May 17, 2015 — Hundreds of thousands of salmon used to ascend the rivers of New England. But by 1992, no adult salmon returned to the Kennebec River. Seventeen came back to the Androscoggin, and only eight to the Saco. Their banks were empty of salmon anglers.
On the Penobscot, the second largest river system in New England, Claude Westfall’s fish was the first of 2,386 salmon that would return to the river that year, more than 70 percent of the total returns along the entire East Coast, but only 2 percent of the river’s historic population.
After two and a half hours on the highway, Claude took the Route 1 exit and followed the signs to Kennebunkport. He drove on through the village of antique shops, art galleries, restaurants, and souvenir stands just opening up for the summer tourist season. White-fenced inns and yacht clubs overlooked sailboats in the harbor. Kennebunkport looked nothing like the worn college town of Orono, where Claude and Rosemae lived, on the banks of the Penobscot River.
Claude crossed the sparkling Kennebunk River and turned right on Ocean Avenue. Soon they came to a roadblock. Claude stopped.
“Where are you going?” asked a security guard.
“I have an appointment,” said Claude.
The guard scanned his clipboard.
“Oh, yes, Mr. Westfall. Go right ahead.”
Claude drove on, and from an overlook their destination came into view: a large gray-shingled home, buildings, tennis courts, and lawn, all neatly arranged on a point jutting into the sea. Claude turned right at the entrance and stopped before a tall iron gate flanked by stone pillars crusted orange with sunburst lichen.
More guards examined the bottom of the car, looked under the hood, glanced at the fish in the cooler in the back seat, and inspected the other gifts. There was a blue cap from the Veazie Salmon Club — one of the three clubs on the Penobscot that served as social networks for sport fishermen, provided access to the best fishing pools, and advocated for the restoration of Atlantic salmon and the Penobscot River. A carved wooden box held hand-tied salmon flies, including one Claude had tied for the first lady: wings of peacock sword feathers and fur from a squirrel’s tail, dyed a fluorescent green, wrapped on a lapel pin with silver, black, and green floss — the CZ Special. Claude’s namesake creation was one of many fly patterns he had developed in nearly 40 years of fishing for Atlantic salmon.
Read the full story at the Boston Globe