Free Flowing Lies, Rhyme & Reprise
Photography by Benjamin Rioux
Early to bed and early to rise
Sipping hot coffee and making up lies
Writing raw feelings, rhyme and reprise
I’ll paint glowing pictures like rich autumn skies.
Unwind and unravel that picturesque dream
A thousand small wishes that glimmer and gleam
Outstretched like a swift flowing freshwater stream
The simplistic chaos of a more complex scheme.
Swift and unchallenged yet brazen and bold
Each jagged bend a new story is told
Rushing so freely, a sight to behold
Staying on course but still breaking the mold
A timely new lesson to learn from the wise
An irony born right in front of your eyes
It may seem to some, such a pleasant surprise
That such beauty can come, from making up lies.
A poetic mess full of rhyme and reprise,
With a stream and a dream under colorful skies
From an author, who wrote this, I’ll have you realize
After one cup of coffee, and a handful of tries.
Catch #20
Everyone knows that the big #21 is the number we all wait for, but I have a difficult time imagining that the fellas at Catch can top the photographic greatness that exists as issue #20. Highlights include a stunning feature on the color blue, another breathtaking collection of photos from Alaska (I can relate when it comes to all of those busted props), and a superb spread of British Columbia photos that will having you planning your next vacation, instead of finishing those quarterly reports. Now might be a good time to book a ticket for your boss!
So what are you waiting for? Click the cover and let the good times roll.
Click Me!
Tight Lines,
-Ben
Table Scraps
Photography by Benjamin Rioux
This is Neat…I mean Fly
The folks at This is Fly have outdone themselves again, publishing yet another unbelievably print-worthy (although free is nice) product that simply swells with original content, including superb photography, tying tutorials, and much more! And just when you thought all of this new found greatness was too much to handle, they throw in a fresh new lid to keep your dome-piece warm in the crisp autumn air. Can you say swell? Just did.
Click Me!
Less False Casting
- Today I finally dusted off the fly rods and went fishing. It wasn’t a long trip by any measurement, but to say it was needed would be the understatement of the century. With only a few hours of daylight left to burn, I spent some time casting off the cobwebs and dragging on a cigar as the pond mirrored the autumn sky. The theme of the day was simplicity, and I feel like my late afternoon adventure captured that perfectly.
Nature's Mirror
No fish to speak of on this trip, at least not on the end of my line. (Here come the excuses) Typically this late in the season finds me more researched and organized, but this whole “real life” routine I’ve found myself in these past few months hasn’t left me with a ton of time for trial and error. I always have a special selection of flies for Soldier Pond….this year, not so much. I ate through my leader tying on a buffet of streamers, wets, and dry flies, getting only a few nasty flashes for my troubles. I guess it’s true what they say about getting back what you put in.
Like most return trips after a long absence on the water, my first dozen casts were anything but elegant. Throwing line off a bridge is a different game in itself, so some minor adjustments were inevitable. The one problem I’ve identified time and time again with my casting technique is with the number of times I tend to false cast. It’s almost as if I feel the need to adjust and readjust my stroke, which only compounds any errors resulting in a lackluster cast when I finally do shoot the line. I began limiting myself to no more than two or three false casts and saw immediate results in both distance and accuracy.
Thats when I started thinking about the concept false casting more than I probably should have. By now most of you non-fly fishing types are probably completely lost, but I’m pleased you’ve read this far regardless. False casts are the casts you make with a fly rod before eventually releasing line onto the water. A few false casts are almost always necessary for loading the fly rod and making lengthy casts, but how many largely depends on your technique and skill level. When I found that only a couple well executed false casts made my presentation more accurate and gave it more distance, I started to think about how I might apply my false casting theory to daily life. Less is more?
The great thing about practicing your cast is knowing that no matter how proficient you become, there is always room for improvement. Small, subtle changes can result in significant improvements, and improvements are all you can ever hope for. Practice doesn’t make perfect in fly casting, because new advancements in gear force you to continuously adjust. You get older, stronger, weaker, and are sometimes forced to adapt when conditions change or new waters present unique challenges. I’d like to think I can approach life in the same fashion, making minor adjustments while avoiding situations that might result in wasted time or energy. In short, less worrying about the minor details, and more focus on the bigger picture.
Less focus on the false cast, more on the final presentation. Sounds like a plan.
-Ben
With a Fox
The latest issue of Catch has been out for a little while now…I knew….and forgot to tell you….and for that, I apologize. It was wrong of me to keep it a secret, because it really is truly exceptional. After this issue dropped, Shauna Stephenson instantly became one of my favorite freelance photographers; and floating through Alaska found it’s way back into my dreams. Read it at home, read it at work, read it in a box, read it with a fox, read it in a house, read it with a mouse…well, you get it. Click the cover below and let the magic flow.
Click Me!
Lesson Learned
- Americans don’t need to be told why today is important, it’s not something we struggle to remember. We don’t need reminders about the cost of freedom, or the countless sacrifices of so many who’ve put country first on the front lines. We don’t need lessons on how to be American, we tow the line every day.
The freedom I enjoy.
A day that needs no year to be instantly recognized, the 10th anniversary of September 11 means many different things to many different people. After a sunrise coffee and morning mass with the family, I spent most of this bluebird day watching football and pouring myself over lesson plans for the upcoming week. This planning session took on new meaning, as I found myself struggling with an unexpected question; How do I teach my students about 9/11 when they have little to no personal memories of the attacks themselves? For my generation, it can be almost haunting to recollect the hour-by-hour events that unfolded before us on that faithful day. Personally, I can’t help but feel so utterly selfish when I think about how insignificant my problems seem when placed next to the hardships of those who have lost and given so much. If 9/11 has taught me anything, it’s that time is precious and tomorrow is always a new day. Looking back on those events now should only provide the necessary strength and courage to look ahead, and a sense of pride that comes exclusively with being an American. United we stand, defiant and bold in the face of faceless enemies.
This week I finally get to step away and visit some of my favorite fishing holes, but I do so knowing that across the world there are thousands fighting for my freedom to get out on the water. This may be a “day of remembrance,” but most American’s have remembered, and will continue to remember those lost on that day ten years ago for the rest of their lives. My students may not have vivid memories of their own, but they can all personally relate to the pride that comes with being an American citizen.
My only issue now? Americans are born with that pride, it’s not something they need to be taught.
…Square one. God Bless!
-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
Assembling an Army: Fall Colors
- Fall colors for Fall fly fishing, say howdy to the ladies of Autumn! This simple, stripped down “Ghost” pattern is a go-to for me in a variety of conditions, but Fall typically finds these favorites at the front of my box. Make no mistake, these babies work wonders under the right conditions. Simply find the color your trout fancy and pound the banks. Floating line with a light leader-tippet setup is typically my winning combination, but feel free to experiment based on your home conditions!
It really can be that simple, trust me.
Army of Ghosts
Tight lines and happy September!
-Ben
When Old means New
- The last time I could call Fort Kent home and actually mean it was early September, 2006. That was the year I left the Saint John Valley for the first time in my life, before this website was ever a thought. 5 years, 3 cities, dozens of fly rods, and 2 Bachelor Degrees later, it seems this lost dog has finally found his way home.
More than half of Fort Kent still thinks i’m only home for an extended vacation, which I can certainly understand. Moving from Portland to northern Maine on just two days notice hasn’t left a ton of time for reflection or questions. Two weeks into my first full-time teaching job, I still can’t believe how quickly my life has changed. A few key, calculated decisions have planted my feet firmly in native soil, and with a little luck my time as a County boy “transplant” in various parts of Maine has finally come to an end. New memories, new career, and a new chapter. It’s hard to believe that all of my hard work has finally paid off, and I can say with confidence that even in the utter chaos and confusion that comes with being a first year teacher, it was worth every headache and hardship. The late night study sessions, missed fishing trips, and time away from home were all necessary sacrifices, and those sacrifices are without a doubt what having me sitting here today.
As I continue to make adjustments and get comfortable, things will gradually pick up around these parts and the content will start to flow at a more regular pace. Some extremely exciting times are ahead, including a foliage and fly fishing filled September, and my first full hunting season in nearly five years. More photos, new gear reviews (its a big list), trip reports, the return of the “Fly Box” page, and so much more!
So sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride. This is a new beginning, and things can only get better from here!
Tight Lines,
-Ben
Stalling
I know, I know. By now most of my regular readers are likely convinced that our planet’s earliest explorers were indeed correct: The earth is flat. While it may seem that way now, I promise you whole-heartedly that I have NOT fallen off the edge. There simple is no edge to fall from. Have no fear, your regularly scheduled programing will resume shortly. Until then, did you forget that the Maine moose hunt is right around the corner?
“Simple” B&W
A little photographic love to show that I’m still alive and very much kickin’. It’s been a slow process changing gears back here in the County. Hold tight for some big news, exciting new ventures, and a few fancy changes.
Big Brook Trout are Fly
The latest installment of This is Fly has a great feature on big brookies. Beautiful pictures, as usual. A section all about big brook trout. Species Galore. GIANT BROOK TROUT. Really swell gear features. Did I mention they have a great story and some stunning pictures of brook trout? Stunning.
Do yourself a favor and waste some time at work with the latest issue of This is Fly.
Click Me!
Giant Brook Trout,
-Ben
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
~DayDreams~
This little number has been in the works for nearly two weeks, which says a ton about my attention span. I finally managed to piece together something worth reading (I hope) in the wee hours of yesterday morning. I hope you enjoy it!
Photo by Alex Mitchell-Up'North Maine Fly Castings 2011
Let’s pretend for a moment, that this world disappears.
No more fun, no more fish, no more beers, not more cheers.
Wouldn’t that serve as the sum of all fears?
Maybe then we’d step back, reassess, and change gears.
What if one morning, maybe even today,
Birds didn’t sing, and the sky remained grey.
The sun never rose,
And the wind had no say,
In the way the trees swayed, or the leaves fell away.
And in that still moment,
When we’re searching for truth,
Would we look to our neighbors to help us get through?
Would we look to our families, our friends from the past?
Or just stand there and wonder how long it might last.
I’d like to think that I’d wipe the slate clean
Step back to what matters,
Erase the obscene.
Look down at the water, as it glimmers and gleams
And slip into a world where fish fill the streams.
Maybe it’s not quite as hard as it seems,
To live your real life, based on scenes from your dreams
I.
- My mind has to be in the right place to write, whether its poetry, short stories, and even daily accounts on the water. I feel like this applies to all people, so I’ve never been one to immerse myself in guilt of grief over the fact that I can’t bang out gems on a daily basis. I started Up’North as a side project that would allow me to focus on my passion for fly fishing, photography, and of course-writing. It’s funny how one’s initial intentions always seem to take on a different shape over time. Graduation comes and goes, career opportunities present themselves, and that focus you were so sure about before becomes blurry and requires adjustments.
Consider this the first adjustment.
The fishing hasn’t changed in northern Maine, neither have the fishermen or the tall tales they always seem to tell. Early Spring is always money for salmon, brook trout always dive hard after the take, and the spots that don’t look at all productive are usually the ones that produce the best fish. My departure from northern Maine in May is one that I’ve taken unbelievably hard, even if I rarely show it. Beyond fly fishing, I long for the comforts of home just as much as the next guy. As a result, my time north is typically reserved for holidays and special occasions, most of which don’t leave much, if any room to wet a line.
Because of this, many have questioned my passion in recent months. I can’t say I blame them, people thrive on routine and grow stressed when popular trends are diminished. With so much going on, I simply have less to write about. I take less pictures, I test less products, and I have trouble finding time to take even day trips. But my first question for everyone remains consistent; how would you define passion? I get various answers, and nearly all of them are unique to the person depending on careers, families, and location. For me, passion means soaking up every special moment when I finally do find myself on the water. It means spending less time worrying about documenting every fishing hole, and more time basking in the simple elegance of a northern sunset, or the flowing conversation of a fireside chat. It means taking chances, making choices, and standing by them proudly even when others feel the need to criticize. I fish for myself, no one else.
I am extremely proud of my accomplishments, in fishing and beyond. I lifted Up’North from a cookie cutter template with recycled materials, and transformed it to something original and fun that people enjoy from Maine to Russia to New Zealand and back again. So what if I post less, fail to review your favorite insect-repellant t-shirt, or spend more time behind the camera than I do holding the fish. Up’North is me, and as long as I keep changing, you can rest assure that it will follow suit. Don’t like my perspective? Start you own blog, write your own materials, build your own networks, and find your own niche.
The next three months could go a number of different ways for me, and I couldn’t be more excited about how open ended everything is looking at the moment. I could stay in Portland, I could move to an even larger city, or I could find myself back in the familiar comforts of Fort Kent surrounded by family and friends. I might not update daily, but I’ll never let it die. So don’t form any expectations, just check back often and I’ll do my best to keep you entertained and informed with as much original content and nonsense as possible.
The only approval I need is my own, so that might explain why I don’t answer any hateful emails about “bad” reviews, or why I don’t cover bass fishing in southern Maine with the same level of “enthusiasm” as trout fishing in the North. My passion for fly fishing, like life, is real at an unimaginable level. Thanks for playing.
-Ben
Catch Magazine #18
Is it any surprise that any and all pictures of fly fishing for Muskie are instant favorites, regardless of the magazine they appear in? Take some time out of your busy day and check out the latest issue of Catch. Arguably the best one to date!
Click to Read!
Detonation Studios
Great looking stuff from Ian Majszak and the rest of the Montana crew at Detonation Studios!
This Is (Indeed) Fly
The fellas at This Is Fly continue to impress! Immerse yourself in this monstrous collection of fly fishing greatness (and relax with this months playlist) while I revamp and come at you live on Sunday with fresh photos, fresh color schemes and banners, and some interesting happenings from the new base in southern Maine.
Click me to read me, you know that you need me!
Hasta Luego!
Ben’icillin.
Nom Nom
Brother Zach recently hooked up with a few frying pan worthy hogs during the early season salmon run. Spring river trips in northern Maine can be about as miserable as miserable gets, but fighting the good fight often has outstanding rewards. Battling through blistering winds, sleet, and snow, brother Zach found plenty to smile about during an early April river trip. Grin brother Zach, grin.
@nbsp;
Recent Reader Comments