Ó Ed Mitchell 2003

    On the far shore, the silhouette of a mountain walled in the horizon, while below it Moosehead Lake shimmered in the last light of day. Slowly the sky ebbed into indigo; stars began to emerge. One by one they arced high over the pines, as loons called from the growing darkness, their cries echoing down the enormous lake. No doubt about it, the North Country works its way into your soul.

    After walking back inside the cabin, I poured two whiskies. Handing one to my friend Phil, we saluted Moosehead and it beautiful adjoining woods and waters. And then settled in to prepare our tackle for the following day. I had been looking forward to this adventure for some time. Truth is this particular trip had been a very long time in the making. Some twenty plus years back I had attended a lecture given by the late Paul Kukonen. Master storyteller, fly tier and angling cinematographer, Paul was once a regular on the club lecture circuit. During this particular talk, Paul showed a film about a fabulous little stream in Maine, a spot where big brookies and landlocked salmon abound. And as the 16mm projector revolved in the center aisle, we all watch in awe as fish danced across the screen. I never forgot it. Right then and there I made myself a promise that someday I would fish there, in a river called the Roach.

    The Roach originates at the outlet of First Roach Lake in the tiny town of Kokadjo, perched on the east side of Moosehead, about twenty miles north of Greenville. From the outlet, the river roams westward some six miles, winding through wild country toward Moosehead’s Spencer Bay. It’s not a big river. For most of its journey the Roach is rarely more than thirty feet across. So it is well suited to fly rod. And hemmed by thick forest, you’ll quickly feel at home here. By nature the river is rocky and mainly riffles and runs. Yes, there are pools too. Still, they are precious few and far between. So you had best be prepared to hike if you’re going to ever find them.

Despite its diminutive size, the Roach plays a big role. Paul Johnson, Regional Fisheries Biologist in the Moosehead Lake area, puts it this way. "The Roach is a principal spawning tributary for Moosehead’s wild salmon and brook trout. Moreover it provides a critical nursery for the salmon during the first two years of the lives. Consequently the state’s main management objective here is to protect that spawning and nursery habitat, and to enhance the success of natural reproduction that occurs there." I was pleased to hear it and pleased to see that things are in place to protect these waters for years to come. Maine’s Inland Fisheries and Wildlife own the riparian rights, and as a result the land on either side of the river remains undeveloped. Moreover the Roach is fly–fishing only, and strictly catch and release. Sanity rules.

    The following morning breakfast came early and we jumped in the truck as the first light of day filtered through the trees. With coffee sloshing over the console, we made a beeline for Kokadjo, some ten miles north. We had arrived in the Moosehead area late the day before, with just enough time to fish the outlet for an hour. Right off the bat Phil nailed a nice salmon. So the pool below the dam was on our to-do list for sure. Still we both hoped to learn a great deal more about this Roach before this day was done.

    Just outside Kokadjo, a brown sign bearing the words "Roach River" peered from the woods, and alongside we spied an access road. Time to explore. Dropping the Jeep into 4-wheel, we headed down the dirt. A short way in the road ended by an angler’s survey box, and to the right a narrow path snaked off into the woods. After suiting up we hit the trail. Thickly overgrown in spots, the trail turned out to be a deer run more than anything else. Several times it branched, and each time we sought the most well worn path. Besides the dense cover, there were deadfalls to cross as well, so we were being careful not to break a rod tip. And there was more to think about too. We had already seen a moose this morning, out by the main road, so we were keeping an eye out for more of those massive creatures, and yes, this is black bear country too.

    After bushwhacking to the river, we were greeted by cobalt skies, and crisp Canadian air, both of which would accompany us all morning. At first we opted to work downstream. And the farther we went the more solitude surrounded us. Each successive turn in the river added another layer to our seclusion. It soon became clear, however, that much of the river was shallow and there were few if any good spots for fish to hold in any number. We both knew that Maine had been experiencing a summer long drought, so we weren’t totally surprised to see low water. Fact is, on the long drive to Moosehead we had our fingers crossed that there would be enough flow for fish to enter the stream.

    Thankfully a few days before we arrived, Maine Inland Fisheries and Wildlife had released some water from First Roach Pond in order to give Nature a hand, spurring spawning fish to run up from the lake. So the river had risen a bit in the last 48 hours and conditions were improving. Still it looked like we had to find the deeper pools and runs if we were going to find the fish. So with that in mind Phil pushed on downstream, eventually disappearing around a bend. While I doubled back and went upstream to check out a pool I had seen when we first got in.

    It took me a while to reach the pool, but once there my attention was drawn to a deep lane of fast moving water up at the head. It was a prime location if ever there was one. Wading up, I came to a stony shoal that put me in perfect position to prospect with a team of nymphs. After a few exploratory passes, my line stopped in midstream. Swiftly lifting the rod, I was met with a strong throbbing tug. Instantly a landlock launched itself down the pool in a several of vaulting somersaults. After the aerials, the fish switched gears and fought deep. Gradually things went my way, and I was able to gain enough line to lead the fish to shore. Silver, and stocky, it taped out at an honest eighteen inches.

    My nymphs were rigged in a simple system that has served me well over the years. It consists of a large weighted nymph and a smaller fly tied off the bend of the bigger fly on two feet of 5x. On the Roach I picked a black bead-head stonefly in size 6# and a 14# bead-head pheasant tail. At times I used a strike indicator and other times I went without. Both ways worked.

    Some Roach regulars rely on large dries. Best I could tell they were Wulffs in size 8#. As you would think these huge floaters aren’t intended to imitate anything in particular. In fact the only hatch we saw on the Roach was small cream caddis, in size 18. Nevertheless we’re told these "big boy" dries provoke some spectacular strikes. Time-honored streamer patterns, such as the venerable black ghost, are north woods favorite too and fill many a fly box. The Woolly bugger is another "must have" fly, although that should come as no surprise. They work wherever you go.

    As the day worn Phil and I caught more wild salmon and a few wild brookies as well. The landlocked salmon were all fat and feisty, averaging around fifteen inches. Fantastic fly rod fish by any account. The brookies were smaller, frequently in the ten-inch range, although Phil lost a beast that would have likely gone three pounds. Still there are beautifully marked fish. But the tranquility of the north woods was about to be broken, for this day was September 11, 2001. And late that afternoon we ran into angler, who told us of the horrific events in New York City. Stunned by the news, we packed up and hiked back to the truck, and then hit the road home the following morning. But I know that some day, some way the two of us will return to the Roach.

The End

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