As I crossed the river into New Hampshire, having successfully dodged a few moose on the way, the river reminded me of what is possible when you commit to honest improvement: a few rises broke the stillness, birds of prey flew overhead, kinglets whistled gently in the hemlocks. The river is resilient, if we acknowledge the impact of our past and prioritize a more thoughtful future. This section of water is less acidic, higher flowing, and more vibrant than the lower, proving to be more habitable by trout and salmon compared to bass, panfish and pike farther south. This section of water had me craving cast iron trout.
My friend Joe and I waded into the water as streaming sunlight began burning through the mist. Within 5 casts, an eager river chub accepted my fly. A run downstream held a few small and feisty rainbows — not native here but rather stocked through state fisheries management. A deeper pool was occupied by a dense dime of a landlocked Atlantic salmon which lived up to species signature jumping, shining bright each moment above the surface. Meeting this fish felt like a memory, or a feat of collective knowledge: gratefulness welled up within me in recognition of the decisions and actions I was fortunate enough to put-to-use, the borrowed tools and gear that put my directives into action with grace, and the many hours and relationships of humble learning leading up to it all. And recognizing my privilege of accessing this waterway, now healthy enough to support a fish like this after decades of harm (and continued in many ways) — it was a lot to take in. After quick conversation with Joe, we opted to release and seek more rainbows downriver for our menu dreams.
Fishing with the intent to harvest wasn’t much different than approaches for release, in all honesty. Despite the stereotypes of careless or heartless kill, somehow here we were, approaching each fish with care, attention, and awareness. Here in a healthy fishery, we were interacting as part of the surrounding ecosystem. We harvested two healthy rainbows, fat and bright. Situating myself and the fish over a flat river stone, my hands assumed movements of my mother over the sink years ago. I breathed in the warming air, listened to the flow of water, and made the initial cut from anal fin to gills. A swift movement removed entrails. An intact and inflated swim bladder so perfectly translucent brought back the feeling of awe I had at age 7, taking in the complexity and beauty of these fish. Joe and I marveled as the bladder suspended connected organs in the subtle flow of the riverside.
The trees along the Androscoggin could be described as eating the banks, at least that’s what I remember from introducing a Utah-based angler to Maine waterways at one point. The interconnectedness of each web of roots, mycelium of fungi, mossy undergrowth, and seasonal flora is undeniable when you get to know a place through observational forms of recreation. While placing a fly in a drift without drag and matching aquatic invertebrates is more frequently our reference for putting observations into our fishing actions, a walk along the riverbank offers all the more reminder: I scanned the mix of conifers and deciduous trees, looking for elevation changes and rock formations. Doing so brought Joe and I to coral mushrooms, boletes, and polypores.
We slowly meandered our way through the cushion of mossy undergrowth, inspecting stumps of trees long fallen, peeling bark of birches, deteriorating leaf litter for bumps of growth, hoping for fruiting fungi with every glance with similar reward schedule as a perfectly placed fly. The pace of movement is one I’ve grown into, having spent many fishing trips racing to the water, rushing through rod assembly, and shooting my fly onto the water’s surface without so much as a glance at the riverbank community of organisms. Foraging has been a welcome interruption to this urgency, borne through single-minded concepts of success, or what a fishing trip should look like. It leans into a need for deeper contextual understanding for the trails we tread, the spaces we visit, the air we breathe in. The expansive complexity we are met with can be overwhelming, but again by leveraging collective knowledge and grounding self in humble observation, we get the clues we need to reintroduce our presence as part of it all: the imperfect gills of chanterelles as a nod to their unique identification, the spikey underside of hedgehog caps as an exciting differentiation from similar formed boletes, the soft earth overtaken with black trumpets opening skyward while otherwise blending into their surroundings.
Joe and I exchanged excited yelps and curious inquiries with each find. With my knife in hand, I inspected promising specimens and gathered those confirmed to match identifiable edibles. We stashed finds in a cloth sling over my shoulder and found ourselves in a holding pattern: a few steps forward, a hopeful moment hunched over, a glance upward at surrounding trees, and if we were lucky, a few careful cuts before taking the next steps. Stomachs grumbled, and we shifted to prep. I whispered appreciation for the merciful rain that gave these hidden mycelia what they needed to show up and show out, the relationships held between root systems, the beauty of witnessing any manifestation of mushroom from just the right combination of conditions and my lucky course of movement through the woods.
Perched above the Andro now farther upriver into New Hampshire, I dumped out limited supplies from home and we made a plan: smoked and stuffed trout, skillet seasoned and browned hedgehogs, chanterelles, and black trumpets, crispy corals as garnish. Pre-made rice and a mix of scallions and kale brightened our spread, along with a bit of lemon, spices, and olive oil. The picnic table quickly filled with camp stoves, pans, and staging of mise en place. Gently wiping pine needles and dirt from stipes and caps, our finds were processed and fire stoked. While the whole trout slowly cooked with herbs and spices filling from each body cavity, Joe and I took turns searing bits of mushroom and frequently taste testing. We couldn’t help smiling. I watched Joe take bites and establish a sense of differentiation between how each type of mushroom tasted, finding favorites, and stealing second samples.
It’s a rare delight to come off the water to more than a granola bar — and even more incredible to have a full meal sourced from the woods and waters you’ve gotten to know over the course of a day. Granted, it felt like I’d been getting to know the Andro since I was a kid, and I will never be done building my relationship with this ecosystem.
FISH AND FORAGE PERFECT SETUP
When fishing is but one piece of a day's adventure in search of a harvested meal, it doesn't hurt to have a tool and technique that gives you the best chance at success. Paired with the ESN Reel and RIO's FIPS Euro Nymph line, the SENSE 3106-4 effectively delivers your tight-line nymph rig with precise accuracy, and makes a great choice when supper is at stake.
— Bri Dostie, Maine Fly Fishing Guide