Gaspe Salmon - Bonaventure

If there is one river I'd like to fish, it's the jewel of the Gaspe - the Bonaventure!

The crystal clear water of the Bonaventure River flows through the counties of Hamilton and Cox in the municipality of Bonaventure. Beginning in Gaspé provincial park, it empties into the Baie des Chaleurs, 125 winding km to the south. The Bonaventure River is one of the best known rivers in the Gaspé Peninsula for sight-fishing Atlantic Salmon with the dry fly.

The Global FlyFisher has a good story on the Bonaventure - here's Part 1.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Canoe Safety on the River

The Medway is a big river with plenty of deep holes and lots of fast water (Class III and IV rapids, for you whitewater junkies). It's not a river you can wade safely in many places. It's also relatively undeveloped - as in forest growth right up to the shoreline. For gaining access to the best fishing pools, a canoe can be the answer.

Before you go out and buy one, think about your needs for a minute. You want a stable craft - that means one that is wide in the beam (from side to side) without too much rocker (curve from bow to stern). A wide canoe is less likely to tip - especially if the seats are mounted low. Seats mounted well below the gunwhales will lower your canoe's center of gravity and keep you upright. As for rocker - if whitewater is your thing, then by all means have some. A canoe with a pronounced upward sweep towards each end will turn on a dime. I like a 16 foot (5m) canoe - at least 36" (90cm) abeam, with enough rocker to be agile, but not so much that I can't paddle a steady course in a breeze.

A beginner will enjoy a canoe like that. A 16 foot fibreglass model will weigh in at 60-65 lbs, although even lighter crafts, made from Kevlar or plastic, are available. With a bit of practice, one person can hoist a canoe onto his shoulders and carry it without assistance. It's also easy to load onto a cartop carrier or into the bed of a pick-up truck. As a bonus, it will take you and your buddy, and all your gear, just about anywhere you want to fish, and bring you home safely - with a bit of preparation.

Safety is a state of mind, but a few modifications can stack the odds in your favor. You need an anchor, and you want to be able to raise and lower it quickly, with one hand, if possible. Here's how to make an "anchor drop". Click the pictures above for closer views.

• Get a piece of hardwood (birch, oak, ash, or maple) about 18" (45 cm) long and at least an inch (2.5 cm) thick by 2" (5 cm) wide.
• Buy a small pulley about 1" to 2" (2.5 - 5 cm) in diameter.
• Use a plunge router to carve out a slot for it at one end of the board. If you don't have a router, simply drill a number of holes, then trim up the slot with a chisel. Make the slot big enough to provide clearance for the pulley, plus the rope you will use.
• Drill a hole perpendicular to the slot and mount the pulley using an appropriately-sized galvanized nail as an axle.
• Next, mount a stainless steel screw-eye, or eyebolt toward the opposite end of the board and fasten the anchor drop to the bow with stainless steel bolts. The eyebolt is necessary to ensure that your anchor line enters the pulley smoothly. The line should pass freely through the eyebolt, as well as the pulley, and the anchor should raise and lower without smacking into the bow.
• Attach another eyebolt or two along the inside of the gunwhale (either side, depending on whether you are right or left-handed) as guides for the rope. Their purpose is twofold - they keep the anchor line running smoothly and they keep the wet rope out of your buddy's lap.
• Finally, to secure the anchor line, install a marine cleat within reach of your seat.

This will make your fishing on the river a whole lot safer. Remember to use at least a 15 lb (7 kg) anchor, and at least 50 feet (15 m) of 3/8" (1 cm) rope. One other thing - you may never need to use it, but you should carry a knife to cut the anchor rope with, in an emergency. I got into a bit of a tight spot once by using an anchor that was too light in weight. I was fishing at the head of MacLeod Falls during high, fast water conditions. First the anchor slipped, allowing me to drift too close to the fast water, then it jammed in the rocks, and I couldn't free it.

A boat anchored in fast water will veer violently from side to side. Couple that with an upstream gale and you will soon be taking in water over the gunwhales, when the wind pushes you almost perpendicular to the current. To make matters worse, as you pull on the rope, if the anchor doesn't budge, you will drive the bow of the canoe dangerously deep into the water. Take my advice, untie or cut the rope, and paddle safely to calmer water, rather than risk an upset - especially in cold water.

As always, follow routine safety precautions - wear a life vest , carry a container to use for a bailer, a whistle for signaling help, a flashlight, and a 50 foot (15 m) throw rope with a float on one end. An extra paddle can be handy if you are alone, and don't forget to tell someone where you are heading.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Photo by Tony Haffner: Stillwater on Salter's Brook
Photos of canoe by RP

August Trout

My son-in-law loves to fish. The other day, we headed up Salter's Brook - one of the tributaries of the Medway. How we ended up there, I'm not quite sure - it wasn't on my list of possible destinations. But it looked inviting when we drove by, and he suggested we give it a try.

We put the canoe in and paddled up to the first run - fished for a half hour or so without success, then portaged around the rapids and on upstream. The water was deep and black and flecked with foam. It looked so perfect for trout fishing, I almost forgot it was August. When I checked the water temperature, it was 68F - a little too warm for Brookies.

It was a brief outing, 2 hours at most. Not surprisingly, we saw no sign of trout. In September, the water will cool down and trout will start to "color up", taking on an orange or red hue on their bellies as they prepare to spawn. Remember, it's catch and release only from September 1 to September 30 and the use of natural bait is prohibited.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Tony Haffner: Salter's Brook

Rainbows and Earwigs?

We're having company... our captivating new grand-daughter is coming to visit us in August - all the way from California! She's a bit too young for fishing, but I know her dad (and maybe mom, too) would enjoy some fly fishing.

August means low water, which translated into practical fishing terms, means warm water. Traditionally, August has been the time to abandon the brooks and streams, and head for the Atlantic Ocean to fish for mackerel, jig for cod, or go shark-fishing.

In spite of this, I'm trying to come up with a fly fishing day trip (or two) during their one-week stay. Let's see what the local options are...

• Smallmouth Bass fishing in Ten Mile Lake
• Chain Pickerel in Louis Lake
  
• Stocked Rainbow Trout in Hidden Hills Lake
  
• Brook Trout - if you can find them this time of year
  
• Brown Trout on the Mersey River
  
• Trophy Brook Trout (hatchery stock) in the Christopher Lakes
• White Perch in most lakes

All are available less than an hour's drive from here. I'm thinking the Rainbow trout and Mackerel fishing might be the most fun, but either the Smallmouth Bass or the Chain Pickerel could be a close second. I think we'll start with the Rainbows in Hidden Lake, which brings me to the earwigs...

Earwigs are gross. When I was a kid, growing up on Nova Scotia's South Shore in the 50's and 60's, there was no such thing as an earwig. I never saw them until we moved back here in 1989. Then and now, we have an abundance of them. They live in the grass, the topsoil, in the woodpile - anywhere there is moisture and some dark place to crawl into. They eat vegetation, mostly, and can do damage to flower and vegetable crops during summer months.

Why should anglers know about them?

I have an optimistic view of most things, including things that are universally viewed as bad. I think about the Chinese pictogram for Crisis which is comprised of two symbols - one of which means Danger and the other, Opportunity. Take earwigs, for instance... I have never heard anyone say a good word about an earwig - have you? I found a good use for them, however - read on...

About 10 years ago, they introduced Rainbow trout to one lake in Queens County and have stocked it twice annually ever since. Hidden Hills Lake is landlocked, 20 - 30 feet deep on average, and about 4 or 5 acres in area. The water is stained brown, like most of our lakes, and has a low pH, due to our geographic location in the acid rain belt of North America. Still, the Rainbows have managed to survive, if not thrive, in Hidden Hills Lake. The fish are typically 12 - 14 inches in length.

It is fun to catch them. In contrast to the PowerBait squad on the shore, I like to do it from a canoe with a fly rod, and I like to release them. We might be lucky enough to arrive at the lake when a feeding frenzy is on - fish smacking the water's surface constantly. More often, we get there and see only the occasional rise. This is where the earwigs come in.

Two things led me to it. One was my experience with shark-fishing, which involves a chum bucket of frozen oatmeal and baitfish gurry, slowly releasing a trail of fish oil and blood into the water. The other was something I saw one day, while fishing...

I noticed an earwig in the canoe. I picked it up and flicked it into the water, where it wiggled ferociously to escape the surface tension. It didn't take more than a few minutes before a trout came up and inhaled it. That stuck in my mind, and when I found a nest of earwigs in my woodpile one day, I thought, "Wouldn't it be nice to have a few of these in my canoe on Hidden Hills Lake?"

The next time I went, I took a plastic container full of earwigs with me. It was no trouble to collect fifty or so. I just put the container on the ground, below the nest, and beat on the woodpile with a stick of firewood. They dropped out of the woodpile and scurried for cover in the grass, but most of them fell in my bucket.

Out on the lake, I checked the wind direction and started pitching them into the water, a few at a time. Then I anchored the canoe downwind and waited.

You know what happened next...

The Rainbows got very excited about the struggling earwigs. We were able to get lots of action, on just about any similar size dry fly, if we were patient and could wait for the fish to find the fly. Often a fish would rise to an earwig within casting range. If we could cast to the rise in a timely fashion, we'd generally get a quick response. It was also productive to strip a Woolly Bugger or Leech type fly through the area.

This is a deadly method, similar to my balloon trick for White Perch. It' s also a lot of fun - dry fly fishing is visually stimulating and increases the enjoyment for any angler. If you use barbless hooks and release the fish, you will do little or no harm to the resource. The true joy of angling is in the catching - not the killing. Fish belong in the water so that our grandchildren, and their grandchildren will share the opportunities that we have enjoyed.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Priorities

It seems I've spent my whole life establishing priorities, consciously or unconsciously, and making decisions based on them. Much of it has involved putting off what I really want to do for some real, or imagined, future benefit.

I've been sitting here reminiscing the last ten days or so. What sparked it was a phone call from my friend, Parker Suley. Parker called from Labrador to give a fishing report, and inquire when I would be coming to visit. I had to tell him that I wouldn't be coming this year - priorities.

He mentioned that he started fishing the 4th of June and as of July 13th, he had released over 60 Atlantic Salmon. He said the water has been perfect this season, lots of fish in every pool. Two friends from St. John's were there when he called, and they had caught five that day, and eight the day before.

I was overcome with a form of nostalgia - regret, perhaps - maybe grief, I don't know. I felt so conflicted over my decision not to go this summer that I had to do something about it. That something ended up being the 10-part series of posts on Rocky Bay. Now that's done, and I still feel much the same...

I'm beginning to think what I should have done was pull out all the stops, and high-tail it for Labrador - priorities be damned!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Drew and Parker at The Falls.

Rocky Bay Part X: The Final Tally

Well, I've written more Rocky Bay posts than Sylvester Stallone made Rocky movies. I guess I've milked it for all it's worth. Just a few final thoughts on the experience...

When I look back on the salmon fishing trips I've had over the last 20 years, Rocky Bay has to be one of the most memorable - not so much in terms of numbers of fish caught, but more for the intangible qualities that stay with you for a lifetime.

I'm talking about the obstacles we faced and overcame. We pushed ourselves to the limit every day, and got great satisfaction from knowing that it was our efforts and our attitudes that influenced the outcome more than the circumstances we faced.

All told, we tagged seven grilse, released eight, and lost another four, in our week on the Old Fort. That's a pretty good success rate on any river. I enjoyed not having a guide, and I enjoyed sharing the experience with my brother, Steve.

The Bilodeau Brothers have made some improvements to the camp at Rocky Bay in the years since we were there. They offer a number of packages for salmon and trout anglers. Check them out at Napetipi River Outfitters.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Steve at Third Pool, Old Fort River, Quebec.

Rocky Bay Part IX: The Truth Comes Out

After a coffee, a sandwich, and a nap, Steve and I returned to First Pool for a couple of hours in the afternoon. His losing streak behind him, Steve made up for lost time by catching and releasing two more grilse in a matter of minutes!

The #6 White Phentex Bug was deadly on the Old Fort River. It was the same fly pattern that our brother, Al, had success with last summer, actually landing a fish on a broken fly! Fished wet or dry, the salmon took it readily. I released one more grilse before the rain settled in.

Having forgotten my rain jacket, I was more than glad to get back to camp, fire up the stove, and warm my bones. After supper, I broke out the Glenfiddich Special Reserve and the half-liter of bottled water I had stashed in my duffel bag.

"So that's what happened to that bottle of water, " Steve exclaimed. " I saw it on the kitchen table when we first arrived, then it vanished!"

"Guilty, as charged, Steve. I just couldn't stomach the thought of mixing 12 year old scotch with that brown water dripping out of the hillside, so I put it aside," I admitted, as I poured our drinks.

"I knew you took it," he said. "Every time I brushed my teeth with that foul swill, I cursed you for keeping it all to yourself. I guess I owe you an apology."

"Cheers, mate!" we clinked glasses. "It was a sneaky trick," I admitted, "But I hope you'll agree it was worth it."

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson: Fish On!

Rocky Bay Part VIII: The Floater

It was a blustery day, windy and cold, with a big chop in the harbour. As we were leaving First Pool, I saw something that chilled me even more than the weather. On the far side of the river, two glossy gray-brown shapes surfaced for a moment, then disappeared. I got the distinct impression of something substantial lurking beneath the water.

"Oh, no! Was that what I think it is?" I cried. "Was that a floater?"

"Where?" asked Steve.

I pointed with my rod. "It looked like a pair of waders with boots just like yours," I added. "It could have been a drowned angler, possibly a guest from upriver, at Morgaine's camp." Just then, we both saw one boot break the surface, then another boot, ten feet away.

"Those aren't boots," Steve exclaimed, "They're seals!"

Steve was right. They were seals, and they were in the river for one reason. With all the rain we'd had lately, fish were coming up from the salt on every tide. These two had ventured out of their element in pursuit of a favorite meal - Atlantic Salmon.

While we were relieved that we didn't have to launch a recovery operation, it was still disturbing to see these sea wolves in a salmon pool. It was probably a good thing that we had decided to return to camp for a few hours. There would be no chance for anglers in First Pool until the seals were gone.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson: The Old Fort River at Rocky Bay

Rocky Bay Part VII: Success

Today, we took time to cook breakfast before heading out to the river at 5 AM - our clothes somewhat soggy after two days of rain. At First Pool, I caught a grilse on a #6 White Phentex Bug. Then Steve waded out and promptly hooked one. His whoop of joy was still echoing off the hills when the salmon leapt clear of the water and his line fell slack. In disgust, he stomped ashore and tossed his wading staff on the ground. "What do I have to do to catch a salmon on this #@%% river?" he said to no one in particular.

I didn't know how to respond, but we talked it over, replaying the scene in our minds. There were salmon in the pool - of that, there was no doubt. They were in the mood to take a fly, as well, and Steven knew exactly where to cast, and what the 'fly du jour' was. One thing occurred to me. "Did you set the hook on that fish?" I probed.

"Come on," he gestured at the pool, "In water like this a salmon hooks itself."

"I always set the hook, though," I said. "What harm does it do to make sure the hook is set?"

"Can't argue with that," he replied.

"Go back out, right now," I insisted "and remember to give the rod tip a flick as soon as you feel the weight."

Steve waded out again and fished for almost an hour, then returned to shore, empty-handed, and even more discouraged, if that was possible. Back in the river, I waded to a familiar rock. Using landmarks on the opposite shore to triangulate my target, I made about six casts to get the right amount of line out, and Bango! - I hooked another grilse, which Steve netted with his usual expertise. "I'm getting good at landing them," he grimaced. "Haven't lost one yet! What's that - five, now?"

"I dunno, who's counting?" I lied. "Here, Steve, try this fly," I offered, as I clipped it from my line.

Steve tied on the Phentex Bug, returned to the pool, and in a very few casts, was into another fish. I watched him set the hook on an aerobatic grilse that flipped and flopped all over the pool. Then Steve turned and headed for shore. This time, it was my job to man the net, and I worried that if I screwed this up, I would never hear the end of it. But it was "No worries, mate!" a few moments later, when I hoisted his gleaming prize.

Steve had snapped his losing streak, and a look of relief was spreading over his face. He plunked himself down at the picnic table and pulled a cylinder from his vest, "Now it's time to enjoy this fine cigar my buddy, Brad, brought back from Cuba."

As he slipped the Cohiba from its airtight container, I pulled the "flask" from my vest. Not really a flask, it was a small mouthwash bottle filled with single malt scotch. I poured some into the cap and offered it to Steve. He looked at me with a frown, then tipped it back and started to gargle. "What the hell?" he said with his eyes, and then slowly it dawned on him that the amber liquid was not Listerine - not by a long shot.

"You've been holding out on me," he accused. "Where did that come from?"

"There's a bottle in my duffel bag," I replied. "I've been saving it for something worth celebrating."

"Jeez," he laughed, "Here I was thinking how bad my breath must be, for you to pour me a shot of mouthwash!"

It was a good moment. We laughed, toasted our success, and with the warmth spreading in our bellies, the tension melted away until it was suddenly all good again. We decided to take our three fish back to the camp, put them on ice, and take a short siesta.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Steve's Streak Snaps (Try saying that quickly, three times.)

Rocky Bay Part VI: Frustration

On the table in my room was a travel-size bottle of mouthwash, left by a previous guest at the camp in Rocky Bay. What struck me about it was the size - perfect for a pocket flask! What's more, the screw-on cap doubled as a shot glass. I rinsed it out thoroughly, filled it with single malt scotch, and tucked it in my fishing vest. This would be just the thing to pull out on the river, after Steve landed his first salmon.

We rose at 4 AM, brewed coffee, skipped breakfast, and headed for the river. Blessing of all blessings - there was no trouble with the motors today! We saw salmon at First Pool and fished there for an hour, but the water was still very high, and we were anxious to get on our way to Third Pool. By 7 AM we were fishing Third Pool, and by 10 AM, I had bagged another grilse in the pouring rain, on a #8 LaPoile Bug.

That was all the salmon action for the day, but we caught quite a few trout at the run into Second Lake and brought two home for supper. Steve was frustrated at not catching a salmon, but his day would come, I assured him, maybe tomorrow...

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson: First Pool on the Old Fort River, Quebec

Rocky Bay Part V: Resolve

We were spending the morning at the camp in Rocky Bay. Steve cooked pork chops and rice, and minestrone soup. I boiled potatoes, kept the stove going, split and stacked wood. All the while, we kept one ear cocked for the sound of an outboard motor. Surely one of the Bilodeau boys would soon arrive with a battery for the CB radio.

I went to my room to lie down, and slept like a stone. When I awoke, the rain had let up, and it was mid-afternoon. No one had come to fix the radio or the outboards, but with a good meal and a few hours rest under my belt, our situation didn't seem so bad. Staring at the ceiling, I thought, "We're on our own here. This is what we signed up for. We're not going to spend the week in camp. We came here to fish, not to whine about our problems!"

It was time to have a go at fixing the motors. In the late afternoon, we took the boat to the mouth of the river, moored it, and carried a set of wrenches up to First Pool. We decided to concentrate on the 20 HP Johnson with its starter cord that would not rewind. Taking off the starter assembly, we found that the coil spring had come off the peg that holds it. Working together, Steve and I were able to get it securely back in place. A few pulls later, she roared to life. We let it idle for a while, stopped and started it a few times. It seemed to work perfectly. We were truly happy to have solved a huge problem! Tomorrow, we should be able to reach Third Pool and do some serious salmon fishing. Steve might even catch one!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson: The Camp at Rocky Bay

Rocky Bay Part IV: Despair

I woke at 2 AM, tossing and turning - too hot in my sleeping bag, and too cold without it. It was raining, and the roof of the camp was leaking. I got some buckets to catch the drips, started a fire in the kitchen stove, and made some coffee. Then I carried an armload of wet firewood inside and stacked it in the oven to dry.

For some reason, I started thinking about the bad things in this place - the outboard motors that wouldn't start, the radio that didn't work, the realization that there was no way to contact anyone, or summon help in case of emergency. I was covered with insect bites, bruised and sore all over from my fall in the river, from carrying the 40 HP motor through the woods, from criss-crossing the lake with those heavy oars in a massive wooden boat with no oarlocks, on an empty stomach.

I was thinking... I'm not used to this. I've done my share of boating. And one thing I've learned from it is that I do not like having to spend my precious fishing time wrestling with outboards. I like a motor that starts every time. If it doesn't, I take it in for service before I'll use it again. I don't know how to repair an outboard motor, but there are people who do - I'm just not one of them, and neither is my brother, Steve.

When Steve got up, we talked it over. With the rain drumming on the roof and a cozy fire in the woodstove, we decided to stay in camp that morning. We hoped that one of the Bilodeau brothers would arrive with a battery for the radio, and would fix the outboards for us.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson: First Pool, Old Fort River, Quebec

Rocky Bay Part III: Third Pool At Last

Steve and I got up at 4 AM, brewed coffee, skipped breakfast, and hit the trail. At the river mouth, we tied the boat way up the shore, in case it was low tide when we returned. Our plan was to head for Third Pool and fish our way back.

The 20 HP Johnson was fussy, but eventually cooperated and so we made our way across the lake to Second Pool. Here, the 9.9 HP Johnson would not start. We tried everything, including taking out and cleaning the plug, but could not get it to run. So, back across the lake we went to First Pool, picked up the 40 HP Mariner that Reiss had left for a spare, threw it in the boat and, lo and behold, now the 20 HP Johnson wouldn't start. Finally, it coughed and sputtered into action.

Back up the lake we went, then lugged the heavy outboard through the woods and around the rapids. We put the motor on the boat, crossed our fingers, pulled the starter cord and it roared to life! At the head of the lake, after beaching the boat, we trudged up a wooded path, took a leaky canoe ride across a back channel, and reached Third Pool at last.

Half the day was now gone, but here, we could fish. Although the water was still high and fast, Steve managed to wade out to a rock that he could cast from. Because there was room for only one person to cast, we took turns fishing. About mid-afternoon, after a number of raises, I hooked a grilse on a #8 Black Bear Green Butt. A few showy leaps later, it made a long run downstream to the fast water, where I was sure I would lose it. Steve raced below and "herded" the fish back upstream, then netted it expertly for me. To top it off, he took the great photo above.

On my next turn, I landed another grilse on the same fly. I stopped fishing now and let Steve have the pool to himself - he rose a few, but didn't connect. About 6 PM, we headed back. At Second Pool the 20 HP Johnson would not start. We tried everything, pulled until our arms were half-dead, then finally, the starter cord pulled out and would not retract. We tried the 9.9 HP again, but no go! We could not budge the bolts that held the starter coil on, so we put both motors in the boat and paddled, poled, and dragged her down the lake to First Pool.

We lugged the two fish and our gear through the woods to the shore, then had to walk a quarter mile along the slippery water line to reach the boat. Happily, it started on the second pull, and we made it back to the camp at Rocky Bay just before dark, so exhausted, we hardly spoke. I went to bed hungry at 9:30 PM - too tired to eat.

More to come...

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson

Rocky Bay Part II: The River

Our arrival at the Old Fort River was a homecoming for me. I had fished the exclusive upper waters as a guest at Morgaine's Salmon Camps the previous summer, but this was Steve's first trip to the Old Fort. From the camp, it was 5 minutes to the river by boat - a massive wooden craft, painted white with red trim, and powered by a 40 HP Yamaha outboard. We moored it close to shore with anchors, bow and stern, then picked our way across the slippery beach rocks and around the rapids to the foot of a lake. Here, we found another boat on a slip made from spruce poles, and a rough picnic table nearby.

The water was very high and fast. Steve ventured out almost to the middle and cast unsuccessfully for the first half hour while I watched from the picnic table. After he came ashore, I fought my way out as far as I could, and raised a salmon with a long cast. I got so excited, I stepped in a hole and went over my waders, but was able to back up and make shore safely. I didn't mind the ducking. I was just thankful that the new camera in my shirt pocket didn't get soaked.

Sometimes, I wish I was taller. There comes a point, in wading deep water, when you lose the ability to keep your footing. Your buoyancy overcomes your weight and you lose traction. Although your boots touch bottom, there is no grip in them, and the current sweeps you away. That's exactly what happened to me the next time out. Steve stared in awe as I went tumbling downstream and over the rapids, rod in one hand and wading staff in the other.

He told me later he thought I was a goner, as I swept out of view. He had visions of dragging my soggy body back to the camp and keeping it in the big insulated fish box, filled with snow, that served as our refrigerator. As for me, once I got out of the deep trough I had stepped into, I gained my feet and managed to stumble ashore before I hit the salt water.

As I pulled the camera from my shirt pocket, the water dripped out of it. It was toast, but I was OK - just a little bruised around the ego. We returned to Rocky Bay for dry clothes and waders, then headed back to try the other pools. The boat at First Pool had a 20 HP Johnson outboard and it was hard to start. After 8 or 10 tries, the starter rope pulled out and wouldn't recoil.

There were two massive oars, but no oarlocks in the boat. We decided to paddle up to Second Pool - a long way, but not too difficult with the wind at our backs. When we finally reached the pool, we were disappointed to find that the water here was even deeper and stronger than at First Pool. It was impossible to wade, but we tried to fish from shore without success.

The boat on Second Pool had no motor. The previous group had broken the starter cord and left the 9.9 Evinrude up on the bank. We decided to head back to the camp at Rocky Bay and spent what seemed like an eternity, paddling, poling, walking the boat along the shoreline with the wind in our teeth. When we finally reached First Pool, we were dead-tired - the arms wore right off us. Too tired to even fish, we started the 40 HP Yamaha, the only motor that worked, and made it back to camp about 5 PM.

Steve cooked supper - a godawful mess of hamburger, canned tomatoes and elbow macaroni that our mom used to call Chop Suey. I groan inwardly every time I think of the hundreds of times we ate it as kids, but I was so hungry, it tasted pretty good. About 8 PM, Reiss Bilodeau arrived with a spare motor and tools. I went with him back to the river, carrying the toolbox and 5 gallons of gas, while Reiss lugged the 40 HP Mariner on his back. In jig time, he got the two motors running and left the Mariner on the bank at First Pool, for a spare.

When we got back to Rocky Bay, Reiss tried to fix the radio without success. He had to make Napetipi before dark, so he left, saying that he would radio his brother, Dwight, to bring us a new battery. Thus ended our first day in Rocky Bay. We were optimistic that tomorrow would bring new adventures and better fishing.

More to come...

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Steve at the Tiller, Rocky Bay

Rocky Bay - Part I: The Camp

A half-liter of pure bottled water - that's what Steve was stewing about. Or was it the fact that I'd been having a successful Atlantic Salmon fishing trip, and my brother had yet to land a fish? Actually, I was pretty sure that was it - I didn't find out about the water until later...

We had signed up for some "roughing it" in North Shore, Quebec - a week of Atlantic Salmon fishing on the Old Fort River, without a guide. The Bilodeau brothers had acquired a lobster fisherman's summer camp on Rocky Bay and were offering reduced rates to anglers who didn't mind a little work mixed in with their fishing. They preferred to book parties of four, but because we were able to confirm at the last minute, Steve and I ended up with the whole place to ourselves.

There is no road to Rocky Bay. A 45-minute boat ride in the fog, brought us to the camp, where four anglers were packing to leave. They had not had much success with the salmon, and blamed it on the water being too high. Three days of steady rain had put the river up in the woods. They amused themselves by catching sea trout at the mouth of the river and drinking a bit of rum and whiskey - a lot of rum and whiskey, judging by the empties they left behind. They also left a liter of bottled water. It was only half-full, but I stashed it in my duffel bag next to a bottle of single malt scotch that I had brought to celebrate our angling prowess, or drown our sorrows, as time would tell.

Dwight and Jason Bilodeau had no time to show us the boats or the pools. They still had to pick up four anglers on the Napetipi River, and get them to the airport at Blanc-Sablon in time to catch their flight. Someone would stop in later that day to "show us the ropes", they assured us.

"Oh, by the way," one of the departing foursome mentioned, "there's no motor on the boat at Second Pool. We left it on the riverbank - we couldn't get it to go."
"Oh, yeah," said another, "that two-way radio in the camp doesn't work either - I think it's the battery."

The Camp

In Baie des Roches, where Jacques Cartier landed during his exploration of the "new world", were seven buildings - each one shimmed and blocked up on the granite boulders. They were clustered on the hillside with rocky, sometimes steep, passages between them, and planks laid down across the wet spots. The main building, plastered with brick-red asphalt roofing on the exterior, was a one-story dwelling with wood floors and walls. A small deck ran across the front. Through a low door, there was a kitchen, three small bedrooms, a sitting room and an indoor toilet. There was an old wood-fired kitchen range and a tabletop propane stove with two burners - only the left one worked. Outside, a water hose constantly dripped brown water from a spring somewhere in the rocky hills above the camp.

More of our Atlantic Salmon adventures in North Shore, Quebec to follow...

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Photo by Steve Dobson: "The Camp at Rocky Bay"

Kiacks on the Medway

The Medway River is one of many Maritime waterways known for its prolific run of kiacks. In other places, they are referred to as gaspereau, alewife, or Alosa pseudoharengus, but, here on the Medway, people call them by their aboriginal Mi'kmaq name - kiack. They are still fished commercially with long-handled dip nets at specific berths along the river, and anyone with an angling license can bag up to 20 per day - if you can catch them!

Born in freshwater, the mature kiack is a 10"-12'' fish resembling a herring or small shad. It takes 4-5 years feeding at sea to reach sexual maturity, then the kiack returns to the river of its birth to spawn. Eggs are deposited in freshwater from May to July, and develop quickly over the summer. From late August to October, 2"-3" silvery juveniles can be seen in great numbers on their journey to the sea. One interesting thing about kiacks is that they do not usually die after spawning. Individuals are known to live as long as 10 years and biologists estimate that up to 75% of each year's run are repeat spawners.

Kiacks are fun to catch on a light fly rod. They are powerful swimmers and put up a good fight when hooked, but it is rather difficult to catch them. You will find kiacks by carefully observing the surface water. Kiacks travel in schools - sometimes by the hundreds or thousands of fish, and they can make quite a commotion in still water. At times you will see individual fish, or several fish at once, smacking the water. At other times you will notice turbulence - especially subtle waves advancing upstream against the current flow.

Like shad, these fish are here for one reason - to spawn. They spend their time chasing each other around and around in circles, and seem unconcerned with feeding. I have occasionally caught them on #6 and #8 salmon flies using a floating line. My best success was with a wet salmon fly called the McKinnon Special. I would be interested to hear from anyone who has caught kiacks with an artificial fly - either by design, or incidentally, in the pursuit of other species.

PS: Check out this video of kiacks in freshwater. Is it my imagination, or do some of them appear to be feeding on something - could it be plankton? Maybe that's why they have those "googly eyes". I don't think I have any flies quite that small...

Good Luck and Good Fishin!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Kiacks in a blue pail.

Medway Report 15 May 2008

Water temperature 14 C. Saw an almost white deer, a beaver, many ducks and cormorants, a great blue heron, an osprey. Shadbush is in bloom. Dark Mayflies with transparent wings. Caught & released five brook trout - from 9" to 11", and one salmon parr. The Usual #14, and RLM #8. Beautiful sunset. Blackflies a nuisance.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: View from the Water's Edge

The Landing Net

The Missus whispered something to me last night as I was drifting off to sleep...

It's not what you're thinking.

She said, "Marilyn and I are going to the city tomorrow. Is there anything you need?"

"Yes, I'm glad you asked," I replied. "I need a new landing net - a trout net, if you come across one."

"Don't you have one?" she inquired.

"I do, but a couple of years ago, I was fixing the well. I needed something to weigh down the foot valve so it would sink to the bottom. One-inch PVC pipe comes in coils, and won't straighten out worth a damn. I thought about tying a rock to it, but I couldn't tie a knot that would hold a big heavy rock. Then I thought of using a net to hold the rock. Not long after that, I cut the mesh off my old aluminum landing net - sacrificed it in the name of domestic harmony," I explained.

"Oh, how sweet of you!" she cooed.

"I release all of the trout I catch," I continued, "so it hasn't been an issue. But today, when Dad hooked that beautiful brookie and wanted it for supper, I was in a bit of a pickle without a landing net."

"I'll try to get you one," she whispered.

"Thanks, Hon - you're the best!" I murmured as I fell asleep, while visions of laminated exotic hardwood landing nets danced in my head.

Today when I got home from school, she and Marilyn were in the driveway unloading their swag. Out of the back of her car came cases of bottled water, 48-roll packages of toilet paper, and a four foot long aluminum handle with about three feet of black mesh dangling down...

"What in God's name is that?" I choked. "I asked for a trout net!"

"Well, it's a net! What does it look like?" she asked, indignantly.

I really should have known better... I was half asleep at the time... I was bushwhacked... I...

I know what you're thinking...

You're right - there is no excuse. A man who can't buy his own fishing gear deserves what he gets.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP

Fishing with Dad

I took my Dad fishing today. He told some of his classic stories - one I hadn't heard in a while was the story of how Dick Gardner outsmarted the warden.

Dick caught a salmon and while he was playing it, the warden, Irving Hirtle, stepped out of the woods and said, "Now, sir, d' ye want I should gaft yer fish?"
"Go ahead!" said Dick.
After landing the fish, Irving said, "If I'm not mistaken, that's a Newfie nickel on yer line. I'll have to write you up for fishing with an illegal spinning device."
"Just a minute," said Dick, "if I'm not mistaken, you gaffed the salmon. That makes you an accomplice. Write yourself a ticket, too, while you're at it!"

We had a good 3 hours on the Medway. I caught and released some small trout from 6-9". Dad showed me how to get the job done right with his spinning rod, by hooking this 15" Brookie. We had no net in the boat, so it was a bit of a struggle getting it in. A couple of times his line was fouled around my rod or one of the oars, but he played it cool, and ended up keeping this one for the frying pan. Another beautiful day on the Medway!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP

Empty Nest

They say that life begins at forty- actually, life begins when the kids move out and the dog dies. With our children grown and gone, the Missus and I find our minds are on retirement, and the cozy bungalow we want to build on our land upriver.

When we moved here from the hustle and bustle of city life, I never wanted to leave - couldn't imagine a better place to live. This house sheltered our family of five and a parade of house guests for the last 19 years... but our empty nest is getting to be too much house for just the two of us.

Situated on 3+ acres, we have water frontage, a big field for farming or for pasture, a four BR house, a triple RV garage, and four winterized cottages with a rental income of approximately $24,000 CDN / year.

If you know anyone who might like to live on the Medway River in Nova Scotia, leave a comment below... I'll tell you more.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

-RP

The Lost Keys

You learn to bite your tongue when you love someone. Last night, my son, Dave, told me he'd lost his keys, and I stopped myself from saying, "How do people lose their keys? I never lose my keys."

My brother, Steve, has an expression - "AAA" , which loosely translated, means, "A**holes Always Advertise". I'm thinking about that because, although I didn't make that comment about the keys to my son, I thought of it instantly, which reveals my critical nature. That must be hard on a son. Hard on the Missus too, I reckon.

Anyway, I'm sitting here blogging instead of fishing (which is what I really want to do) and instead of looking for my keys (which is what I really should be doing), because...

I've lost my keys!

I used them half an hour ago to unlock the garage. Now they are gone. I've looked everywhere I might have put them. I've retraced my steps. They're simply gone - vanished into thin air!

They're in that parallel universe with all my odd socks, and the jackknife I lost when I was nine. They're havin' a ball with Dave's keys - livin' large... on Jimmy Hoffa's money!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

RP

Photo by Random Phrump: Steve's Shangrila

Medway Report 23 April 2008

This time of year, I have to weigh my options carefully... do I go fishing, or go blogging? It depends on the weather, really, and the weather's been pretty fine lately, which means that I've been on the river most days after school.

The water temperature has gradually increased, a degree every couple of days, and today, it reached the magic number 10 C. In fact, it got all the way to 11 C in a protected cove. Not many trout have been showing since Opening Day, but I saw lots of rises today - and actually caught a dozen or more - I lost count. They were all small Brook Trout - 8"- 9" (20 CM) mostly, and they were dumb, too - but they were beautiful! The colors, are so vivid on a live brookie in your hand - mottled green and gold with red and blue spots, orange fins with white leading edges.

Beautiful and dumb! I used only one fly (#8 Rumsey Lake Minnow). Although these trout were feeding on or near the surface, they just couldn't resist the RLM cast to the rise form. Some trout took it as soon as it touched down, others gave chase and nailed it as I stripped it in. I did see a few larger fish and even hooked one of them briefly - long enough to know he was a beauty! I released all fish today - except for that last one - he finessed himself a LDR.

I've been putting this off - procrastinating, as the Missus calls it, but I'm going to have to break down and tie some flies soon. For 80 percent of my trout fishing, I use only 6 different patterns - 3 wet and 3 dry. Here's what I'll be tying:

WET
Royal Coachman Streamer
Rumsey Lake Minnow
Bob Root's Chili Pepper

DRY
The 'Usual'
Tom Thumb
CDC & Elk

The wets I tie in size 8 - the dries in 12, 14 and 16. Notice that the dry flies can all be fished wet and will still take fish. In fact they often are even deadlier, fished wet. I remember the day I waded up the brook between 1st and 2nd Christopher Lakes and released 30 trout on a wet #14 Usual! I guess I'm a "presentation" man - I don't match the hatch too much - except in size. I'm the leading proponent of what I like to call the Simpleton school of fly selection. As far as color goes, I think in terms of two - light and dark.

From this post, you should gather that fishing season is officially "on" here on the Medway. Why don't you take a kid fishing and give him a great memory before the blackflies get too thick?


Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

-RP

Photo by Random Phrump - "Spring Brookie"

Snarls and Loose Ends

I'm a bit of a recluse, so stories take a while to percolate down to my level, but I have news on two fronts - the Hurricane Noel Rainbow Trout and the Medway Catch and Release license.

There was some chat after today's staff meeting. I overheard the youngbloods talking about catching Rainbow Trout in the Mersey, the LaHave, and Petite Riviere. The catches have been fish in the 18" to 23" range. A particularly unlucky angler, reportedly, broke his rod on the one that got away. My thought is that these fish are spawning now, or will be very soon. They are probably in the feeder brooks already.

The other news I read in the Queens County section of NovaNewsNow. I had heard a rumor there would be a catch and release season for Atlantic Salmon this year. It seems that the Medway River Association has been granted 32 licenses to fish for post-spawn Atlantic Salmon. Apparently, the 32 members are out in force on the Medway tagging "slinks", as we call them. In addition, there will be 15 wild slinks surgically implanted with hydroacoustic tags. These tags emit a unique, identifiable sound that is picked up by receivers in the river system and in the ocean. With this technology, each fish can be tracked on part of its ocean journey.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

Random Phrump

Photo: 'Boat at the Swirl' by Random Phrump

Phenology

Phenology, from phenomenology, is the science dealing with the influence of climate on such annual phenomena of animal and plant life as bird migrations, blooming, etc. The observant fisherman can predict when trout fishing will be most productive by noting details such as water and air temperatures, insect and plant appearances.

In my yard, there is a perfect indicator plant species for Brook Trout - the Nanking Cherry, an ornamental shrub. It is an attractive bush, about 6 feet in height, bearing profuse pink or white blooms and edible fruit. A native indicator species is Shadbush (Amelanchier arborea) also known as Juneberry, Indian Pear, or Downy Serviceberry. The first blossoms appear when the water temperature reaches 50F/10C and remain on the plant for about 2 weeks. At this time, Brook Trout are more active and flyfishing more productive. Depending on the weather, this period occurs any time from late April to late May in Southwest Nova Scotia.

Two factors influence trout behavior to create ideal fishing conditions: 1) The trout's body temperature rises to its optimum level and 2) major insect hatches provide abundant food supply. During this peak period, Brook Trout often feed on or near the surface and show their positions to the angler, greatly improving his chances for success.

There is a recurring dream that I have... winds are light, the air warm, sky overcast. Big dark Mayflies are rising skyward and all around, trout are making the water fly as they greedily smash at the struggling Ephemeroptera. The fly floats in the air, then kisses the water, six feet from the nearest trout. In my canoe, just downstream and 30 feet to the right, my eyes are glued to the dead-drifting fly; my left hand gathers in slack line as it approaches the spot. There is no surprise when the trout rises to inhale my offering. I raise the tip, the rod bows - the fish is on!

Perfect flyfishing moments like this can be rare, but easier to find if you learn to observe relationships between natural indicators and major insect hatches. I keep a fishing log, and record date, time of day, air and water temperature, plants and animals observed, as well as fish caught and fly patterns. I like to look back over the years of data and see how my catches (and releases) steadily improve. It's not that my skills are much better - but I know better when and where to fish.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

Random Phrump

Person June 1st

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Medway Report 4 April 2008

I arrived at the river with oars and a life jacket, just in case I wanted to take the boat out. A steady stream of stoneflies was arriving at the Swirl and trout were lined up to feed. The Swirl is a great eddy. The force of the current and the contour of the bank causes the water to circulate in an oval path. Water actually flows upstream until it meets a jutting point of land and is sucked back to join the midstream rush to the Atlantic.

I didn't have any dry flies with me - just a box of streamers and wet flies. I tried the #8 Royal Coachman Streamer and got a soft strike, but no hook-up. Then a few casts later, got a heavy hit - but again, no hook-up. I got pretty excited about that one, because it really felt like an exceptional fish. I was thinking... 3-pound Rainbow?

I changed to a #10 Pink Mystery - tied by my good friend, Steven MacDonald - and damn, if a 10 inch Brook Trout didn't grab it near the surface. Later, I tried a #2 pink/orange/yellow Cardinell (looking for the one that got away), and took another trout - about 11". Both fish were released in good shape. I use barbless hooks - I may get a few LDR's (Long Distance Releases), but it is much less stressful to the fish.

I need to remember a few basic skills to be successful with barbless hooks. In general, I try to keep slack out of the line; set the hook with a flick of the rod tip; and maintain a tight line while playing the fish. It doesn't always work, but when I remember to use those skills, I usually get the job done. Trust me, if Brother Al can land a salmon on a broken fly, anyone can be successful with barbless flies. It adds an element of uncertainty to the sport, that I find enjoyable.

All of today's fishing was done from shore, or by wading a few feet out. The water was so cold (3 Celsius) I could not stay in it for more than 1/2 hour. I usually check the water temperature when fishing for trout. The magic number, by the way, is 10 Celsius. At 10 Celsius (50 Fahrenheit, for our American friends), insects start to become active and trout begin to get a lot more aggressive about their feeding. This increases until the water temperature reaches 15 Celsius - a Brook Trout's optimum temperature.

News Flash!

My brother, Steve, told me that a couple of Rainbow Trout were caught in the Sackville River this week. I think next time, I might have to take that boat out and have a good look around. We surely have some in our river if those aquaculture escapees made it all the way up the coast to Halifax.

News Flash! News Flash!

My son, David, told me that he heard there will be a Catch & Release season for Atlantic Salmon on the Medway River this year. That is, as yet, unconfirmed. I will be checking into this!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'
- Random Phrump

Medway Report 1 April 2008

I forgot about it being Opening Day while I was at work today. It rained hard most of the day and blew hard too. When I got home about 4:30PM, I was tired, but decided I would go out to the river, just for a few casts. The wind was steady from the Southwest at 40 kph, gusting to 70 kph. It was about 6 Celsius, 42 Fahrenheit, cloudy with light rain. There were a few stoneflies on the water, but no surface feeding that I could see.

I tried a hot orange/yellow #8 Muddler Mickey streamer, then a #8 Royal Coachman Hairwing streamer, and finished up with a #8 Rumsey Lake Minnow. A nice, fat 11 or 12 inch Brook Trout grabbed the Royal Coachman. As I brought the fish to hand and released it, I was amazed at how cold the trout felt. Checking the water temperature, it was no wonder - 2 degrees Celsius, about 35 Fahrenheit! That explains it.

That's all the action I got. I didn't see any other anglers, or any other fish. I was hoping for a rainbow trout, after the Hurricane Noel destruction of a local aquaculture farm last fall. All in all, I was happy with my hour on the river - it was a bit bigger fish than I usually catch. I will keep you posted on my angling adventures on the Medway this season.

About the Royal Coachman - the fly in the illustration is not exactly how I tie them - I use a sparse collared soft hackle instead of a throat hackle, and I believe the one I used today had a sparse white bucktail wing instead of the white calftail. Be careful with the length of the wing - a wing too long will get fouled around the bend of the hook. It can be a deadly fly for Brook trout in Nova Scotia. I always have this attractor pattern in my box for times when no obvious surface feeding is happening.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
- Random Phrump

Opening Day

On Tuesday, April 1st, sport fishing season will open on Nova Scotia rivers and lakes. Seniors' fishing licenses are available at $6.03 (tax included), a general license for the season costs $25.32 (tax included) for residents of Nova Scotia and $57.45 for non-residents. Non-residents also have the option to purchase a seven-day license for $31.74. In addition, a one-day license (resident or non-resident) can be obtained for $12.46.

No license is required to fish in tidal waters; however seasons and bag limits are still in effect. Residents under the age of 16 do not require a license except for salmon, and licenses for qualified disabled persons are free of charge. The Nova Scotia Angler's Handbook is provided to anyone who purchases a license, but also is available online.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
Random Phrump

Buckle's Point Revisited - Part 2

In Labrador, the local anglers favor spinning gear for sea trout. Eyes opened wide, seeing Steve and me on the rocky shore with our fly rods tucked under our ams, stripping line with both hands. They opened even wider at the sight of us releasing sea run Brookies. By noon on our second day, we started to draw a crowd.

The word was out that the sea trout were in at Buckle's Point. Two CFA's (Come From Aways) were forking them in with fly rods - and throwing them back! No one had ever heard of such foolishness. Local anglers arrived by the truckload to get in on the action.

They weren't long finding out there wasn't much action to be had on the spinning rod. Catches were few and far between, except for those alien fly fishers with their annoying habit of releasing trophy trout. When a kid came up to me and asked if he could have the 20" trout I was releasing, I probably should have said yes. Instead, I gave the boy a purple Cardinelle fly and invited him to catch his own.

About that time, Steve approached me and said, "I've been chatting with a fellow over there for the past half hour. He wants us to come up to his house for a cup of tea and some smoked trout. What do you think?"

And that's how we came to meet Uncle Parker, and his nephews, Gavin, and young Bobby. The three of them were licensed guides, and they were there out of pure curiosity. They wanted to see with their own eyes what all the fuss was about on Buckle's Point - two guys fishing in the bay with fly rods!

I'll make a long story short by saying that we spent the night tying flies, drinking 12 year-old scotch and smoking cigars at young Bobby's. The next morning, we were back at Buckle's Point with Parker. Steve told me later that, at one point, he looked up the shore and saw half a dozen local anglers with fly rods tucked under their arms, stripping like madmen.

Here are a few tips about fly fishing in salt water:

Use a full sinking line - it will be no fun to cast with, but absolutely essential for getting the fly to where the fish are.

Stand on a high rock near shore, if possible. There are three advantages to this - the first is better visibility into the water, the second is less risk of smashing your fly on the rocks behind you, the third is achieving maximum casting range.

Speaking of visibility, wear a broad-brimmed hat and polarized sunglasses. Position yourself so that there is an area of sandy bottom nearby, if possible. Sea trout can be very difficult to see in salt water, except when they cross a patch of light sandy bottom.

In general, cast as far as you can, and let the fly sink. Tuck your rod under your arm and strip hard and fast with both hands.

Use a stripping basket. I learned this in Long Beach, California, fishing for Corbina. A stripping basket attaches to your waist with a belt and allows for better line control. It's not absolutely necessary, but makes the whole business a lot safer and more enjoyable. If you don't use one, be prepared to spend a lot of time freeing the line from tangles with rocks and seaweed at your feet. You can spend from $20 to $100 for a stripping basket or you can make your own for less than $10.

A marabou fly, such as a Cardinelle, or Wooly Bugger has a seductive pulsating action that trout seem to go for. Tie them big - you want something at least three inches long. I like to tie them with two contrasting colors of marabou - purple and pink, pink and yelow, or red and white are good choices.

Always rinse your rod, your reel, and any flies you might want to use again in fresh water after a day in the salt.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Buckle's Point Revisited - Part 1

The truck rolled to a stop near the rocky shore on Buckle's Point. Steve and I assembled our rods, and prepared to engage the sea trout of Forteau Bay. We had heard that 3 and 4 pounders were sometimes caught here by locals using spinning gear. We had to give it a try with our fly rods.

Steve headed left along the shore, toward the river's mouth, and I turned right towards the open sea. Standing on a high rock, casting as far as I could, I observed the motion of the fly in the water. Occasionally, a fish would chase the fly into the shallows, then turn away. About that time Steve hollered, "Fish on!" and I watched him land a gorgeous 16" sea trout.

We compared notes that evening in the Basque Dining Room of the Northern Light Inn at L'Anse-au-Clair. Steve told me his rig had included a sinking line and a 'Lester, the Lobster' salmon fly. After dinner, we enjoyed a local treat - a glass of Cloudberry (Bakeapple) liqueur on the rocks - the rocks, in this case, being 5,000 year old ice, harvested from an iceberg in the Strait of Belle Isle.

The next morning we packed up the truck and went through the motions of heading for the ferry in Blanc Sablons, but our conversation kept returning to Buckle's Point. I hadn't solved the mystery yet of saltwater fly fishing for trout. We flipped a coin in the parking lot - heads, the trout - tails, the ferry. Two, or three times that loonie came up tails, but Steve finally cussed it into submission, and so we made for Forteau Bay.

There were two men and a boy fishing with spinning rods outside the DFO-posted boundary signs. Beyond the signs, on this scheduled Atlantic Salmon river, it was fly-fishing only - off-limits to non-residents like us, without a guide. We chose a spot near, but not too near the other fishermen, and geared up. Thinking of Steve's rig, I wasn't long changing to a full sinking line, but I opted for a big marabou fly, a Cardinelle. I really liked the way the fly worked in the water. It seemed the faster I stripped line, the more often I would get fish to follow it in, sometimes right to the rocks at my feet.

I remembered seeing some saltwater anglers on a TV show using a two-handed stripping retrieve, with their rods tucked under their arms. At first, it felt awkward, but I could strip line much faster with two hands. Furthermore, the motion of the fly changed subtly - it now had a rapid dart left/dart right pattern instead of a steady trajectory.

About that time, I noticed a small pod of fish approaching, They were cruising parallel to the shoreline, and I cast to intercept them. Letting the fly sink until the fish were almost on top of it, I tucked the rod under my arm and stripped, with both hands, as fast as I could. To my amazement, the whole school turned to give chase, and one of them nailed it! I had just hooked an 18" sea trout in salt water - a first for me.

I told Steve about my new technique and he gave me a look that said, "whatever floats your boat..." and went back to his fishing. But I had found a method that worked, and it worked well. In the next hour, I released two more trophy sea trout. That's when Steve got interested in what kind of fly I was using. I should have said "a Rusty Rat", but I gave him one of my #2 Cardinelles. Not too much later, I looked to my left and there was Steve - rod tucked under his arm, stripping line with both hands, and a monster sea trout closing in on his fly. "Got him!" he cried. I hurried with the net to help land a trout that looked to be 4, maybe 5 lbs. What a fish! Outdone again, I've learned that's what I get for sharing my secrets with Steve.

Next post, I will share with you what I have learned about fly fishing in saltwater, including some tips to make it more productive, safer, and more enjoyable. I'll also have a few words to say about the local anglers' response to our success.

Good Luck and Good Fishin',
-Random Phrump

Phot0 by Drew Dobson

Gavin's Pocket

When we rolled into Forteau, my two sons, Drew and David, and I weren't long hearing about the Atlantic Salmon fishing action so far that summer.

"Gavin's been 'avin' a good season, Skipper!" said Doug. "'e's got a 'oney 'ole we calls 'Gavin's Pocket'. By Jeezus, 'e's 'auled a 'few outta dat, da year, eh Mona?"

"'e's not da only one - I say ye got yer share, if ya wants to know da truth" cried Mona.

We geared up and headed for the river, with Gavin as our guide. At one pool, we saw fish, but got ne'er a raise. A good walk downstream, Gavin showed us his 'pocket'.

"I was fishin' in da middle, dere, " he said. "I always gives dat a flick on me way d-d-d-down by. Dis one day, it was blowin' a gale. I'se just after tyin' on a bug when da wind takes it clean outta me 'and. She lands right in dat pocket dere, behind dat rock, and kinda d-d-d-dances across da surface. Outta da corner of me eye, I seen dis fish make a d-d-d-dodge fer it - fired back and B-B-B-B-Bango! I 'ad 'im!"

Gavin had indeed found a 'honey hole' in a place most people would walk past without wetting a line. Close to shore, it was hard to believe that a salmon would lie there, but Gavin's Pocket produced fish for us all week. There are lessons in this:

• There is no substitute for a good local guide, especially when you have a limited amount of time to fish. It takes much of the guesswork out of the equation. A good guide will put you on fish - it will be your job to catch them.

• Don't ignore shallow water, or water very close to shore - big fish will rest there if there is some cover. That cover could be a corrugated surface caused by wind, or current. It could be the cover of darkness, or an overhanging limb.
  

• For an added bonus, salmon lying in shallow water can be more likely to take a fly, particularly a dry fly, than if they were lying at the bottom of a deep hole.
  

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

- Random Phrump

Photo by: Random Phrump

HalfBeak - the UnderBird

HalfBeak is a crow - with a handicap. The upper half of his beak, from the nostrils forward is missing - a casualty of some freak accident. Perhaps he stuck it where it didn't belong, and ended up paying the price. HalfBeak's mishap occurred about 3 years ago - before that, he was just one of the neighborhood crows. One thing is for certain - since the Missus laid eyes on him and his mangled beak, he's never had a hungry day. She's a sucker for an underdog... I mean, an underbird.

HalfBeak is a loner. Crows are usually gregarious and exhibit fascinating social behavior, but this bird is often alone. I wonder if others of his clan shun him? Crows, after all, are all about the Schnozz. Sure, they have a striking black mantle, but they don't have what anyone would call a beautiful voice. The Schnozz - that's what crows have - that's crow mojo!

HalfBeak sits on the garage roof where he can peer into our kitchen window. He waits on this conspicuous perch until the Missus brings out his dinner - stale bread or popcorn, assorted leftovers - anything except tomatoes. Crows, we have noticed, will not touch a tomato. (I wonder what they know, that we don't?)

The Missus has confessed to buying day-old bakery items to feed HalfBeak and his clan - nutritious, whole grain food at the lowest possible price. They have a little routine at feeding time. First she throws the choicest tidbits on the walkway directly under HalfBeak's perch. Then she scatters the rest in the driveway for the clan. We have come to know HalfBeak well, and look forward to daily visits from the UnderBird.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump