rioux, and I live in a small town. Don’t get me wrong; there is no place in the world I rather reside. Why, you ask? Herein lies a tricky question to wrap your head around. Unless you hail from a small town, the attraction most residents feel towards one can be difficult to grasp. For me its about the people, all so simple on the surface; but massively complex on the inside. All want something they can’t have, while at the same time doing so little to actually get it. Everyone wants to be rich, but no one wants to work. Everyone wants to find love, but most are too consumed in themselves to accept it into their hearts. Everyone wants to be your best friend, all the while searching for a way to get ahead at your expense. Well, maybe not everyone, but you get the picture. What most fail to realize is that the simple life is anything but. Sometimes giving people too much time to think can result in some pretty scary things. At least that’s my opinion; no one said you had to agree. We may not have gridlock or soaring crime rates, but we do have roads filled with moose, ungodly amounts of snow in the winter, and more potatoes that any one town could possibly consume. We may not have it all, but I still think we have more to offer than most. In place of chain stores and brand names, we have home cooking and Frenchmen fashion. A dazzling mix of plaid and flannel, work boots and dirty baseball caps are normal here, a classic mating of comfort and redneck style. We stand out in a crowd when we travel, but blend in when we dwell close to home. We listen to country music because it’s the only radio station that comes in clear over the truck’s radio. We’ve heard of other music, but can seldom relate. I guess some things just never catch on.
Today is the first day of the rest of my life, or the next day of the rest of my life, there really isn’t a difference out here. On this particular day I rose with the sun and stumbled to the bathroom, rubbing by eyes and cursing under my breath as the roosters sang their same old tune. Like every day before, I made a pot of coffee and sat down to the newspaper that my black lab Chuck had dropped at my feet. I never watch the news; why wait for the story you want to hear when you can just flip to that page immediately and skip all the garbage? Nothing new to speak of today, just more trouble in the Middle East, more political scandals, and more rallies for equal treatment and social justice. I guess that country singer was right; maybe it’s time for the whole world to have a drink. I poured a little brandy into my mug of coffee and raised it in the air, pretending to make a toast. “I’ll buy the first round world, I’ll buy the first round.”
I finished my coffee and poured myself another mug, the second of many that I would likely have throughout the day. Coffee has long been my vice, at least during times when drinking whisky isn’t exactly considered socially acceptable. Chuck ate his breakfast with the regular enthusiasm that he always brings to the table when a cup of dry food is poured into his bowl. It goes without saying, but I really hope that when I die, I come back as a dog. Chasing squirrels, mid-day belly rubs; food, and sleep are the only things he thinks about. Kind of sounds like the perfect day off, only he gets to live it on a daily basis. I’ll always be jealous of that dog, or any dog for that matter. I laced up my boots and whistled a tune, closing the door behind me as chuck darted out into the yard, barking and racing around the maple trees, announcing his presence to anyone or anything nearby. The day felt like a warning for the approaching winter, breezy and brisk. I pulled my zipper up closer to my chin and pulled down the brim of my hat; it was firewood time.
I finally reached the barn and located my chainsaw and pulp hook. After a quick sharpening of the blade, I loaded the pickup and drove into the lower field with chuck riding shotgun. Twelve cords of tree length wood won’t simply cut itself, but I didn’t mind. Like my father had done before me, every Fall I went through the motions, cut, split, and stack. I used to hate helping him with firewood; now I wished I had those precious moments back. It’s amazing the life lessons a young man can learn while cutting wood with his father. Everything from how to treat a lady, to how a garden should be tended was spoken of, and while I brushed aside those conversations in the early years, I still remember them like I had heard them just yesterday. The clouds began to roll in and the breeze started to pick up, the forecast called for flurries today. Chuck had located a groundhog and was busy chasing him around the far end of the woodpile, an activity that would ensure he slept well later that night. It put my chainsaw down and dug in my back pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Two left, I would have to make an unplanned trip to town for more smokes. I lit one up and began sucking away what remaining years I had left on this earth, thinking back to the first cigarette I smoked as a boy, clueless and arrogant in the bed of my buddies old Chevy. Back then they said that cigarettes could kill you, but no one ever believed they actually would.
The smoke danced through my fingertips and up into the autumn air, carried away by a brisk wind. In the distance I could hear the sound of a train, squeaking and squealing across the old tracks and echoing through the valley. I cast a gaze to the sky as flurries of snow began to float ever so slowly down to earth; the weatherman was right. Just then I felt a familiar brush against my leg that broke me from my trance. I took one more drag from my cigarette before reaching down to scratch chuck on the head. He glanced up at me, clearly feeling defeated by the groundhog, which had managed to elude him once again. I sat down against my fresh stack of hardwood and he took a seat directly in front of me, cocking his head sideways like he was trying to read my mind. But there was nothing to read, at least nothing worth any level of discussion. Looking out over the rolling hills and off into the distance, I saw nothing but god’s country; a vast array of trees, holding tight to their last bit of color before the Winter could set in and erase Fall. “We have it good”, I whispered to Chuck as I took in the panoramic paradise that was spread out before me. This is my life, nothing changes, and I like it that way.
Creative Writing and Such.
- A while back I introduced you to the fictional, story telling version of myself. Needless to say, my creative writing class has given me one hell of an opportunity to “double dip” with writing assignments and Up’North. Well, I’m at it again; this time with a fictional tug-of-war between two old fishin’ buddies. This assignment was for a short story in the 3rd person, and so far this is what I have to show for my efforts. Sorry for the lengthy read, just remember that no one is forcing you to go the distance. But, seeing as how 90% of my readers are either at work or in class when they’re checking in, humor me.
Enjoy!
Nelson was a legend in northern Maine, at least in a mild sense of the word. If he wasn’t fishing, chances are there were no fish to be caught. Avid fishermen would frequently hide behind bushes, analyzing his every move in hopes of learning the secrets to his success. Some would even tail him as he drove to his favorite fishing hole, though he always managed to shake even the most dedicated spies. Everyone knew he had a secret, but none could put their finger on it. Every day, regardless of the weather, Nelson would return home with his full limit of fish. Brook trout, salmon, and the occasional whitefish; all seemed to find their way onto his hook come hell or high water. What made matters worst was the fact that he rarely shared his boat with a fishing partner. Children and grandchildren were always welcome, but even the son-in-laws of the family had to earn their way onto the magical deck of his fishing vessel. It was a place where dreams were made of, where the conversation was always flowing, almost as fluidly as the single-malt Scotch.
Clyde had been following Nelson for months now, with nothing to show for it but a high gas bill for his truck. While the two men had been friends throughout school, the competitive turn that their fishing adventures took had eventually torn them apart. Disgruntled and jealous, Clyde could never seem to catch even a fraction of the fish the Nelson could. Every weekend he would try a new spot, fishing with worms, jigs, and countless lures; all of which yielded the same disappointing results. Recently retired, Clyde made it his new mission to crack Nelson’s secret code. Using state of the art night vision, wire taps, and surveillance equipment from his friend in the CIA, he was assembling a sinister plot that would end with Nelson’s downfall as the fishing king. There was something funky baking at the Corriveau residence, and this time Clyde was going to get himself a piece of the pie!
Thursday began like any normal day for Nelson. After a 6 a.m. breakfast complete with ham, eggs, and steak, he went about his usual routine of loading the truck. Tackle boxes, fishing poles, and trolling motors filled the box of his 92 Chevy. As he opened the door, empty coffee cups and a canister of bug spray bounced off the concrete floor in his garage.
“Gotta clean this damned truck,” he mumbled under his breath as he gathered the mess in his arms and dropped it in the nearest trashcan.
He was off to his favorite spring fishing hole; so cleaning the pickup would have to wait until another day. After a quick trip inside to top off his coffee, Nelson kissed his wife and set out for a relaxing day on the water. It was to be the perfect day, no better or worst than all the rest before it. What Nelson didn’t know was that on this particular day, he was being watched more closely than he could have ever imagined.
Clyde crawled on his hands and knees down to the edge of the water, dressed in full camouflage. Armed with a brand new pair of military grade digital binoculars, he reached the shoreline and began to survey his surroundings. The sound of a 2-stroke motor could be heard humming in the distance, and soon Nelson came into view in his aluminum boat. Clyde adjusted the focus and nearly dropped his binoculars in the water when the picture cleared.
“Jumpin’ Jesus Jackrabbits, the bastard brought a fishing partner!” Clyde muttered, beside himself with grief and jealousy.
Regaining his composure, he glassed the scene and quickly determined Nelson’s passenger to be no other than his grandson Ben. Ben was a young man in his mid twenties, and a recent graduate of the local community college in town. While Ben had been studying to be a teacher, Clyde knew that this young man was also quickly becoming a well-established fisherman. The men in town had recently been telling stories of Ben’s latest accomplishments on the water.
“That boy is gonna be just like his grandfather,” one would proclaim. “Have you seen the trout he’s been catchin’ down on Ross stream?”
Clyde had seen the pictures, trout the size of small Geo Metros, and state-record Salmon that could make grown men cry. But what really made the men talk wasn’t what the young man was catching, but what he was doing with the fish.
“The little shit just poses with the fish for a picture, than drops it back in the water ALIVE,” Mr. Pelletier had said as the other men listened in horror. Clyde knew the stories all too well. Exactly why Ben chose to release fish was beyond him, but he did know that the secret to Ben’s success was likely the strict lessons from Nelson. He watched on as the two men threw cast after cast into the water.
More than three hours later, Clyde sat mesmerized in full cover without seeing either of the two fishermen catch a single fish. When Nelson started his motor, Clyde shook his head and sat up with a mischievous grin on his face. “I knew that man’s luck would run out one day,” he said as the boat rounded the corner and disappeared out of sight. He stood up, dusted himself off, and walked back to his pickup. The final phase of his plan was to sit outside the window of Nelson’s garage, so he needed to race home before Nelson arrived to get into position.
One hour later, Clyde watched anxiously as Nelson pulled into the driveway and put his truck in park. Laughing to himself at the thought of Nelson returning home with no fish for his wife to cook for dinner, Clyde almost choked on his tic-tac when he saw what Nelson and Ben were holding in their hands. Rubbing his eyes to make sure he wasn’t dreaming, Clyde sat stunned as the two men made their way towards the house, each holding two large trout.
“But how could this be?” Clyde thought to himself while fighting back the urge to blow his cover.” “These two fellers are goddamned magicians I tell you,” as he stomped down the driveway with his tail between his legs. Nelson had done it again, and there was no way he was sticking around a second longer.
“We’re home!” Nelson proclaimed as he walked through the front door.
“Any luck?” his wife yelled back from the other end of the house.
“Nope, the kiddo and I struck out today, but we stopped by the market and got some real nice trout to fry up!”
“Again!” she yelled back in a frustrating tone. “That’s the third time this week Nelson, our freezer is chock full of fish!”
“Martha, as long as old man Clyde is watching, I’m coming home with fish. Sumbitch will never get the best of me!” Nelson proclaimed proudly as if he had just outsmarted the slyest fox in the forest.”
“Oh you boys and your silly competitions!” Martha mumbled as she fired up the skillet for another night of fresh trout. “One day you’ll both be too old to fish, and this entire mess will finally be over.”
“Nonsense,” Nelson shot back. “Why do you think I’ve been bringing Ben along?”
Public Service Announcement: Hunting Season 2010
- Keeping with an Up’North tradition, what better way to welcome in a brand new hunting season than with an inspirational photograph, and a hearty safety discussion.
Remember, hunting is a dangerous sport that should be taken very seriously. While also highly illegal, the consumption of alcoholic beverages while driving or using firearms is extremely dangerous and can result in serious injury or death. Remember not to shoot from moving vehicles, or at targets that you cannot clearly identify. If it looks like a deer, runs like a deer, and smells like a deer – there is still a slight chance it might not be a deer. Mistaking your friend for small or large game is not only frowned upon, but also extremely inconvenient for all parties involved. Just ask Dick Cheney.
In addition, realize that you are not a Marine Sniper, so taking shots from a great distance doesn’t help anyone and will likely render the animal wounded but not dead. To minimize animal suffering, and to save your back from countless hours of lugging anything through the woods, only take a shot you know you can make cleanly.
Nom Nom Nom
Up’North Maine Fly Castings and all parties involved do not, in any way, shape, or form, condone the use of drugs, alcohol, or other mind altering substances during your hunting experience. Tobacco is ok if you have reached the legal age. For the safety of your hunting party, keep the festivities and spirits for after dinner when the guns are unloaded and in a safe place away from the shenanigans. Any depiction of what may look like Illegal or unsafe activities on MaineFlyCastings.com are strictly for instructional purposes and should not be copied for risk of the lowered reputation that comes with a lengthy jail sentence.
Furthermore, the Up’North crew would like to assure you that safety is at the forefront of every hunting excursion we partake in, along with having loads and loads of fun. While dangerous, hunting can be extremely satisfying and extremely safe when the proper precautions are taken. Remember, guns don’t kill people-PEOPLE kill people. Don’t be THAT guy, or you may have difficulty finding friends to hunt with. Failure to see the underlying message in this special post may result in serious misunderstandings and slammer headaches. Please dig through the humor and stay sharp while out in the woods.
Enjoy this fresh, new hunting season, and from all of us at Up’North-Good Luck!
-Ben
Up’North’s Fall 2010 “List of all that is good.”
- With one more day until a majority of Maine waters close up shop to fisherman, the daunting task of packing away all of my fishing gear is now staring me straight in the face. Products I was fortunate enough to test are being sent back, fly lines are being cleaned and loosely coiled, and wading boots are escaping to the cellar, where their harmful stench has less chance of causing any bodily harm.
It truly is a time for mourning, a time to shift gears and shoot things in the woods and step back into the man cave, where the overwhelming task of filling fly boxes with new flies can only be aided by a good single-malt scotch or red wine. Where the sound of blades on ice ring in the winter with a new NHL season, and the sound of a 30-06 means dinner is most definitly served.
Actually, that really doesn’t sound half bad at all. While I’ll most certainly cry myself to sleep when this season finally ends in 2 short days, there is still plenty of reason to smile as the leaves make their decent to a final resting place. I could ramble on and on for hours, but as we all know, nothing sums up thoughts quite like a list. So without futher ado (ahhh do do do) I present Up’North’s Fall 2010 List of shit that makes me happy.
Enjoy!
Tis the Season!
- ~Pumpkin and Sugar Pies make yet another glorious comeback.
- ~Hunting gives us all yet another excuse to venture out into the woods for long periods of time. (We’re allowed to bring guns!)
- ~New products from LLBean, Realtree, Mossy Oak, and more!
- ~I can wear camouflage without feeling like a complete tool.
- ~The same goes for hunter orange.
- ~Pumpkinhead is still on tap around New England
- ~The Pellet Stove is back in action!
- ~Fall=Photography, and lots of it!
- ~No one can fish in my favorite spots (but neither can I)
- ~The long awaited return of Stews and Soups.
- ~Actually finding the patience and time required to tie a Gray Ghost.
- ~Finally putting the summer stockpile and new fly tying materials to use!
- ~A chance to use the new Regal Vise that is currently en-route to my residence.
- ~More time for writing on Up’North, marketing on Up’North, Photography on Up’North. Etc.
- ~The return of “Morning Coffee” (MWF)
- ~Carving Pumpkins that most young chaps shouldn’t be allowed to see.
- ~Wearing Wool (Because Wool is awesome)
- ~Local Harvest Suppers
- ~Can anyone say TURKEYDAY?
- ~Decorative Gourds (Mom loves em)
- ~Gingerbread Sucks (I know this is bad, but I had to make sure it was included)
- ~Patriots Football is in full swing!
- ~Baseball is almost over (It might suck less to be a Sox fan without them on TV)
- ~Marty Brodeur takes to the Ice again, and the Devils skate towards their 4th Stanley Cup.
- ~College Hockey is right around the Corner (The Roughfisher is digging out his Gophers attire)
- ~Ice Fishing (and Ice Shack Parties complete with Pearl Jam sing-a-longs)
- ~No Better time to read Poe than in the Winter Months, in a room lit only by a gloomy fireplace! “Lenore!”
I’m sure I’ve missed a number of wonderful things that no doubt make Fall and the onset of Winter exciting, so feel free to add via the comments section. In the next few days, also be on the lookout for a few fresh LLBean product reviews and other great seasonal news. In addition, Up’North starts a new tradition on October first with the annual “Face of Hunting” post. Morning Coffee also makes it’s long awaited return this Friday, so don’t miss the action.
Ring in the offseason on MaineFlyCastings.com-Where the northerners hibernate for the winter!
-Ben
Tossing Thoughts
- Tonight I followed the tail end of a thunderstorm up to the pond in hopes of getting a little fishing in between storms. Water levels have risen substantially, but I didn’t care. A short break in the clouds offered me a welcome window for some casting, so I quickly began work launching line from my familiar spot on the bridge. Keeping a weary eye on the sky, and an ear out for the inevitable thunder that would surely echo through the valley, I began to vigorously work an active seem rolling off the edge of an old cement pier.
Strip, Strip, float
Strip, Strip, float
A lone salmon casually made his way to the surface to inspect my fly before disappearing into the murky water below. I remembered the spot and started fanning my cast to the opposite side of the pier, slowly working my way back towards where I last saw my landlocked friend. Again he appeared ever so slowly before turning away unimpressed. This time I picked up and threw a few yards further, dead drifting and hoping for the best. One aggressive swipe and a miss on my part and I was left laughing and shaking my head. I may have succeeded in fooling him, but he still managed the upper hand in the end.
I regained my composure and started casting again to the far side of the pier, gradually working my way across and back just as I had before. This time it was to no avail. As I began to question my next move I adjusted the hood of my rain coat and cursed under my breath as an approaching storm began to make it’s presence known. A clap of thunder rang out followed shortly by flash of lightning that tore through the sky like a warning from the heavens. It was time to stop waving my 9 foot graphite lightning rod overhead.
I quickly packed it up and made for the truck, snickering at the sky once I quickly found shelter from the storm. I drove to the edge of the pond and put the truck in park, opting to wait out what I thought was a passing event. As the skies continued their hellish dance all around me, oddly enough I found myself at ease. Maybe, just maybe it wasn’t the fishing that drew me to this location night after night. I sat mesmerized at this emerging theory.
It seems like lately, the more I fish the better I feel. The conflict I find in this is that while the rhythmic motions that come with casting always put my mind at ease, simply being in a place so familiar puts a smile on my face. I would in no way, shape, or form call it the most remote place in the world, but somewhere in the midst of all the organized chaos, I find myself constantly drawn to that historic location. Time after time I pass up more remote, and even more productive waters for that simple slice of concrete heaven.
Sometimes I catch fish, and sometimes I don’t.
Sometimes I enjoy the company of others, and sometimes I’m alone.
No matter the night, I always get the chance to sort out the day’s events and clear my head. Looking back at all of the curve balls life has thrown at me lately, I hold tightly to this welcome getaway. All the trials and tribulations, mixed with great success and the pride the comes from overcoming and accomplishing life goals, has left me with mixed feelings lately. Surely a post-college phase that many experience, right? But even as I move on to bigger and better things; a steady career and perhaps a family someday, I know deep down places like that bridge will never lose their undeniable grasp that firmly grips my soul.
When all is said and done, It is plain to see that sometimes, what I seek when fly fishing really has very little to do with the fish at all..
-Ben
Old School
- Just a little feel good music to kick start a hectic week!
Lots of new updates this week, hold on to your hats!
-Ben
"All The Best"
- All the best.
Words I needed to hear. But what makes those words so special is who they come from. Lefty Kreh is a legend in every sense of the word, and this weekend I finally had the pleasure of shaking his hand and introducing myself for the first time. He asked about Up’North and sounded interested, and I knew right away he was genuine. The chat was brief, but i’ll never forget it. Lefty is a stand up guy because he has passion. Passion for fly fishing, and a special passion for life. He understands that the best thing about his passion is that he can share it with others, and he does it was an elegance and class unmatched by anyone I have ever met. His stories are timeless (and hilarious) and his knowledge of everything fly fishing related is truly remarkable. It was a dream come true to meet Mr. Kreh at L.L.Bean this weekend, and I’ll never forget the experience. A picture says a thousand words, but these pictures don’t need words to send a message.
I haven't smiled like this since I caught that big ol' landlocked salmon with dad last Spring. Only fly fishing produces these special moments. Moments I'll cherish forever.
"Mr. Kreh, how old where you when you started fly fishing?" This is what it's all about.
Yes Mr. Kreh, All The Best indeed. I would like to thank Mr. Mac Mckeever and the rest of the L.L.Bean crew for holding such a spectacular event this weekend. It really was off the charts incredible. A full review of the weekend’s festivities will be up in a few days, along with a few surprises from Mr. Mike Martinek Jr. himself! Stay tuned.
All The Best from beautiful Northern Maine,
-Ben
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New Chapter
- A harsh reality of this world met me head on in the wee hours of Sunday morning. Perfection is a myth, and one that captivates those around us all too frequently. But realizing this today serves me as a blessing, not a curse. A chance to learn one of life’s valuable lessons, and a chance to grow bold and prosper from all of the riches this world has to offer. Confused? You probably should be. Just take my words to heart and sit tight.
I started this blog on a whim, one Sunday afternoon when I should have been doing homework. My blood, sweet and tears have gone into it’s creation, from nothing to something in what feels like overnight. What others see as a simple hobby is actually a passion, matched in intensity only by my constant need to be out on the water. I’m proud of what Up’North has become, and I honestly feel that if read closely enough, the story of my life can be found in each article, page, or passing blurb.When I say I appreciate the support, know that it goes far beyond this small town website. I’ve made it a point in my life to work tirelessly for everything I want. I’m a strong believer that there is no such thing as failure, just an alternate way of doing things that no one had discovered yet. In the coming months on Up’North I hope to break the mold, moving away from the traditional bounds of fly fishing media and paving my own way.
Be calm, you can still expect all of the same content you’ve grown accustomed to. Think of the new content as a welcomed addition to an already amazing, truly spectacular, out of this world entertaining blog. So what is this special new content you ask? Time will most certainly tell.
Stay tuned for….
- An update to Up’North’s 1st (and wildly popular) contest
- New additions to the photography page
- First impressions on some new rods, reels, and gear for 2010
- The 2010 LLBean Spring Fishing Expo
- and much, much more.
I need an outlet bad these days, and this is it. Back and better than ever, the Up’North re-up is coming soon to a computer near you.
-Ben
Catching Up…(And giving things Away)
- I must say, I’ve been a little lost in the sauce over the past few months.
Between learning civics, teaching civics, then correcting tests, papers, and homework about civics, fly fishing has taking a seat in the back of the crowded movie theater that is my life. With another 7 weeks of student teaching around the corner, it would be unwise to say that things are going to change in the coming months. But I can promise you all one thing:
I’LL MAKE A DAMN GOOD EFFORT!
Fly fishing is my passion, and a love this deep does NOT simply fade away. Mixed within the hundreds of papers I grade one is sure to find a stray Eastern Fly Fishing magazine, or the latest product catalog from The Fly Shop. My wool coat occasionally sports a rouge hackle from a fly tying session, and at least twice a week my students sit puzzled when I use phrases like “double haul” or “brookie.”
My point is, just because I can’t TEACH fly fishing to a bunch of Civics students, does NOT mean it isn’t part of who I am. For me, reading blogs, looking at pictures, and browsing online fly fishing stores is a regular part of the day, just like taking a shower or putting on socks. Some people fish for fun-I fish because if I didn’t, I’m not sure what else I would do with all of my free time. Maybe I’m obsessed, I’d like to think I’m just finding a productive, healthy way to fill my time.
Too few young people these days have no real substance in their lives, trust me-I know. Between sleeping in class and playing video games all night, what was once a rich American culture has all but receded back into the depths of nothingness. These same students, and many others always seem to ask a similar question:
“Don’t you get bored from fishing all the time?”
I could answer that question simply with a resounding NO, but why stop at one word when the actuality of the question begs a stronger answer? I don’t get bored of fly fishing because for me, fly fishing is so much more than those who have never done it can ever comprehend.
- It’s catching big fish, little fish, and logs/weeds/rocks that you THINK are fish.
- It’s throwin’ back a few cold ones with your friends and reminiscing about life, pretty women, nights you can’t remember, and time’s you’ll never forget.
- It’s a country guitar chorus and a harmonica under the stars when someone gets a hankerin’ for “Family Tradition.”
- It’s driving/flying/walking to some of the most remote places in the world, and fishing some of the most beautiful rivers, ponds, and lakes that FEW will ever get to see.
- It’s eating camp stove hot dogs and drinking black coffee on a river bank for lunch, or dozing off against a tree when the fish aren’t biting.
- It’s tying 20 identical flies during the winter of 40 different patterns, when you know you probably won’t touch half of them.
- It’s counting down the minutes until open day, and taking off work to fish as much as you can during the final week.
- It’s teaching new people to cast, then laughing when they forget their anniversary because they were fishing a Spring salmon run.
- and it’s a Labrador Retriever sitting patiently in the bow of the canoe, waiting for attention, but never complaining if your having an off day.
The list could go on and on, but you get the picture. Fly fishing is a lifestyle, not simply a hobby I partake in to pass the time. It’s as timeless as it is relaxing, and I simply can’t get enough. So in this message begs a question:
What does fly fishing mean to you?
Answer the question in a paragraph, list, or submit a picture with a description. Creativity is key! I’ll pick my three favorite responses and put names into a hat. The name I draw will receive a large Up’North Decal and 10 streamers just in time for Spring, including the Black Ghost Marabou, Alexandra, and a few different versions of the Maple Syrup!
Leave you submission in the comments section of this post. If it includes pictures or is simply too long, email it to maineflyboi@maineflycastings.com! (Please type “emailed” in the comments section.) The finalists will all have their responses posted before the winner is announced!
PRIZE UPDATE: The bounty is growing!
- Up’North Fly Selection
- Up’North Decal
- Roughfisher.com decals
- LLBean was generous enough to donate a brand new 5wt travel rod for the lucky winner!
So, What does fly fishing mean to you? I can’t wait to find out!
-Ben
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