Eddington Pool: Maine Atlantic Salmon Fishing
Maine Atlantic Salmon, part I, click here
Eddington pool is the last pool before the salmon encounter a dam and cannot proceed upriver. As such it is a reliable place to fish, and as follows, it has numerous fishermen. Holding a limited public resource, Eddington was managed as a rotation pool. My book talked about rotation pools, into which a fisherman does not step until it is his turn, then follows the fisherman before him down the pool, staying a "fishing distance" apart.
Pulling in to the parking lot, mid-afternoon, I got an education in how a rotation pool actually works. A weathered rod rack with room for 20 rods sat near a bench, and a couple of guys fished down through the water. I rigged up, tied on my Cosseboom, put the rod in the rack, and sat on the bench.
Sitting for the first time on the bench was like going to a local's bar, where every head turns to watch you, but much easier. Return visits would prove that many of the men I saw that first day were regulars, devoted folk who loved the Penobscot and its returning fish.
Atlantic Salmon: Cast, Mend, Step…and Repeat
The rod rack dictates the order the fishermen take through the pool. Only after several visits did I realize the first guy through had typically slept in his car, heading down to fish only at official sunrise, which in early June, is 4:20 AM. The first fisherman moves through the pool with a leisurely cast, mend, and swing; then takes a step; and repeats the motion.
I got a lot of information that first day. Newcomers would be told the tally for the day, and I was all ears. The first guy through the pool had caught a fish, and a nice one, and there had been others rolled throughout the day. But, the first day I sat on the bench was considered a slow one. I was coached to cast, and mend to keep the line straight, and learned the mend was more important than the cast. The goal, they instructed, was to keep the fly, as it swung across the pool, moving the 'speed of a man walking.' It sounded easy, and I watched, and waited for my turn.
And I got a taste for why they enjoyed being there. Someone had a Dunkin Donuts coffee cup, and there was one fellow who always had a Milwaukee Best Light going, and the fish behaved like no other I'd encountered. Some would jump, clearing the water easily, and others would roll in such a way as to create dark depressions in the river. A fish showing itself repetitively would be considered 'hot,' and often the fisherman nearest it would try to dawdle to keep his fly near the fish. The gallery on the bench would object; the line of fishermen needs to advance. One would be dispatched to keep the offender moving. These were generous guys, but rules are rules.
The sun nearly set before my rod reached the front of the rod rack and I had a chance to fish. With a trout fishing background, I consider that part of the day special, but I fished down through the pool with nothing to show. Atlantic salmon fishing is very easy, being a cast, a mend, a swing, and a step, but dealing with all the rejection might be what makes it so darned tough. Salmon have been given the name the fish of a thousand casts: for each fish raised, the fisherman will supposedly have made a thousand casts. Something to ponder.
Eddington Pool: The Bench
I visited Eddington pool a few times that first year, and for the next few years. The best fishing, between high water and when the water temperature hits 70F and the fish sulk, is just a few weeks. Given the rotation and the numbers of fishermen, a lot of my memories of Atlantic salmon fishing are actually memories of sitting on the bench. The coffee cups became more understandable once I realized the truly devoted were sleeping in their cars to be first through the pool at dawn. The Milwaukee Best Light, I admit, I still don't understand.
As a younger fisherman, I was welcomed, but living in Portland Maine I was a bit of an outsider and unlikely to join one of the salmon clubs built along the banks of the river. There was a local teenager who showed up and was a real favorite. With so few opportunities to initiate the young into fishing for salmon, the traditions are being lost. The season, then, had been limited to catch and some had already given it up.
There was a doctor who came down from Montreal and cast with a spey rod. This was my first time seeing a spey rod, and handled well, it is beautiful to see. He put the fly further out than anyone else and had more rod to mend with. No surprise that he caught a few fish during his visit. Another gentleman had grown up in Bangor Maine, but lived on the west coast, and returned every year for a week to see family and fish for Atlantic salmon. There was a man who lacked a few fingers on his left hand and carried dog biscuits with him, even though he didn't have a dog. My dog followed him everywhere.
And Repeat….
Casting, mending and stepping grows routine. The way my body tingled in expectation the first day as I cast my through the pool faded, and I began to focus on presentation. Of course, I had no clue what would actually work, but tried to keep my fly just under the surface with a barely perceptible wake. I tried other parts of the river, and even the Sheepscot, once, but without the leaping and splashing of fish, lost faith. I traded off time on the water for the guarantee of casting over fish and returned to Eddington pool.
As a relative newbie, I always remarked on the fish jumping and rolling. I could again sit today by the Penobscot at the height of the run, coffee cup in hand, and be equally fascinated. One day, and I can't tell you how many times I'd been through the pool, I had a fish roll at my fly. I struck, much like a trout guy would, and missed the fish. The feeling was grief and disbelief. One of the regulars, a take-charge guy generally understood to be a bit grumpy, came over and loudly explained what I had done wrong. He explained some guys hold a small loop of line between the reel and the first guide to give to a fish which takes, but never, never strike. Then, more quietly, he asked what kind of fly I had on.
I developed a feel for how to fish for Atlantics, and the guys on the bench were nice and all, but I don't know if you ever get the sense you know what you're doing. There's so little feedback from the fish, and such a short season, that you go through the motions. I suppose this explains, in part, the tradition: if a certain technique worked once in a certain spot, maybe it would again. It's all very odd, though, to invest so much time into something and not even know if you're doing it correctly.
To continue reading Maine Atlantic Salmon by Dave Kesel:
Maine Atlantic Salmon, part III,
click here