Golden Road Doubles As Memory Lane

Summary


As the skies opened up and a torrential downpour turned the roof of Wiggie Robinson's pickup truck into a rolling steel drum, the veteran Maine guide glanced at his son and I and began to shake his head.

"We might just be taking a ride tonight," he said, pointing the truck toward a fishy location an hour northwest of his camp and beginning to drive.

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Golden Road Doubles As Memory Lane

Sitting under black skies, it seemed likely that the massive thunderstorm I'd driven through most of the way from Bangor to the West Branch of the Penobscot would, indeed, wash out our scheduled evening of fishing.

Jay Robinson and I each smiled and handed Wiggie our unanimous verdict: "Doesn't matter to us. A drive sounds fine."

Ideally, of course, our journey up t...

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