My girlfriend and I were fishing the East Grand Lake in Maine/New Brunswick as part of a 17 day rampage of rock and roll, partying, fishing, and lewdness anchored by seeing Roger Waters perform the epic album The Wall in NY and CT.

We spent a week on that lake and lucked into a smallmouth feeding frenzy the likes of which I've never seen. We caught almost a thousand fish in about 80 hours x 2 anglers with dozens being lunkers over 18”. My thumb looked like ground round. At one point, I removed the hooks from a Spook so I could spare my thumb while still kinda fishin' and almost boated one that way after watching them slap the impotent bait about like seals. It was magnificent.

It was the first trip after getting skunked (and roasted) at Fork, but what was dog days here was late spawn there.

We were here:
https://www.google.com/maps/@45.8158084,-67.7803736,18z



The boat was exactly perpendicular to the US/Canada border with the line running smack thru the middle of the boat, according to my GPS.

She, at the bow, was in the USA fighting a nice fish she hooked in New Brunswick. I, manning the stern tiller position, was in NB fighting a nice fish hooked in the USA. The fish were pulling the boat at opposite corners, keeping her steady.

We leaned over the catty-corner edges and lipped our respective fish so perfectly simultaneously that the 15' Lund, sweetly balanced, didn't lean a bit, quite unlike earlier when we both leaned over the port side to lip a pair of fish and almost went swimmin' like a couple of halfwits.

Stepping into the shoes of a Canuck fish, she held up hers and squawked “Please release me, eh? Ya hoser!”


I reciprocated with my Yankee fish, bellowing “Lemme go NOW or I'll shoot'cha in duh face with my Glock, ya stinkin' buzzard!” Back in the water they went.


We agreed that one minute of fishing was EASILY worth every penny spent on the trip.

In over 46 years of bass fishing that is the coolest doggone thing I've experienced. We've actually bested that trip, seemingly impossible at the time, several times since, but that was by far the highlight of my bassin' life, beating out a fandango many years past at Monticello when the hot water was still running.

Later that day something else nearly as wickedly memorable happened - an incredible evening bite, but it still fell short of our border bass delight that was perhaps one minute of a spectacular day that started with 5 fish caught walking the dock to the boat.

HaHa! Great story!

Awesome post. Thanks for sharing.

Beauty of smallmouths there...congrats

Luck is always better than skill to find days like that......

Great memories. Thanks for sharing.

Might as well slap together an account of the end of the day, then.

We were fishing our way back to camp and decided to give long, rocky midlake Hayes Point a shot before dusk. A double rainbow kind of aimed at the point told us it had to be a good idea.





But, my companion's urinary bladder was screaming bloody murder and we'd neglected to bring a catch device. The amusing notion of using an empty Moosehead bottle was abandoned, so a beaching was attempted on a tiny patch of gravel between two huge boulders. Seemed like a good enough idea.

BAM! Big rock in our path just under the surface and ye gods, did we hit that thing hard. How can a mere 3 mph or so make such an impact?

“So much for the fishing.” I deadpanned. “And our deposit on the boat,” she added.

She hobbled across the rocks and copped a squat right as I flung a Zara Puppy in her general direction about 3' off the rocks.

SMASH!

The fish hit it so hard and loud she actually hopped in the air like a bullfrog, britches around her ankles, and let out a little shriek as a glistening stream of yeller shot out from under her. I'm not sure what she thought was a-comin' after her, but it really made an impression, apparently. It was utterly hilarious.

As she started to remark on that interesting way of being startled, the fish, one of the biggest of the trip, broke water with another cannonball splash, startling her and making her jump again. I was laughing so hard I thought I was gonna die.

That began a run of 38 fish in 38 casts. The 39th got off boatside. Then it completely shut down with nary another bite, so we headed back to the cove by camp and hammered 'em on Chug Bugs until we actually got sick of catching fish, something we'd never experienced. We are generally the last truck and trailer in the parking lot.



Action like that sure can make a guy hungry. I wolfed down two one-pound grass-fed ribeyes and half of hers. So concluded the single greatest day of fishing in my life. Whether it was the greatest day of travel remains debatable, for we travel about 24 weeks a year (studiously avoiding DEBT made that possible) and really got it together when it comes to havin' fun, but fishing-wise, no day has ever even come close to that.

Might have to describe what happened in the middle of the day, too, which was also really cool.

I grew up smallmouth fishing the creeks and rivers of Michigan and Indiana. Great times. I do it everytime I get up there.

I'd be remiss if I didn't document the rest of that fantastic day.

This occurred in the afternoon after the Border Bass thing and before the Lady Urine Bullfrog of Hayes Point thing.

Headed back south from the border inlet, I felt certain stirrings in various organs. It was about lunchtime, plus we're on a mission to have me experience ten things in each US state and Canadian province/territory that fun-loving rock n' roll degenerates like me seem to dig. Time to bag the great state of Maine.

The day before, I'd noticed some picnic tables on an otherwise deserted place called Halfmoon Island. Looks more like a crescent to me, but hey, it ain't my lake.
https://www.google.com/maps/@45.7921414,-67.8137165,15.23z

I suggested to my better half that we head that way and, uh, tend to some bidness. She answered with a sly look and licked her lips. Yes, lunchtime beckoned.

Upon turning the corner at the island, my heart sank when I saw a boat beached there, and what a boat it was. The sinking feeling deepened when I saw it was John Q. Law, which I could have done without due to, actually, a few reasons. And, they were Feds - Border Patrol agents in a wicked RIB with twin 150 Hondas. I wasn't expecting that at all.



One of 'em was super cool. The other was a total toolbag and seemed interested in getting the bracelets on me immediately upon looking me over. I guess that no haircuts for the last 8 years thing + my Black Sabbath shirt didn't sit well with him. Oh well, screw him and the RIB he rode in on.

I couldn't help but ask if that expenditure of resources was among our better work as a nation. Was Grand Lake prone to an onslaught of terrorists or illegal aliens crossing from New Brunswick? Methinks very much not.

Agent Cool Dude offered tacit agreement with my concerns via laughter and nodding. Agent Toolbag was not remotely amused by my critique and started behaving as if he was going to intimidate me, which is real close to impossible. I put a quick stop to that, then essentially threw 'em off the island, no....MY island with an epic line:

“Well, if you fine gentlemen are ready to get out there and intercept some suitcase nukes or anthrax or whatnot, how's about ya git after it.....we gots some bidness to tend to.”

The tables on the island, put there by CLIC in memory of a fellow named Bob Benn, proved very helpful. Thanks!
https://www.facebook.com/ChipLakes/

Just the mere lunch was special to me, for I rarely consume any food or drink other than reverse osmosis water before dinner. Sometimes I'll have a few pieces of kimchi for lunch. Having been a pallbearer for far too many nice people who often consumed a full daily allotment of calories before lunch, I prefer to aim for longevity and potency.



Various needs were met and it was back to lippin' after a push off from my very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very, very nice fishing partner.



I, feeling pretty warm and fuzzy at the time, wasn't quite sure where to go, but a lone big rock near the island caught my attention and we headed that way.




Turns out there were exactly one trillion smallies on it and we left 'em biting after two hours, a rare occurrence with us. Just finding 'em biting is often hard enough. "Good call hittin' that rock, Bill," said she. "Thanks, Monica," I replied.



In case you're a bit slow, those are not our real names.

It's interesting how constantly catching fish off one piece of structure can actually get boring and one sets off to, well, find another thing to catch the same kind of fish off of. LOL!

So there you have it. What a day. A great bite on the dock before I'd even touched the boat. That border bass rampage thing. A delightfully bawdy shore lunch after throwing the Feds off my island. A trillion smallies on a rock with orange stuff on it. The wee-wee hilarity during an incredible bite at Hayes Point. Topwater bite in the home cove at dusk. Sucking down about 40 oz. of some of the best beef I've ever had like some kind of cold, remorseless eating machine.

The day ended like this.




As our forefathers said in the Constitution, the success of a day is measured by the size of the drool spot you leave on the pillow when recovery slumber comes. Oh, wait....that was a drunk on the DART train who said that. Either way, he was right, and I left a big wet spot on the pillow that night after sleeping 8 hours in the same position, both aspects a rarity for me.

The account of that exquisite day is now complete. Wait...almost. A bit of partying followed by a hammering of the best chocolate candies I've ever encountered (well done, Monica) ended the vertical part of the day. How did I have room after inhaling those ribeyes like a Dyson carpet sucker? A gluttonous monster for the ages I be. Simply disgusting. Wonderfully disgusting, however.



Tight lines, and always know that jaw-dropping good times are often well-within reach even if common sense claims you're too old to have THAT much fun. Aim high!

Moosehead is delicious.

Got any pictures of the "lewdness?"

Awesome post.