My father started taking me fishing for brook trout as soon as I could walk. The burbling sounds of these little streams, the silver flash of native brookies chasing our bait, the sneaking up to these gorgeous, calm pools of cool water that seemed to glow green from an unknown light source — I couldn’t get enough.

Fast forward to my teenage years: I discovered fly fishing and became obsessed. I went a lot, often by myself (probably developing a less than perfect casting technique), and learned the ways of reading the water. Over the years, I’ve been pulled in by numerous mentors who would share their fly fishing knowledge and more importantly, share the joy of being on the water together. Not everyone has been lucky enough to make these connections, to feel welcomed into the club, or to have these skills passed on to them. Like any pursuit that inspires a passionate following, there can be some gatekeeping. But with amazing organizations like Confluence Collective, more and more people are being welcomed into this special culture and finding great joy — and friends — on the water.

Last month, I had the pleasure of spending a weekend with the Confluence Collective for their Outcast Campout in western Maine, fly fishing some of Maine’s iconic rivers, making new friends, and photographing their adventures.

 

 

This enthusiastic and powerful group, led by the passionate and knowledgeable Bri Dostie, strives to increase outdoor access and fly fishing opportunities for people of all backgrounds, genders, ages, and physical abilities.

 

 

Confluence Collective believes that every body belongs on the water and works collaboratively to remove barriers, support individual and community growth, instigate change, and amplify stories more representative of human diversity on the water.

 

 

The group deftly blends educational resources, grassroots conservation, storytelling, and fly fishing skills learning — all wrapped into a communal experience with a heaping dose of fun. This group truly believes that, on the water, we are present with ourselves and each other in all our complexities, and together we can make more space for each other. It was wonderful to witness.

 

 

Growing up, my stepsister paid closer attention to my dad’s fishing secrets and often had more success than my friends and I on our annual trout fishing trip into the Adirondacks. I’m very used to being out-fished by women!

 

 

At the Outcast Campout, I was one of the only male participants, and it was incredibly inspiring to be surrounded by about 25 folks of diverse genders and age groups who didn’t remotely fit the fly fishing archetype but were more passionate, enthusiastic, and knowledgeable (yet still eager to learn) than myself or most of the fly fishermen I know.

 

 

To top it off, Bri is a registered Maine Guide (Maine is one of the hardest states in which to achieve this distinction) and winner of the prestigious Orvis Breaking Barriers Award. The rest of Collective’s leads are incredibly deft fly fishers, and I could tell many of the participants were repeat customers — it was clear they’d all spent a lot of time on the water together. I found myself looking at the folks around me, many of whom could be my mother, and felt inspired more than a few times.

 

 

The weekend kicked off with some fun ice breakers and of course, their process was dialed and clever. The one activity that stood out the most to me was where you had to write your favorite fly on two pieces of paper and throw them into a hat. When your fly was called you had to tell everyone why you chose it and match up with the person who pulled the same fly. From there you had a 1-on-1 conversation with that person with the understanding that you would introduce them to the group. Being an introvert in scenarios like that (and one of the only guys in the room), I slowed down and listened carefully, and worked hard to make sure I got it right. Within minutes, I made a new friend and was able to offer a solid overview of their story and intentions for the weekend to the group.

 

 

From there, the group worked on casting techniques, learned how to better read the water to know how trout use the river for food and shelter, and then learned some important knots and a few key flies and nymphs to start with in the morning.

 

 

The participants’ skill levels ranged from beginner to expert, and everyone was open to sharing and receiving new skills and techniques. After a delicious dinner of spaghetti and a homemade Bolognese sauce by the Collective’s team, we found ourselves back at the Evans Notch Lodge’s long dining table, learning how to tie flies while we shared some good laughs and tall fishing tales.

 

 

That night we had some heavy New England summer thunderstorms, but I slept well in my Dagger OSMO™ 2P and Roamer™ XL Wide pad. It was pretty warm and humid — luckily, I brought a sheet that made the perfect covering. Everyone was up early in the morning for some coffee and off we went to various spots on the Magalloway and Androscoggin Rivers.

 

 

Andy Gagne, another East coast photographer, rode with me and we saw a moose, two deer, and a bald eagle while driving through the stunning Mahoosuc Notch. Our crew was meeting at “the Mags,” as the locals call it. I’d never been there, and I was amazed by its beauty.

 

 

Whenever my mind conjures up an image of the classic Maine Northwoods trout fishing scenes and sporting camps of generations ago, the river always looks just like the one that was rushing in front of me.

 

 

Big boulders; powerful and swift currents going in many directions; dark, coffee colored, tannin-rich water; and deep holes waiting to swallow you up. Big trout live in this water. You can feel their presence, for they have been there for millions of years.

 

 

We ventured down the trail through lush ferns and moss-covered, old growth forest to a stretch of river that offered multiple pools for the crew to cast a line.

 

 

The vibe was patient, joyful, communal, and extremely gracious in that everyone was willing to share everything from casting tips and favorite flies, to taking turns at the very pools they were fishing. Even though it was hot and humid from the summer storms in the area, the air was nice and cool by the river.

 

 

We spent much of the day enjoying each other’s company and hopscotching different holes along the river. I wouldn’t say the fishing was hot, but the bigger fish were hitting nymphs in the deeper water and the crew landed a couple of beautiful landlocked salmon.

 

 

Andy and I had been so focused on getting great shots, and not wanting to get in the way of the Campout participants, that we realized we hadn’t really fished yet when we noticed everyone starting to pack up! We decided to head back as well with a quick detour to the Swift River before dinner, which was just up the road from the Evans Notch Lodge. The day was leaning toward evening and the light was getting low. There were more thunderstorms on the way, but now the air was still, and the skies were calm and reflected a soft light around us.

Andy and I stalked our way down a trail toward a stunning emerald pool peppered with dusty pink granite boulders. Andy took the top of the pool where the fresh water dumped in, and I took the run out. As I kneeled near the water’s edge, I watched for a moment. Sure enough, I saw a small rise on the calm water on the other side, slightly downstream from me. I watched as it happened again and felt my heartbeat increase a bit with excitement. It was the eve of my 50^th birthday, and I felt like that obsessed teen again. I would have one cast, maybe two, before I would have spooked this fish — fly selection would be very important, as would the cast.

Nostalgia was flowing, and I reminisced back to a moment early in my fly fishing career when I had played a wildcard and presented a terrestrial (black ant imitation) lightly in this pool under a leaning tree and had surprisingly caught a huge rainbow! This moment felt similar, and as soon as I opened my fly box, I noticed this black beetle imitation that my friend Dominic Lentini had tied for my son and I — and the decision was made. I tied it on to my tippet.

As I started to pull some line out, I noticed a third rise right in the exact spot as before. I made a few false casts to get some line out, calming myself with the rhythm of my arm motion. Keeping my elbow close to my ribs, my Sage 5wt shot the beetle forward and gently laid it onto the surface of the water, about 3 feet above where the rises were. It couldn’t have been a better placed or smoother presentation, and I just watched the movie roll as it drifted over the fish’s head. Within seconds, a beautiful wild brown took the beetle down — this time with a big slash of the surface. It was thick and fought nicely, revealing flashes of gold in the evening light. Andy ran over to help me net it and take a couple quick photos, and then I wet my hands and gently guided it out of the net and back into the flow. In an instant, it swam off and I felt immense gratitude for this golden fish on my golden birthday. That memory, that fish, will keep my stoke going for many years to come.

 

 

That night, we all returned to the lodge for food and more fishing stories. Though these tales were fresh ones from the day, they were no less tall, and we enjoyed another great dinner together. A couple of the guides taught participants how to tie more fly patterns.

 

 

To end the night, we were treated with a visit from Selene of Maine — an accomplished fly tyer dedicated to practicing traditional methods of fly tying, as well as originating new patterns to closely replicate the naturals found on her home waters of Maine.

 

 

Not only is Selene an award-winning fly tyer, she is also a prolific collector and historian of Carrie G. Stevens, one of the most famous female fly tyers of Maine (if not the world) throughout the 1900s. She is also a master of Stevens’ unique fly tying technique of tying in the hands without the aid of a vise, which results in a more balanced, durable fly. Selene passed on some remarkable stories about Stevens, as well as her own stories of being an accomplished female fly tyer. 

 

 

I soon found myself drifting asleep in my Dagger OSMO™ to the light strobes and crackling sounds of another thunderstorm. The rain continued, but softened and I thought about the last day of my 40s. I’d spent it doing something that I loved, something that has defined me at times, something that I had done a thousand times before… but this time it felt different with a new sense of wonder and renewed interest to keep passing it all on.

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As NEMO’s Director of Content, Randy Gaetano is a passionate adventurer and outdoorsman — and an advocate for sharing the wild with anyone who shows enthusiasm and love for these special places. A lifelong photographer, he's endlessly inspired to capture folks discovering their best selves in the outdoors.