A Day of Smallmouth Bass fishing in Maine
We drove over from Lincolnville in the early afternoon to Weatherby’s Fishing Lodge in Maine, the air crisp and fresh with a hint of pine. We settled into our rustic log cabin with a fireplace and moose antlers mounted on the door. We had come up to target smallmouth bass in Big Lake. That afternoon we took a walk by the river and Gretchen played with the lodge owner’s litter of English Cockers. That evening we had a superb diner with peach cobbler and ice cream for dessert. After dinner I built a fire in the fireplace, and we sat in rocking chairs with David and Mindi and had a cocktail.
The next morning, we met our guide, Bryan, a local expert with a thick beard and an easy smile. He welcomed us with enthusiasm and led us to an 18-foot flat-bottomed canoe equipped with a small outboard motor. As we settled in, I couldn’t help but admire the serenity of the lake, its glassy surface reflecting the early morning sky.
With Bryan at the helm, we glided across the water, the gentle hum of the motor melding with the sounds of nature awakening around us. I took my position at the bow, casting my line into the shimmering water while Gretchen, ever the patient angler, prepared her spinning setup. The thrill of the chase was palpable, and I felt a familiar rush as I flicked my wrist, sending my fly dancing across the surface.
The smallmouth bass were active that day, and it wasn’t long before I felt a tug on my line. I set the hook, and the fight was on. It was exhilarating, the fish darting beneath the boat, and soon enough, I pulled in a nice-sized bass, its scales glinting in the sunlight. Gretchen cheered, her own rod bending as she hooked into a feisty pickerel moments later. We exchanged playful banter, each of us trying to outdo the other in our catches.
As the morning wore on, we accumulated an impressive haul of smallmouth bass, pickerel, and perch. The thrill of fishing was only matched by the joy of sharing the experience with Gretchen. We laughed and reminisced about previous trips, our bond deepening with every cast and catch.
At noon, we found a picturesque spot along the shore for lunch, the air filled with the scent of pine and the distant sound of waves lapping against the rocks. David and Mindi, our friends who were fishing with another guide, Bill, joined us. The camaraderie of shared meals is something special, and Bryan and Bill took charge of the grill, cooking up a feast that would make any outdoor enthusiast's mouth water.
He served up perfectly seared steak, juicy chicken, fried eggs, and crispy bacon, all cooked over an open fire. But it was his camp guide coffee that truly stood out—made with whole eggs, shells and all. I watched as he cracked the eggs into the pot, the shells floating on top, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. It seemed unconventional, but when I took a sip, I was surprised by the rich, earthy flavor. It was the kind of coffee that would wake you up and keep you alert for the rest of the day.
As we enjoyed our meal together, the laughter and stories flowed as freely as the coffee. We shared our fishing triumphs and mishaps, the sun warming our faces as we basked in the beauty of the moment.
After lunch, we returned to our fishing spots, the afternoon sun shimmering on the lake’s surface. With each cast, I felt a profound sense of gratitude for these experiences—being out on the water, the thrill of the catch, and the company of my Gretchen and our dear friends.
As the day drew to a close and the sun began to dip below the horizon, I felt a sense of contentment wash over me. We had caught fish, shared laughter, and created memories that would last a lifetime. It was more than just a fishing trip; it was a reminder of the simple joys in life and the bonds that tie us together
