Wading Through A Fishing Adventure

By Tom Remington

It was late when we left Bethel, Maine and headed for Baxter State Park. There were several others in our party who had gone ahead of us and would have camp set up long before darkness would set in. Wayne and I were doing the good family thing that all parents should do; we attended our daughters dance recital on Friday evening. We had our gear packed and as soon as the party was over, we headed north. It would be about 4 hours before we arrived at the campsite.

The campground was actually outside the State Park and was privately owned but the only way in that hour of the day would have to be the main entrance. The party going in ahead of us was supposed to notify the Ranger on duty that we would be arriving around midnight; that didn’t happen. He was quite angered at us when we woke him up and we came quite close to sleeping outside the Park that night but with some convincing, he let us in.

The Nesowadnehunk Wilderness Campground was a welcome sight when we finally arrived and it didn’t take us long to roll out our sleeping bags and get some sleep. We knew that everyone would be up before dawn to head out fishing and if you’ve never been in Maine in June, the sun rises early; about 4:30.

We had a remarkable group! There was enough entertainment in that sampling of characters to occupy anybody for hours. The fishing was also pretty good. Every morning we were up well before the crack of dawn and headed up the lake for the early morning fishing. We would return around mid-morning and eat more food for breakfast than anyone should and more that likely take a long nap after breakfast had settled a bit. By around 3 pm, we were headed back up the lake to fish until dark.

While we were there, a weather front moved quickly through the region and in its wake left some very strong northwest winds; enough to prohibit us from using any boats to navigate the length of the water to reach good fishing locals. We of course were itching to go fishing. That’s why we drove all the way up there.

We dug out some topographical maps that someone had had enough foresight to pack in their gear and began scouring the terrain looking for some place to go fishing that would be out of the wind. We located a stream that we guessed might be a good place to try some brook fishing. We decided that a couple of us would start at one area near the road and fish downstream while two others began where the stream crossed the road again and fish upstream and we would meet each other.

Not knowing what any of us were up against, Gregg Inman and I borrowed somebody else’s chest waders so that we could wade right down the stream and go wherever we wanted. Over the years that I have used waders for fishing, whether they be hip or chest waders, I have learned that the person who designed and manufactured them must have been considerably overweight. You could easily fit one or two extra people inside any chest waders that I have ever used and these borrowed ones were no exception. To make things even more interesting, I think these particular wader we a size 12 and I wear a 9. I could have sealed the opening and with a little hot air could have become the Goodyear blimp.

Gregg and I were dropped at the upstream local. We made sure we had enough flies and any other items we deemed necessary and set out determined to have fresh native brook trout for supper. It didn’t take us very long to realize the chest waders were not necessary. As a matter of fact, we probably could have fared just fine with sneakers.

We had calculated (I say we because if I had been the sole person to have made this calculation, I probably would be dead right now and not able to write this story) that the distance down Trout Stream to where it crossed the road would take perhaps 2-3 hours. We fished along at a leisurely pace but the waters were not producing. Without actually communicating our intentions to each other, we picked up our pace working our way downstream hoping to find a deep hole or anything that might produce a trout. About all that was being produced was some sweat and a few bites from the mosquitoes and black flies.

After a while, Gregg and I began to make comments like, “I bet around this next bend there will be a nice fishing hole” or “We should be running into the others soon”. Neither one of those things happened. As a matter of fact, we were beginning to wonder where we were in relation to the road and just how far it was until we would meet up with the others or come out at the other end.

I was getting tired. Walking over the rocks and slipping and sliding around with over-sized chest waders on, was taking its toll on me. Time was slipping by and it was now getting to the point where we figured we had better just get out of the woods. Our intentions were to be back at camp, have an earlier supper and head back up on Big Nesowadnehunk Lake fishing; assuming of course that the wind was going to die down.

We took a vote! After some logical reasoning and memory recall about what the map looked like that we had studied hours before, we decided that the quickest way out of the woods was to head directly west; that was the direction the road was in. How far could it be?

Let me first finish painting the picture for you before we head out bushwhacking the northern Maine forest. I am 5’9” tall and you already know I am wearing chest waders that are three sizes too big. I am tired from the scrambling over the rocks over the past 4-5 hours. Gregg is about 6’2” or 3” (three if you want to make the story even better) and I assume he is as tired as I am. We have both conjured up in our minds that it will take about 5 minutes through the woods to reach the main road.

Growing up in Maine and spending a lot of time in the woods, there is a lot to be learned. I am forever grateful for the education my father gave me about the outdoors. Most of the forest lands in and around Maine have been logged and/or were old farmlands. Many of the parcels of land were marked with stone walls or barbed wire fences. If you get lost or turned around in the woods, most of the time you can find an old road or a fence or stone wall and follow to get out.

Most of Baxter State Park has been park for a long time and a lot of it has never seen a chain saw or a skidder; probably never seen a horse either. The area we were in was no exception to that and it was full of blow-downs. I soon learned why God gave moose long legs. Gregg’s long legs afforded him the ability to step over a lot of trees I had to either go around or under.

We were both sweating profusely and I was beginning to get blisters on my feet from the combination of sweat and the constant rubbing inside of the too big boots. I seriously contemplated taking the boots off and making the best of it in my stocking feet but decided that probably wouldn’t be a good idea.

Thirty minutes into our “5 minute” hike out of the woods, we realized that a mountain stood between us and the road. Again we debated what to do and agreed that the best way out was a straight line even if that meant climbing a small mountain. After all, how far on the other side could the road be? In waders and extremely tired, the hike up the mountain was difficult and we had to stop often for a rest and try to drop our rising body temperature. It seemed that the onslaught of blown down trees was relentless but with real persistence we reached the top of the mountain and headed down the backside hoping the road would pop into view at any moment.

The walking seemed easier going downhill and maybe simply because we were going downhill, there also seemed to be fewer blow-downs to maneuver around. We reached a point where we both were discouraged and I think in both of our minds, although we didn’t discuss it, were wondering if we were going to come out at all. We stopped for another rest and we both decided to shed the chest waders. We agreed that we didn’t think our feet could get any sorer than they were.

It was a real welcomed treat to get rid of the waders. My body temperature dropped rapidly and walking seemed very easy. Soon, we heard a vehicle in the distance and before long we were out standing beside the road. As luck would have it, one of the members of our group came by and picked us up.

Once we got back to camp and began rethinking everything and re-studying the maps, we determined that we had seriously misjudged the distance and the time it would take. This was one of those experiences that one is never totally proud of but one that makes us stronger and wiser people. I am fortunate to have not been alone that day. Being with Gregg made it that much more tolerable mainly because of his cool head and great sense of humor.

By Thomas K. Remington