That special feeling we experience when approaching a huge bull Elk that we’ve just harvested; a combination of awe, accomplishment and loss....  The almost surrealistic reddish, purple backdrop of a December morning as the decoys are set, with anticipation only matched by the beauty of the moment and forever logged in our memory....  Staring down into the clear water of Saco Bay as a gleaming, silver, striper pulls like a freight train on the line, arching the rod and delivering all of his spirit and power through our hands, letting us feel his wildness for a precious while....  Moving up on the Setter as she stands like a marble statue that was sculpted and set in the golds, reds and bright yellow colors of fall; drinking in the beauty and mystery of the scene which is turned to instant instinctive chaos as the Grouse thunders out from beneath the blow down, freezing in a capsule of time the essence of upland hunting.....  As I write these words I am carried back to those times and places that I spent with you last year.  In this short letter  I will try to recapture some of last year’s memories and talk about our plans for the emerging seasons.

Good Chance

It was inky black darkness as he lined up the trailer on the ramp.  Cursing softly as the hot coffee between his legs spilled onto his thighs when he came onto the brakes a bit strong.  He jumped out into the night and began the ritual of setting the boat up for the launch.  The camera bag, Thermos, cell-phone and radio were checked and stowed beneath the big seat.  Rods and gaff found their way to the holders.  Plug checked, gas line connected and primed and the tie downs were removed from the trailer and tossed into the bed of the pick-up. 

He took the small flashlight and set it on the post at the top of the ramp, turned off the truck lights and slowly backed down using the light as a reference.  It was an easy drop as the tide was only about two hours from high and the ramp was fairly short.  The wide shallow hull floated easily off the trailer and with a slight shove glided softly on the still river.  The bow was pulled to the end of the pier and the stern line fastened to the ring on the other end of the last float.  Jumping back into the truck he slid into the first parking slot, grabbed his coffee and walked slowly down the ramp; the gnats and mosquitoes swarming around his head in the damp morning air. 

Stepping into the boat he arranged the cushions, wiped the seats down with the big towel, switched on the running lights and turned the key.  The trusty Yamaha coughed once and then churned smoothly but loudly, the blue smoke chasing the pesky bugs away for a moment.  Idling out into the channel he felt the familiar sensation of contentment as he made his way down between Twin Islands, around the green can at Cathy’s Corner and through the Narrows.  The tide was high enough for him to hug the north bank and about two hundred yards from the Narrows he ran into a blanket of boils as a big school of bass bolted out of the shallow mud.  He wanted to stop and throw a fly into them but he had work to do.  He was scheduled to meet his charter at seven thirty and he wanted to be on the “River Ledge” at dawn to pick up some bait.  There were bluefish in the area and many days you’d only get one shot at the mackerel right at first light before the ravenous blues chased them into the deep water. 

When he reached the second green can at the mouth of the river he picked up and inspected his two bait rods.  After checking both rigs he took a container of chum, removed the top and put it upside down in a mesh bag.  He drew the top closed and fastened a short line to it and laid the chum bag in an empty bucket.  He pulled on the tiller of the motor until the bow pointed to the red and white buoy that marked Ram Island Ledge.  With the boat moving just above an idle, his focus was on the fish-finder, glancing up occasionally to keep the boat out of the lobster gear.  Shortly the tell-tale marks on the fish finder put him on alert and a bait rig was dropped over. 

Snubbing the line as the jig descended, the rig was yo-yoed up and down and then
dropped about three feet and jigged again.  On the third drop the rod arched as the
mackerel tore into flies.  The chum bag was slipped over the side and the first string of gleaming, silver bouncing fish came over the wash rail.  He used his left hand that wore the big soft yellow glove to deftly remove each fish and drop it into the live well.  The last fish on the string had been foul hooked by the jig and was bleeding a bit so it got tossed into a clean bucket. 

The catching had begun and the repetitive lifting of the strings of mackerel into the boat went undisturbed for about twenty minutes.  The live well now had two dozen Ladder-Backed Mackerel swimming in the swirling water.  Ice was removed from the bait cooler and half the mackerel from the bucket were spread on it, they were covered with ice and the rest of the mackerel were laid on this.  He was happy.  He had caught
plenty of mackerel for his charter and enough to bait up his lobster pots too.  Glancing at his watch he saw that he still had over an hour before he had to pick up his charter. There was a spot he had found the other day while trolling and he wanted to give it a try. 

Heading into the mouth of the river the boat moved toward the south bank.  As soon as the first lobster boat was passed he slowed and watched the fish finder.  The bottom was level at twelve feet for a while then dropped abruptly to twenty six feet for a short distance and then climbed back to twelve feet again.   The boat was kept moving for another twenty five feet and then the anchor was slipped over the side.  When the fish finder showed the transom as being just over the upriver side of the hole it was cleated off.  There wasn’t much current as the tide was just about slack . 

Taking one of the mackerel out of the box he cut it into small pieces and dropped them behind the motor, watching their movement in the current intently.  Another fish was removed from the box and a thin fillet sliced from the belly.  Grabbing one of the spin rods, the line was quickly pulled though the guides threaded through the eye of a half ounce egg sinker.  A Perfection Loop was tied to the end of the line.  Out of the tackle box he grabbed a 5/0 circle hook and snelled it on to a three foot leader and put a loop in the end of it.  Connecting the leader to the end of the line with a quick loop to loop connection he was ready to fish.  Hooking the fillet by one end he dropped it into the river.  There was little current so he let out about fifty feet of line, set the bait runner drag to the up position on the reel and put the rod in the holder.  He busied himself by prepping the boat for the charter but came to immediate attention when the reel started screaming, the rod tip dipping into the water.  Taking the rod out of the holder he cranked down on the reel and felt the fish’s power as it sped down river.  He knew he was in trouble when the fish left the hole and quickly ran another twenty five yards and was into a set of boat moorings. 

Dropping off the anchor, the motor was fired up and left in neutral as the boat swung lazily down river following the surging fish.  Somehow the bass stayed out of the moorings and as he leaned over and stuck his thumb in its mouth.  He noticed how clean and bright it was, a new body of fish had arrived and they were beauties.  After tying upat Camp Ellis he pulled out his book and thumbed it to the day’s date.  The note said, Jack and Fred from Connecticut, Red Ford Pick up, meet at seven thirty. He smiled, as he thought, “These boys are in for some fun today.”


Our charter season began the first of June.  Our time was spent fishing offshore on John Anderson’s  “Seaquest” and on my own boat in the Saco River.  I also was fortunate to fish with Dick Rodrick, Barry Faust, Steve Love, Jamie Hathaway on their boats and run Doug Anderson’s “Rooster” in the Wentworth Striper Tournament. 

June was a great month for the stripers and we caught them with spin and fly gear as well as bait.  We had some big days on John’s boat catching Cod and Haddock.  It’s great seeing the groundfish come back in fishable numbers, especially the tasty haddock July found us fishing daily in Saco Bay for both Stripers and Blues.  We had a lot of fun and the size and numbers of fish were just great.  I picked up a recreational lobster license and checking the traps was a big adventure especially for the kids.  It was very tough catching Stripers on a fly during the day and we were most successful at dawn but had to rely on bait the rest of the time.  The bluefish visited the mouth of the river often during the month and provided us with some hot top-water excitement.  My bay boat “Seabird” proved to be a great fishing platform and was the scene of a ton of fish coming over the side and a lot of laughter to go with them.

The weather in August often posed a challenge with thick fog and windy conditions on the weekends, however the stripers really put the feedbag on and we enjoyed consistently good fishing.  The bluefish remained sporadic but some real bruisers showed up towards the end of the month.  I put in quite a bit of time tuna fishing in August with very poor results.  There weren’t a lot of fish around and the dogfish took the fun out of fishing as they ate everything that was dropped into the water.  Even though the conditions were tough we spent some big adventures on John Anderson’s “Seaquest”. and with Marty and Tyler McLaughlin on the “Pacifier.”  Mike Goulet, a mad-man fly fisherman that fished with me in June returned in late August for a trip that showed a lot of fish but very difficult to get them to take a fly. 

Our old friend and premier taxidermist, Kevin Libby brought a couple of Nebraska boys from Cabela’s for a day’s striper fishing on the twenty-third of August and it was red hot fishing the entire tide.  I was proud to host Mary Ann Mancini, a flyfishing guide fromMissoula, Mt. and her friend Tim Adler from New Sweden, ME.  We caught some nice size fish and Mary Ann took a beauty on a fly.  On the last day of August, Paul Davis and his daughter Michelle tolerated some very cold and windy conditions and managed to catch a bunch of fish including two big ones for a successful day.

I can’t wait for the season to start.  I plan on taking light tackle and fly fishing trips in May and June and then switch over to bait when the bigger fish arrive.  Using light tackle to catch these fish provides great fun while requiring a lot of angling skill.  We spent a lot of time chasing big bass around the harbor, holding our breath as we got them out of mooring lines.  All of our gear worked out great.  Sometimes after a particularly hectic charter I would look at the little rods and reels and wonder how they could stand up to the action. 

I hope to fish with all of you again this year, I appreciate the opportunity to have spent some time on the water with you last season and am looking forward to an action packed summer.  As soon as you are sure of your vacation schedule, call and book your trip as early as possible.  We get super busy during the season and I don’t want to miss a chance to get out with you.

By the time Labor Day rolled around I was exhausted.  We had made 79 trips, many of them offshore.  Bud Hurst and myself took a few days to go Bear Hunting in Aroostook County.  Noel Redman and I took Steve Penatz from E.S.P.N. on a Shark trip that just aired recently.  Around the middle of the month Amy and I took the dogs and went to our camp in Nova Scotia to train and get them in shape for the coming Grouse season.

The Dirty Day Gun

I had just put the florescent-orange vests on the dogs and were loading them into their boxes when he walked up carrying his shooting bag and well worn gun case.  As he removed the double from the case I noticed that it wasn’t the high end Beretta with the gorgeous wood that he shot so well. Instead it was a rather plain, but impeccable  20 gauge Fox.  “New gun??” I inquired. “Well, I wanted to get a gun to use in the lousy weather, in the rain and mud, if I fell down and broke the stock on my Beretta I’d never forgive myself.”  “Hmmmm” I murmured.  He had been up earlier, hunting with us and had shot splendidly.  I was looking forward to his return now that the leaves were off the trees to see how he’d do. 

Most hunters (myself included) have all they can do to master one shotgun let alone become petent on a completely different feel in bad weather, and boy were we in for badweather.  We had six inches of snow about a week earlier and it had stuck until this morning when a steady downpour was making it go fast.  We piled into the truck and headed up towards Baker Pond in a light drizzle.   The first chance came suddenly.  We rounded a bend and a large cock grouse was strutting along the right hand side of the road.  The truck came to a stop and the hunter emerged and moved slowly and deliberately but the grouse flushed before the shells found their way into the tubes.  Just a bit farther down the road another bird ran out of the ditch and started across the road.
This time the hunter got the gun loaded and up, and started at the bird.  I thought the bird would flush straight down the right hand side of the road but instead it veered to the left and then to the right staying low and really moving.  The speed of the shot startled me and the grouse turned over, its momentum carrying it over the bank into a bunch of blow downs.  “Get a good fix on where he went down.”  I  said as I took the Brittany out of the dog box and put on his bell.  Heeling the dog up to where the grouse sailed over the bank I sent him in.  As soon as he reached the bottom of the bank he got birdie and after a couple of anxious minutes stuck his head under an old spruce and came up with the flapping bird.  “What a shot!!!!” I said as I handed the hunter the bird.  As usual he nodded in his quiet manner but I knew he must be happy with that one.

The rain started to come down steady as we searched the next two covers and went birdless.  The last cover that I chose had a lot of green-growth that was used by a small bunch of birds.  We had caught them down by the lake feeding on high-bush cranberries and I hoped that they’d be there this afternoon.  We made our way through the dense cover with the Brittany scurrying around like a vacuum cleaner with a short tail.  We had just about reached the lake and I could see the berries when the dog flashed into a point.  Immediately two Grouse exploded in a thunderous blur.  The gun came to the hunter’s shoulder in a flash.  I saw him spin to his right and fire all in one motion.   At the shot, the bird nosed into the bank, feathers floating in the air like quiet snow.  The dog dove into the water swam to the bank and brought the big gray bird back to us.  The man was
all smiles now, he knew that he had just pulled off a spectacular shot; one of those chances when hunter and gun became one for a split second. 

The following morning we once again woke to rain pinging down on the tin roofs of our cabins.  However the morning gave us two tough chances on grouse, of which he made good on the second, more difficult shot.  When we shook hands that afternoon and made plans for next season, we both were excited to see how the old “dirty day gun” would do in fair weather with a lots of birds.

I packed up the dogs and filled the truck with food and gear and headed to King and Bartlett for the 2003 Grouse and Woodcock season on the last day of September..
This year we hunted four dogs, Our pointer Rose, our Setters Liz and Grace and for the first time in my string, a Brittany Spaniel named Jack.  I have been a pointer and setter man since my 19th birthday and I just never thought I would ever own any other breed, but I was pressed to add another dog this Spring because my new pup Grace was coming along slowly.  Jack was a green two year old dog that was a bolter when I picked him up in April, but, by hunting season he was a reliable hunter with a great nose and an easy handling way about him..  I used him in the toughest, heaviest cover that he went through easily with his deliberate gate.  He allowed me to keep my bigger going dogs for the more open cover where they could really fly.  For the first time we made it through the
entire season without an injury.  

I have just come in from a morning of Spring training and all the dogs are doing great. Grace has really stepped up and her style is eye popping.  For the next two months Amy and I will train the dogs on both wild and planted birds  I hope all of you can make it up to K&B for a couple of days of Grouse hunting in the high country.  The remoteness of the lodge combined with the ambiance of the cozy cabins and delicious food are a great setting for magnificent dog work and the chance to try for the King of upland birds.  Get that double gun out for some sporting clays and start walking a bit every day.  In no time the golden colors of fall will frame us as we hunt the endless covers of King and Bartlett.

Bayley Hill Game Park

We started hunting at Bayley Hill as soon as we returned from the Upland Season.   I will send each of you a copy of the “Bayley Hill Bugle” - our newsletter which will cover the 2003 and 2004 Season.  We had a lot of fun at the park this season, every animal that we harvested both meat and trophy were in tip top shape and the trophy bulls and stags were absolutely awesome.  Fred and Kathleen Bayley have made a huge investment in the Park and the quality of our animals and hunts will stack up and exceed any similar operation in the country. 

Fred and our farm manager Nick Richardson have sought out the biggest Bulls and Stags to artificially breed to our blue ribbon cows and hinds.  This will be the fourth year, of their projected ten year program and the racks on the four year old animals are just eye popping.  Artificial insemination although very costly has the benefit of superior genetic contributions while protecting our herd from and disease that using other animals might allow.  Fred and his crew have completely re-fenced the entire farm, over five miles of  fencing while Nick has been busy vaccinating the herd against TB.  Ours is one of the few herds in the country that is vaccinated and inspected annually for TB. 

This year Tom Bayley’s son Galen has been helping us out with advertising, herd management and setting up the web-site, while helping out Nick daily with the feeding and other chores.  Galen represents the third and youngest generation of his family to be working in the business. 

I met with our Assistant Guide Capt. Steve Brettell and the Park Ranger Duff White the other day and we had a big time reliving our hunts this season.  Every one had it’s unique blend of hard work and fun.  Steve and Duff are a big reason for our ability to put on a professional hunt under sometimes very tough conditions.  We felt that all of our hunters came prepared both physically and mentally to have a good time.  We saw some first rate shooting, as well as those special moments shared after the harvest of a magnificent animal were priceless. 

We live in a world where it often seems that we have lost control of our time.  Each trip through the gate into the Park at Bayley Hill, the hands on the clock seem to stand still, and both the hunter and guides become totally absorbed in the pursuit of these noble animals.  Often an entire season of excitement is compressed into a single day, intensifying our focus on the game .  From first time hunters that harvested a young Red Deer to those experienced Guns who have hunted world wide, including African safaris, coming to us for a huge Trophy; all shared a common bond of having spent some time in a Very Special Place. 

Next year we will have even more spectacular trophies to savor, however the relaxed charm of hunting with friends in a pristine spot will not change. Consider a trip to Bayley Hill this season.  We’re only a couple of hours North of Boston.  Our hunts generally take only a day, and the action, animals and adventure are hard to beat anywhere, at any price. Time is an unyielding and sometimes unforgiving chaperone in our lives.  At Bayley Hill we do our best to pack a unique big game experience into a single day.

The Wings Of Winter

Late fall and winter is when the Sea Birds leave their summering grounds in the Arctic and head South.  Late October and Early November bring waves of Common, Surf and White Wing Scoters.  Late November marks the first of the migrating Eiders winging their way into Saco Bay, their numbers building as winter tightens its icy grip.  Last winter’s Sea Duck season was uneven as far as the numbers of birds goes and closed prematurely as the brutal cold ended our activities just after the first of the year.  We were forced to cancel more trips this season due to hazardous conditions than we have in the past ten years.  We still had some superb hunts and collected great specimens that many customers took home to be mounted.  We hunt with two boats and two guides for maximum safety and flexibility, and only take out two hunters to assure a quality hunt.  If you’re a serious wing shooter and haven’t hunted Sea Ducks, this should be the season to give it a try.  November and December are the months when the shooting is the best.  We’ve had good success combining a Sea Duck Hunt with Red Deer or Elk, making for a great way to spend a couple of days after most other seasons have closed.

2003 was a great year for the Robinson Family.  Your support and encouragement have enabled me to spend another year in the field and on the water. Amy and I will be bringing the dogs over to our farm in Nova Scotia for training and conditioning.  When we return we will begin the Striper Season.  I was speaking to Jeff Charles, manager at King and Bartlett and he related that they have some openings the first two weeks of August.  This would be a fun time to get together for some dog training, and fishing.  Give Jeff a call and he can fill you in on the details.  

Try and make it up to Maine this season for the fishing or hunting experience of a lifetime.  Those of you planning a striper trip please call as early as possible so that we can get out on the best tides.