You learn things as you age, and you change.

I used to avoid popular, trendy fishing places. Finding solitude was, for me, reason enough to fish.

Standing in line to fish for Atlantic salmon on the Penobscot River, or sharing the pool at the Big Eddy on the West Branch with 25 other canoes was never my idea of memorable angling. So for years, I simply stayed away.

But I’ve changed.

Last spring, my son and I camped and fished near the Big Eddy on the West Branch of the Penobscot River. It was a little busy, with fly-casters and boat traffic. But the scenery, the balsam-scented air and the surface feeding salmon more than compensated for the angling hubbub. Scotty dragged me there. I’m glad he did.

So this year, when Grand Lake Stream veteran Bob Leeman invited Scotty and me to fish this busy, but legendary salmon water as his guest, we jumped at the chance.

A part-time Grand Lake Stream resident, Leeman is an impassioned angler who has been fishing and writing about it for years. His intimate relationship with Grand Lake Stream goes back more than 30 years. We suspected that the man knew his way around the stream. Indeed, he does.

As you may know, Grand Lake Stream near Princeton, runs out of the equally legendary West Grand Lake. It is a fisherman’s hamlet, dotted with cozy cabins and modest homes. The Pine Tree Store, operated by Kathy and Kurt Cressy, serves as the center of commerce and conversation. The ultimate watercraft for the Maine outdoorsman -the square stern Grand Laker – is a common sight on lawns and driveways.

“Let’s go fishing,” Bob said with a grin after showing us his personal “fishing map” of the stream.

“Water’s low this year, but the fish are holding good, and they’re hitting,” he said, confessing that he had been on the river at 4 a.m., prior to our arrival. He offered to tie a fly of his own creation on my 5x tippet. It was a nondescript streamer with a bright yellow feather body.

Scotty and I followed Leeman to Pool No. 1 (the pools have names, but we are sworn to secrecy).

“Let your line swing down, Paul, then strip like hell,” he ordered.

On the second cast, a sassy salmon smacked the streamer. “Fish on,” I yelled over the roar of the cascading water behind me. One good leap, and the salmon parted company, taking the Leeman streamer with it. After a good-humored discussion between Leeman and me about whether the Guide’s knot failed, or the tippet simply broke under pressure, we agreed to replace the tippet with 8-pound test.

We worked our way down stream hooking up and releasing fish as we went. Leeman guided. We fished. Scotty and I both hooked and released salmon, all caught on streamers. Leeman’s good company, an easygoing guy with interesting fish stories to tell. He knows every nook and cranny of the stream and where the salmon lie.

After losing the Leeman yellow streamer, I tied on the only streamer left on my vest- a Warden’s Worry.

“Scotty and I will stay here and work this pool,” said Leeman. “You work your way downstream, Paul, beyond the two camps, and fish the run below there. I call it Driscoll’s Run,” he explained.

“Get a nice fat fish for Alice!” Leeman yelled to me as I neared the bend in the stream. I shot a smile back. I knew where he was coming from. My wife Diane always seems to light up when I bring home the bacon, whether it be trout, salmon or venison.

I found Driscoll’s Run. It had that look that stirs an angler’s blood. Fast water, ledge outcroppings and a deep pool with long side riffles. And no other anglers. Nothing from the deep hole. But on the second retrieve from the edge of the fast water, a salmon nailed the Warden’s Worry and did its ritualistic tail walk across the run. The fish was bigger than the others hooked upstream, about 21 inches, but a little racy. It was released.

A few minutes later, a repeat performance. The Warden’s Worry seduced another good fish from the edge of the fast water on the opposite shore. Both fish hit near the underwater ledges, when the fly was stripped in a fast retrieve. After four out-of-the-water leaps, some line-stripping runs and a little angry head shaking, the fish gave up the fight. A fat fish that measured a tad over 22 inches. There was no question this time.

“A fish for Alice,” I said under my breath.

Just before dark, at Evening Pool in the midst of a mayfly hatch, Scotty and I caught a few more feisty fish on a chocolate-covered spinner with white wings. Our guide laughed heartily at our fish hookups and sounds of exhaltation. He took videos and still shots, and seemed to enjoy our success as much as we did.

It was a memorable day on Grand Lake Stream, a special place that we will return to. There is also something special about seasoned outdoorsmen like Bob Leeman, who will selflessly share their places and their fishing skills with others.

V. Paul Reynolds is editor of the Northwoods Sporting Journal.He is also a Maine Guide, co-host of a weekly radio program “Maine Outdoors” heard Sundays at 7 p.m. on The Voice of Maine News-Talk Network (WVOM-FM 103.9, WCME-FM 96.7) and former information officer for the Maine Dept. of Fish and Wildlife. His e-mail address is [email protected].