RANDOM CASTS

Canceling the School Dance on the Medway

2011-08-25T09:53:00.003-03:00

Yesterday, I read in the local weekly newspaper that the Medway River is closed to all angling from the Greenfield Bridge to the Hwy 103 bridge from July 11 to August 15, 2011. This is in response to complaints about people catching and releasing salmon under the guise of trout angling, the article explains.

Oops! Yesterday was July 19 and I have fished almost everyday - sometimes twice a day - in the Medway River in front of my house for months now. I take our two dogs with me in the canoe and troll a fly behind us as we paddle along. Sometimes I catch a White Perch, but usually it's a Smallmouth Bass that grabs the fly. I catch Gaspereau too, when they are traveling through, but I haven't caught a trout since the end of June.

I don't mind. Actually, I enjoy the daily ritual. I like the scenery and the wildlife on the river, I like my canine companions, I like the physical challenge of handling the canoe despite my advancing years. I've learned it's the fishing, not the fish that matters - so everything gets released back into the river.

According to the article, I have been violating the law without knowing it for 8 days now. Now that I am informed, however, I am obliged to lay down my rod. This doesn't sit well with me and here is why...

Having been a teacher for many years, I have seen some "knee jerk" reactions from administrators in response to student behavior. The classic "rookie" mistake is to cancel the school dance because a few students misbehaved. This is exactly what has happened on the Medway River.

A few anglers, evidently, have been blatantly ignoring a moratorium on salmon fishing that has been in place on the Medway for fifteen years. I don't mean that they sneak up to a salmon pool with a net in the darkness. No, these fishermen cast in broad daylight at a known salmon pool and do their best to hook a salmon, then release it. When confronted, they claim that their trout license gives them every right to be there.

So, are they poachers? Not by the traditional definition (doesn't there have to be a dead salmon in someone's possession?). No, what they are is opportunists - fellow anglers who can't resist the temptation to have a few flicks over the king of all sport fish. I'd do it myself, except for one simple thing...

I fish for enjoyment, and to relax. I couldn't enjoy myself, nor would I be very relaxed if I was worried that, at any moment, a fisheries officer might step up and relieve me of my rod and reel and the hundreds of flies I tote with me, not to mention confiscating my vehicle and leaving me to hitchhike or swim home. No, thanks, I think I'll save my salmon fishing for a river where it can be lawfully enjoyed.

That doesn't mean I agree with the river closure. Some of my neighbors are Smallmouth Bass enthusiasts. Finally, they are beginning to enjoy some exciting flyfishing action in their own front yards. It had to happen. Once the bass were illegally introduced into the lakes it took less than ten years for them to become a force to be reckoned with in the Medway River.

I wish I had been able to capture a video of what I have seen happening in front of my house this summer. The schools of newly-hatched Gaspereaux descending from the brooks met a cruel surprise in the Medway as the bass gorged on them. It was unlike anything I have ever seen except in the movies. Actually, it reminded me of piranhas in a feeding frenzy, except that the water didn't turn blood red. I didn't know that Gaspereaux could fly until I saw them leaping several feet clear of the water trying to escape their fates.

I love Atlantic Salmon as much as any man, but it is becoming clear what will happen on the Medway. Despite the efforts of special interest groups to restore the river to her former glory as an Atlantic Salmon sport fishery, the momentum of forces that are bent on eradicating these noble fish is reaching the point of no return.

Acid rain, Nova Scotia's dependence on coal-fired power plants, the expansion of caged aquaculture operations, and now, an unstoppable predatory threat to parr and smolts from invasive species like Smallmouth Bass and, soon-to-arrive, Chain Pickerel spell doom for the king of fish.

In the face of this, to see prominent members of these special interest groups lined up on the bank, hoping to catch one of the few remaining salmon is pathetic. And to see the federal Department of Fisheries and the provincial Department of Natural Resources close the Medway to all angling, instead of prosecuting these "poachers" is inexcusable.

Good Luck and Good Fishin' (but not on the Medway)

RP

"Buy Me A Salmon?"

2009-04-20T16:36:00.003-03:00

Meeting new people can be awkward sometimes, when value systems collide... I talked with a new acquaintance about my experiences living on the river - "Any fish in it?" he inquired. When I mentioned our remnant Atlantic Salmon population, he enthusiastically asked if I had a net set.

I was horrified. I tried to explain that the salmon were of much greater value in the river than in a net.

"Yeah, but they're some tasty" he countered.

"Look, If you want to eat salmon, I answered, "go to Sobey's - you can get it for $4.99 a pound. Believe me, that's a bargain!"

"But I can get it free in a net!" he grinned.

"OK," I offered, "Fair enough, if you're that badly off, come and see me, I'd rather buy you a salmon than see you kill one!"

I guess it was about a year later, I ran into the guy again. He pulled me aside and whispered in my ear...

"Buy me a salmon?"

>

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

RP

Economic Downturn = Boom in Fishing?

2009-03-22T15:34:00.009-03:00

Again, I am reminded of the saying, "It's an ill wind that blows no good". That's because I saw an article in Newser reporting that the economic downturn is sparking a boom in recreational fishing. Apparently, bait and tackle shops are doing well as the recently unemployed flock to local lakes and streams. I imagine it takes their minds off their financial woes to spend a day in the great outdoors, plus it can be a relatively inexpensive hobby compared to, say, heli-skiing.

Good Luck and Good Fishin',

Photo: todbaker

Dick Tracy, do you read me?

2009-03-22T11:14:00.009-03:00

When I was a kid I used to enjoy reading the classic Dick Tracy series in the daily comics. The best thing about Dick Tracy was the cool wristwatch that he always wore. It was a miniature 2-way communication device featuring wireless audio and video. I always wondered if someday everyone would have one. We're not quite there yet, but here's a new fish-finder device, the Humminbird Smartcast 35 - the ultimate in portability for $80 USD retail.

The green thing is a remote, wireless transducer that bobs in the water, securely attached to you or your watercraft by a tether. The wristwatch device shows depth, water temperature, bottom structure, and fish ID. Steve Schweitzer over at Global FlyFisher has a review of this product that makes me think float tubers, pontoon-boaters and kayakers might want to take a closer look.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

First day of Spring 2009 on the Medway

2009-03-21T20:04:00.011-03:00

Meet my new fishin' buddy... her name is Raggs! She was 6 months old on the first day of spring. We were out for our daily walk along the Medway River, and I remembered to bring along a camera for once. She is a dog that turns heads wherever we go. People usually want to know what breed she is. Our vet thought she was a "designer dog", but she is simply a mutt - a cross between a German Shepherd named Sadie, who lives up the road, and a Terrier named Cosmo, who likes to roam.

I'm looking forward to having her company come fishing season, which begins April 1st in Southwest Nova Scotia. Here are a couple of shots of the river.

As you can see there is still ice in the coves, but the main flow is free and clear. There are patches of ice and snow in the woods and, with the sun gaining strength each day, it should only be a week or two before the last vestiges of winter disappear. Amen to that!

Good Luck and Good Fishin',

Photos by Random Phrump

An Ill Wind?

2009-03-14T09:32:00.016-03:00

I had a chat with my dad this morning and, as usual, it wasn't long before the discussion turned to Atlantic Salmon fishing. He reminded me of the time he had some fun with the boys at Banting Lake Lodge near Gander, Newfoundland.

One breezy evening, he and my brother, Dave, went with their guide, Rocky, for a bit of fishing after supper. It's a quick boat ride and a few steps to the Bench Pool where Dad likes to fish, but another half-mile hike over rough terrain to reach Surveyor's Pool.

"D'ere's always more fish at Surveyor's. What d'ya t'ink, Harold? D'ya mind if I takes Dave up to Surveyor's fer a few flicks?" Rocky asked.

"Go ahead, boys. I'll be fine here. I can sit on the bench and rest if I get tired. Don't worry about me," Harold replied.

They had just disappeared around the bend when Harold raised a salmon, and a few casts later, had the fish on his line. Landing it was a bit of a problem, though - the net was leaning against the bench, forty feet from shore. Harold thought to himself,"If I try to run up there to get that net, the fish will get off." He decided his best option was to try to beach the grilse. And that's just what he did - no mean feat on that rocky shore! Harold tagged the fish and hung it on an alder branch near the bench.

By and by, Dave and Rocky returned from the "Honey Hole", empty-handed, to check on Harold. "Any luck?" they inquired.

"Well it was so windy, it was hard to cast," Harold complained. "But I did have a bit of luck! A grilse leaped clear of the water, just when a big gust of wind came along. It blew him right up into the alders, there," Harold pointed to the fish.

"Jeezus wept!" Rocky said. "Here we was feeling' sorry for ya. Come back to check on ya, and find you wit' a fish!" he grinned. "Poor Dave didn't get more'n a few casts. Now dat we knows y' kin handle yerself, we'll dodge back and give 'er another flick, if yer okay wit dat, skipper?"

"I'm fine," Dad laughed. "Go ahead. I'll be here when you get back. I might even go out and try for another one!"

Once more, they weren't gone but a few minutes when Harold hooked a grilse and, having remembered to take the net down to the shore, soon had two fish hanging in the alders. When the boys returned, empty-handed again, Harold was sitting on the bench waiting.

"Had enuff, Harold?" Rocky asked.

"Yes," he replied. "I got tired of fighting that wind on every cast. I thought I'd just sit here awhile and wait for a big gust to blow another one up in the trees," he gestured toward the alders.

"Lard thunderin', Jeezus!" Rocky cried. "Two fish!

"Well, you know what they say," Dave grinned, "It's an ill wind that blows no good."

Good Luck and Good Fishin"

Photo by Dave Dobson

Jackwhacker

2009-03-07T11:59:00.055-04:00

It was summertime - late summer, in fact, and the fishing was anything but easy. Earlier that morning, I lay sleepless in bed, determined to start this fourth day of our Atlantic Salmon adventure in Labrador with a new positive attitude. As guests at Chute Pool Lodge on the Pinware River, my brother, Steve, and I had cast from dawn to dusk, without as much as a raise, for the first three days. The high-spirited anticipation of our arrival had faded to become the grim desperation we were beginning to taste - a taste not unlike skunk, or so I'm told.

In the chilly pre-dawn stillness, I reached for another blanket and grappled with our lack of success - warm water was certainly a problem, and we had missed the main run of grilse in mid-July. But was there something else, some intangible factor that stymied us? Like a big-league slugger in a batting slump, I sought some talisman to change our luck.

In a corner of my room at the lodge stood a pretty little trout rod, custom-made for me by rod-builder, Wayne Crouse. I had finally come to accept the dismal reality of my trout angling results - rarely did I catch anything over ten, maybe eleven inches, and I wanted a rod that would make catching fish of that size more exciting. When Wayne showed me the rod he had built, he commented, "Can you imagine hooking a grilse with this?"

That remark planted a seed that I longed to see flower in Labrador. In my dreams, I had hooked that grilse, and sweated through every moment of the battle, wondering if the slender rod could handle a feisty four-to-five-pound Atlantic Salmon. I wanted that experience to be real; indeed, I craved the heart-pounding excitement it would bring. Before my feet hit the floor, I had decided to leave my 9# wt. salmon rod behind that day, and take the little 5# wt. along instead.

After breakfast, we wriggled into our waders and trudged to where the vehicles were parked. Our Dad, Harold, rooting through his knapsack, exclaimed, "Here's that box of flies I was looking for!" We gathered around the tailgate of his pickup, the way my dog cozies up to the table every time she hears the clatter of dinnerware. He ties beautiful flies and we had good reason to be interested in them - Harold had bagged a bright grilse and an Arctic Char on our first day.

The box was crammed with deer-hair bugs in a variety of sizes and colors. While Steve eyed a couple of high-floaters, I picked a handsome pair for my vest. I also gave each angler a fly I had tied the previous night - Ches' Black Fly was supposed to be just what the doctor ordered for stagnant late-season fish.

We piled into the lodge van and, a few miles down the road, began a long hike up the mountainous west side of the river. The path, though well-trodden, was steep and rambled up hill and down through a stunted evergreen forest. At The Forks, Harold and his guide left us and continued on to the Chute Pool.

After days of blistering hot weather, it had been a cold night. The sun, beginning its climb in the early morning sky, warmed our faces as we tramped down the wooded hillside to the foot of the Western Chute. The Pinware, here, was narrow and extremely deep - the pool, ringed with massive boulders and monstrous slanting fingers of bedrock. Their brown-stained bases and bleached tops showed the water level to be several feet below normal. With a small thermometer, I checked the water at 55 F (12 C), the perfect temperature, according to our guide, Dougie Lee.

He and Steve headed downstream to where the river widened, while from the high rocks below the falls, I surveyed the pool.

Three grilse hugged the opposite shore, tight to the face of the rock, only a few feet below the surface. I made a mental note of where the fish lay and climbed down to a wide ledge from which to cast. Carefully assembling the rod, I chose Ches' Black Fly and delivered it to within a foot of the far side, maybe ten times when, suddenly, the fly dragged. Instead of sweeping freely downstream on the current, it seemed to be snagged on something, and a belly had begun to form in the line. The puzzled look of irritation on my face changed to one of astonishment when a silver bullet pierced the water's surface, trailing a slim tether of green line. The grilse somersaulted once through the air, and back came the fly!

It was over in an instant: I had missed the take, and failed to set the hook. My dream had come true and evaporated in little more than a second. Reeling in, I considered hiking downstream to tell my story, but when I thought of the look that would come creeping over the guide's face, I scaled the rock and peered into the pool once more. Two grilse still lay there, so I returned to the ledge and put the fly over them again, taking plenty of time between casts. A swirl? This time I was ready - a flick of the wrist set the hook, and the dream came surging to life.

Sunlight glinted along the arc of the rod and the foaming waterfall thundered in the still morning air. I whistled for the guide as the reel began to sing - the power of the fish enhanced by the delicacy of the rod. My senses were on red alert, and I relished the throbbing tension in the line that linked our destinies. When Dougie arrived, out of breath, the grilse had made several showy leaps but I was gaining ground at last. The little rod showed no sign of weakness as we battled - the fish taking line, then losing it, time and again. Soon the grilse was almost within Dougie's reach; moments later, it lay still and gleaming in the net.

Awash with triumph and relief, I clambered over the boulders to tell Steve to try Ches' Black Fly, and saw him far below, at the bend in the river, casting intently from a rock in midstream. As I approached, I heard a splash, and lifted my eyes to see a spunky grilse cartwheel across the pool, a white bug lodged firmly in its jaw.

Later, with his prize safely in the net, Steve grinned from ear to ear and held up the fly, "This is the Glitterbug I got from Dad this morning." Leaning closer, he confided, "You know, boys, there's another taker out there. He rolled on the corner just as I hooked this one in front of the sunken rock."

Back into the river Steve waded, while I retraced my steps to the foot of the falls. As I searched the pool, a war cry echoed off the green hillsides and, sure enough, Steve was into another fish. I reached his side in time to see Dougie net Steve's second grilse, and remove the very same fly from its jaw. They were giddy with excitement at having filled his tags by midmorning.

"You've gotta' try this fly," Steve crowed, "It's a killer! You can have my spot, too - I've already got my limit!" I hesitated for a moment, remembering that my fly had also hooked two fish, but I accepted his generosity and tied on the Glitterbug.

Steve waded out with me and pointed to the sunken rock where a pod of grilse had lain. The hole was now vacant - the fish had moved on. I climbed up on a boulder for a better vantage point, and soon became aware of a torpedo-like form a few feet beyond the sunken rock. It might possibly be a fish, but it was big - two or three times the size of the grilse we had caught this morning. More likely, it was just another rock or a sunken log.

A giant dragonfly circled about my head, picking off the blackflies that swarmed there, while I waited and watched for fish to move into the pool.

But my eyes kept coming back to that grey shape behind the rock. I'd already dismissed it as just some natural feature of the streambed, but I decided to give it a few flicks. It was an easy reach - about thirty feet below, and slightly toward midstream from my position. I kept my eye on the submerged form as the white deer-hair bug drifted closer and closer. When the fly was almost upon it, that shape sprang to life, surged forward, then, instantly, turned back. My heart went into overdrive. I had seen the broad silver flank wink at me as it wheeled away and knew it had to be a large salmon. On the next cast, he came again and, once more, turned away. On the third cast, a massive snout and hooked jaw engulfed the fly. Mindful of my earlier lapse, I moved to set the hook, and jerked the fly away!

With cold sweat beading on my brow, I mentally replayed the last cast. Had I pricked him? No, the hook had not touched the fish; I was almost sure of that! Twenty, thirty times I cast the same fly and got no response. With trembling fingers I tied on Ches' Black Fly - no reaction; then several more patterns, all without success. I returned to Steve's Glitterbug, hoping that the salmon would strike again, but the fly had lost its magic. I was beginning to think that it was a good thing the salmon had missed the fly - I might have broken my lovely trout rod!

With flybox open for the umpteenth time, my gaze fell on a small brown deer-hair bug, with green head and butt, that I had picked up that morning. It was one of Harold's patterns - but not one of the pair I had chosen. I remembered spying it on the ground near the tailgate of his truck, and tucking it away in my vest. Knotting it to the tippet, I made two casts - the first drift was right over the salmon's lie; the second, was wide of the mark. What happened next has become a benchmark of fly-fishing excitement for me.

Up, up, up he rose, in slow motion, and sucked in the fly. With a lazy toss of his tail, the great fish circled back to his lie. The line tightened, but the salmon didn't seem to realize his dilemma. I raised the rod tip. Slowly, slowly he turned toward the deeper water. Gradually the reel began to sing as the powerful fish streaked downriver at torpedo speed.

"Git ashore!" Dougie called, "Git ashore!". At that moment, the last of my fly line disappeared through the line guides as the fish made a shallow leap and a splash that had both my companions gasping in awe. I hopped down off the boulder, slipped and fell sprawling on the rocks. I lay on my left side in the shallow water, pain rocketing up my leg, but my right arm and rod, miraculously, were still high in the air.

"You okay?" Steve asked. "I wouldn't mind playing him for you," he offered.

"Not a chance!" I replied. "Not unless I have a heart attack, in which case, get your priorities straight. Forget the CPR - land this fish!" I scrambled to my feet, slipping once more in my haste, and made the shore. Turning my attention to the fish, I saw that the reel had stopped spinning - the turns of backing left on the spool, perilously few. I cranked furiously, hobbling downstream along the stony beach, and managed to regain all of the backing and some of the fly line.

The salmon jumped again - this time, well clear of the surface. His size was intimidating. A grilse was one thing, but how could I handle a giant like this with such a dainty rod? Suddenly, he made a long run. My drag useless, I tried to palm the reel and got my thumb whacked by the whirling handle. He leaped once more, then headed back toward me and parked at the base of a great rock. The line was going slack and I reeled frantically to keep it tight.

"Git yer line off the rock!" Dougie yelled. "He'll fray it off!" I realized immediately the predicament: I could feel the fish dodging back and forth at the base of the rock, the leader chafing where it passed over the rough granite boulder.

"This is it," I groaned to myself, "this is where I lose the fish of a lifetime." I limped downstream, holding the rod high overhead and, somehow, managed to prevent the monofilament from giving out.

Then the standoff began - I kept as much strain on him as the rod and the frayed leader could stand, and made him toil for every inch of line. After what seemed like an eternity, a flash of silver beckoned from the depths, then another, and another. He was tiring, losing equilibrium, and I gave no quarter. Suddenly, the fish was at the surface, on his side, one great steely eye staring skyward. I staggered backwards, the rod bent nearly double, and towed him toward Dougie's waiting net. A smooth lift, at the right moment, and the battle was won.

"That's what I likes t' see," Dougie beamed, as he hoisted the gleaming fish, "a nice big Jack!"

"A Jack?" I repeated.

"It's what we calls a male fish," he answered. "Look at 'is battle scars!" A long-healed gash on the top of his head had once laid it bare almost to the bone, and the top portion of his tail fin was missing.

"Seals," Dougie ventured, "or the nets, maybe."

"What a brute!" Steve said, his camera at the ready, "I have to step back to get him all in the frame!"

In 1995, the government of Labrador allowed anglers to retain one large fish per season. He was just over fifteen pounds and a little under three feet long. As I tagged him, I was overcome with a mixture of pride and remorse: pride in landing a trophy fish with a mere wisp of a rod, and remorse at ending the life of so valiant a warrior. It was the first large salmon I had ever killed and I vowed it would be the last. The thrill is in the catching - not the killing.

Back at the lodge, I thanked Dougie for timely advice on playing the fish and for his deft work with the net. We toasted the fabulous salmon of Labrador. We toasted the skills of the fly-tier, the angler, and the guide. Then raising my glass, I made a final tribute to the little rod that had served so well, "I christen thee, Jackwhacker!"

I found the pattern for Ches' Black Fly while thumbing through Flies For Atlantic Salmon by Dick Stewart and Farrow Allen. It was originated by Ches Travers. Jackwhacker was tied by Harold Dobson, and Glitterbug by Danny Bird.

Wayne Crouse lives in Liverpool, Nova Scotia, where he is enjoying his retirement from the Nova Scotia Department of the Environment. Over the last fifteen years, he has built more than 150 rods for anglers in Canada, the United States and Europe. "Jackwhacker", an 8 foot # 5 weight rod, was crafted from Sage RPL Graphite blanks. You can contact him by mail at R.R. #1, Liverpool, N.S. B0T 1K0 Phone: 902-354-5998.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'

Photos by Dougie Lee, Steve Dobson, Random Phrump.

Gaspe Salmon - Bonaventure

2008-10-27T20:38:00.006-03:00

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

2008-09-18T20:23:00.013-03:00

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

2008-08-13T10:23:00.007-03:00

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?

2008-07-28T01:59:00.014-03:00

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

2008-07-24T00:05:00.010-03:00

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

2008-07-23T00:05:00.003-03:00

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

2008-07-22T00:05:00.010-03:00

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

2008-07-21T00:55:00.014-03:00

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

2008-07-20T00:01:00.002-03:00

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

2008-07-19T00:30:00.005-03:00

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

2008-07-18T00:18:00.002-03:00

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

2008-07-17T07:59:00.002-03:00

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

2008-07-16T16:37:00.018-03:00

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

2008-07-15T11:11:00.029-03:00

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

2008-07-14T07:47:00.010-03:00

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

2008-06-07T19:11:00.010-03:00

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

2008-05-15T23:45:00.012-03:00

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

2008-05-05T21:39:00.034-03:00

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 brooki e 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

2008-05-04T18:58:00.005-03:00

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

2008-05-02T19:36:00.023-03:00

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

2008-04-26T12:26:00.013-03:00

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

2008-04-23T20:29:00.013-03:00

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

2008-04-21T18:23:00.007-03:00

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

2008-04-14T19:56:00.010-03:00

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

Medway Report 4 April 2008

2008-04-05T00:11:00.018-03:00

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

2008-04-01T18:44:00.009-03:00

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

2008-03-24T10:32:00.007-03:00

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

2008-03-10T10:38:00.022-03:00

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

2008-03-01T21:13:00.019-04:00

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

2008-02-29T14:31:00.013-04:00

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

2008-02-23T00:07:00.005-04:00

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

The Price of Salmon Fishing in Nova Scotia - Part 2

2008-02-21T23:20:00.018-04:00

Acid rain is a by-product of our addiction to fossil fuels, particularly, coal and oil. Smokestack emissions combine with atmospheric moisture to create sulfuric and nitric acids. These ultimately fall to the earth as acid precipitation.

Nova Scotia is particularly affected because of our geography. We are directly in the path of prevailing winds and weather systems from the smog belt of North America. In addition, parts of our province have little or no naturally occurring limestone to buffer the effects of this toxic rain and snowfall.
I'm not implying that Nova Scotia is an innocent victim - there are four coal-fired electric power generation plants operating in this province - in Sydney, Point Aconi, Point Tupper and Trenton.
In addition to acid rain-causing emissions, these four coal-fired plants emit an estimated 150 kilograms of mercury annually, according to the Canadian Council of Ministers of the Environment, October, 2006.

"Mercury is a toxic, persistent, bioaccumulative substance. It converts in water to the highly toxic form, methylmercury, which accumulates in fish and other species, damaging the central nervous system and causing reproductive failure among loons and river otters.

Human exposure to mercury – primarily by eating contaminated fish – may cause neurological and developmental damage. Low exposure to mercury may cause problems, such as learning disabilities in children. Women of childbearing age, pregnant women, children, and populations who depend on fish as a traditional food source are most at risk."

Double whammy! To put this in perspective, worldwide emissions of mercury from human activity were estimated at 2400 tons in 2000, with Canada's contribution pegged at 8 tons.

So what is the price of salmon fishing in Nova Scotia? From where I stand the answer is: PRICELESS! It looks like the best hope for a return to the kind of productivity once enjoyed by Atlantic Salmon in Nova Scotia rivers is to 'kick' our addiction to fossil fuels!

As inconceivable as that sounds, ultimately, we will not have a choice in the matter. James Howard Kunstler believes we are on the brink of a collapse that he refers to as the "Long Emergency", a collapse brought about by dwindling oil resources. I heard him speak on CBC radio's show, Sunday Edition, February 17, 2008.

Kunstler is an articulate doom sayer - there's no denying it, but I have faith in our ability to survive as a species. At the same time, I don't believe in leaving the hen house door open. We need to examine the problems of fossil fuels, acid rain, and mercury emissions somewhat more seriously, perhaps... as if our lives depended on it.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

The Price of Salmon Fishing in Nova Scotia - Part 1

2008-02-17T10:16:00.016-04:00

The history of salmon fishing in Nova Scotia for the last 5000 years looks broadly like this:

3000 BC - 1600 AD - Aboriginal Food Fishery - salmon in abundance
1600 AD - 1750 AD -First European contact - salmon in abundance
1750 AD - 1850 AD -Widespread Settlement - salmon in abundance
1850 AD - 1900 AD - Industrialization - logging, dams - salmon at risk
1900 AD - 1950 AD - Acid Rain, pollution - salmon in decline
1950 AD - 2000 AD - Commercial factory fleet ocean fishing - salmon in peril
2000 AD - Conservation efforts - salmon extinct in some rivers, remnant populations in others.

The scenario deserves a better analysis than I have sketched, but the trend is towards extinction. The cumulative effect of habitat degradation in rivers and oceans, and the pressures of commercial fishing, poaching, and angling have created a catastrophic decline of Atlantic Salmon in Nova Scotia rivers. Conservation efforts, including grilse-only retention for anglers, promotion of Catch and Release angling, and buy-outs of commercial salmon fishing licenses have only slowed the rate of decline.

Habitat improvement is the focus of conservation-minded anglers, but the cost of recovering acid rain-impacted rivers is beyond the scope of individuals. Expensive to build and to operate, lime-dosers such as those in use in Norway and on the West River Sheet Harbour are viewed with optimism. They have the ability to raise pH levels in river water by adding limestone to mitigate the acidity. It puts me in mind, however, of trying to save frogs from slowly boiling in a pot of water, by adding ice cubes, when the obvious solution is to turn down the heat.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

How RSS Can Save You Time and Improve Your Fishing...

2008-02-11T23:12:00.027-04:00

What's all the buzz about RSS? I'm sure many of you know about and use feed readers, but I thought I'd devote a few lines to the topic. I am not going to explain how it works - only what I use it for - saving time, and learning about things like fishing.

With the amount of information available on the Internet, it's impossible to keep tabs on it all. I use a web-based piece of software called Google Reader to help me find and remember things that interest me. I'll give you an example. I wanted a good, used 12' aluminum boat. I was willing to pay up to $400 or $500 for it, but I ended up paying nothing - actually, I traded a Zodiac for it - thanks to RSS. How did that happen?

There is a nifty Buy-and-Sell site called Kijiji (pronounced, Key-gee-gee) - a very popular service, available worldwide, for free. It works exactly like the classified ads section in a newspaper, without the fees. People post items they want to sell - other people search for them - they negotiate a final price, then exchange items. But, who has time to spend browsing through classified ads? it was far more appealing to me to automate the whole process.

This is where RSS comes in. The icon in today's illustration is the universal symbol for RSS. If you see that symbol on a website, it means you can subscribe to receive notifications whenever the content on the site changes. In my case, I searched Kijiji for 'boats for sale' in the Halifax area. Then I subscribed to the search results feed by clicking on the RSS symbol. Every time someone listed a boat for sale on Kijiji in Halifax, I received notification through Google Reader. After I found the boat I wanted, I simply canceled the feed with one click.

I use RSS feeds to subscribe to sites on fly fishing, on education, and technology - anything and everything that interests me. Google Reader collects and organizes all of my feeds into a kind of personalized online newspaper. So, what do you need to get started?

Just one thing - a feed reader. I like the web-based readers because you can access them from any computer, anywhere in the world. I recommend Google Reader - it's free, and my experience indicates that it is 'idiot-proof' - easy to install, easy to use, and reliable. Now, how about some content to go with that feed reader?

I enjoy reading Steve Dobson's Fisherman's Blog. He's an engaging writer with an 'outside-the-box' perspective on fly fishing. His subscribe link doesn't feature the RSS icon, but you'll find the link in the right hand sidebar where it says "Subscribe to Posts [Atom]". Simply click there, and you will be notified whenever Steve fires off a new post.

Another enjoyable read is the Global FlyFisher - a wealth of information for the traveling angler. It's published by Martin Joergensen, Steve Schweitzer, et al. You'll see the RSS icon prominently displayed. Click to subscribe.

I hope you enjoy the world of RSS. Using a feed reader will definitely save you time, and if you read some of the great tips and stories on these two sites, you may even improve your angling experience.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

The Fishing Derby

2008-02-11T10:20:00.005-04:00

I have been to only one Fishing Derby in my life. It was more commotion than I like with my fishing, but it wasn't all bad...

The first week of July, 1994, my wife was away with the kids - off to Ontario, visiting her family. Our good friends, Chuck and Debbie Taylor, had plans to attend a Saturday craft show as vendors. Would I babysit their 10 year-old son, Clay?
As long as he didn't mind going fishing, I agreed.

The day before our fishing excursion, I had to travel to Bridgewater. Passing by the Italy Cross Fire Hall, I noticed a large sign out front, heralding tomorrow's Fishing Derby. On a whim, I wheeled into the graveled parking lot and entered the fire hall. In a few minutes, I was back in my truck with two "Italy Cross, Middlewood & District Fire Department WHITE PERCH FISHING DERBY" ball caps.

Saturday morning at 6 AM, I picked up a sleepy Clay. He had been too excited about our trip to get much shut-eye. I had spent some of the previous evening getting 'geared up', and asked Clay to help me go over our list of equipment:

"Canoe?" "Check."
"Paddles?" Check."
"Lifejackets?" "Check."
"Rods and reels?" "Check."
"Flies?" "Check."
"Balloons?" "Check."
"Uh, Mr. Phrump, why do we need balloons?"

I didn't know much about White Perch, but I'd caught a few. I knew they fought like hell for the first minute - you'd swear it was a bigger fish than what would surface. I thought they were schooling fish - but I wasn't sure. I needed more information.

My idea, in the name of science, was to release the first White Perch we caught, with a slight modification - a small balloon, tethered to its back. Clay blew up a bright yellow one, the size of his fist. I tied it to about 6 feet of 2 lb. test tippet, and hooked it lightly through the skin behind the dorsal fin with a #16 hook. Now, we could test my hypothesis. If White Perch lived in schools, we should be able to observe the motion of the balloon around the lake and know from that, where the fish would be found.

It worked like a charm! We caught and released more than 20 White Perch that day - most of them on a weighted Black and Yellow Marabou fly. By the time we weighed in, Clay had five fish, totaling 925 grams in the live well. After releasing the fish, we had time to eat, then waited around to hear the results.

Clay's catch was good enough for a Junior First Place finish! He won a fly rod-and-reel combo, some Coca-Cola products, and a trophy. When I dropped him off at the house, Clay showed his folks the loot he'd won, and proclaimed it the best day - ever!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

HMS Raleigh - Point Amour Light

2008-02-05T23:31:00.001-04:00

In 1922, HMS Raleigh, the flagship of the British fleet, ran aground while taking evasive maneuvers to avoid an iceberg near Point Amour, Labrador. She was bringing the officers across the Strait of Belle Isle for salmon and sea trout fishing at Forteau. They tried in vain to salvage her - in the end she was scuttled, blown to smithereens by explosives.

84 years later, Doug Trimm took my son, Drew, for a stroll on the beach and showed him the wreck, and how to find pieces of cordite among the beach stones and shards of rusted metal. While they combed the beach, I couldn't help thinking,

"How drunk was the man on watch?"

He must have 'spliced the mainbrace' a couple of hours too early. It's only about 20 miles across the Strait and they went aground within a mile of Point Amour Light, the tallest beacon east of Montreal.

Today, the lighthouse is a fascinating museum - climb to the top and enjoy a spectacular view of coastal Labrador. You will see whales and icebergs in the summer months, and there are world-class angling opportunities for Atlantic Salmon and sea-run Speckled Trout to be had - almost worth banging up a battleship for!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Photo: Drew at Point Amour Light - Random Phrump

Buckle's Point

2008-02-02T13:43:00.000-04:00

What I like about my brother, Steve, aside from his penchant for puns, is his ability to 'go with the flow'. Take for example, the time we were sitting in my truck in the parking lot of the Northern Light Inn in L'Anse Au Clair, Labrador...

We had just come from a week of salmon fishing in Quebec, but weren't quite ready to head home. We decided to spend a couple of days exploring coastal Labrador. As non-residents without a guide, we were restricted to fishing for trout within 800 meters of the highway. Steve and I blundered along, fishing every pond on the way to Red Bay and back again. By chance, we stopped at a convenience store and the girl at the counter remembered us.

"How was your fishin'?" she asked.
"Not bad - lots of trout, but no size, " I replied.
"Well, it couldn't have been any worse than my luck last night," she continued. "I heard a splash, looked down - the handle of my reel had dropped right in the drink."
"What were you fishing for?" I inquired.
"Sea trout," was her response.
"Any size?" I asked.
"I've caught 'em t'ree and four pounds," she replied. My eyes got real big!!
"Where do you fish?" I queried.
"Buckle's Point."

The picture above shows Steve with a nice sea trout - one of several we caught that day. And that brings me to the next morning and that parking lot. We flipped a coin - heads, we go back for more sea trout action at Buckle's Point - tails, we make for the ferry and begin our long trek home. The coin came up tails.

"Two out of three!" I called. The coin was flipped once more - tails again!
"@#$% it! Let's go fishin!", said Steve.

Gotta love that guy!

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
- Random Phrump

Dinner At The Parkview

2008-02-02T12:25:00.000-04:00

Dinner at the Parkview in Oxford, was a regular feature of our fall fishing days on the River Philip. We'd shed our waders and wash up in the motel room, then trudge across the parking lot to the restaurant. It was nothing fancy, but always clean and warm, with good service and a great Hot Turkey Sandwich - exactly what we needed after a long day of salmon fishing.

As we waited for our food, we enjoyed browsing the place mats. They were reprints of historic front pages from the Oxford Journal - stories of floods, fires, and winter storms.

It was getting near Christmas when I thought of the perfect gift for my dad and my brother. I created a reproduction of the Oxford Journal, featuring a story about our fishing exploits, and I laminated it to create a sturdy place mat (click photo to enlarge).

It was a big hit! Dad still has his on the wall in his office. Steve's is on display in his fishing camp on the Medway. Mine peers out from beneath fridge-magnets on the side of a file cabinet in my study. Memories... memories...
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

More Medway History

2008-01-30T21:07:00.001-04:00

It will soon be February. Years ago, it marked the opening of Atlantic Salmon season on the Medway River. Dennis McKinnon told it like this:

"The old people used to start fishin' in February," he began. "They'd take a saw out on the ice above McLeod's Falls, and they'd cut down both sides. Then, they'd go to work, saw across the top, and let this sheet of ice go down over the falls," he continued. "They'd stand out there on the ice, castin' them great big Hardy flies - #6-0 Silver McAllisters - with them three-piece greenheart poles. They'd catch 'em, too. Great big salmon! But they didn't want nothin' to do with a grilse. In June," he said, "when the grilse came in the river, they'd hang up their rods. They were all done fishin'!"

The picture shows Luke McGinty, as a boy, with his grandfather, John Jones, and a large salmon caught on the Medway River, circa 1933. For many years, a pulp mill was in operation at Charleston, and the river was dammed just below Salter's Brook. This trapped salmon in the lower part of the river and they would congregate in the deep water above MacLeod's Falls. Here the river is 12-14 feet deep even in mid-August. Periodically, what came to be known as the "Baker Gate" was opened to allow passage of water and fish around the dam.

Judging by the expression on young Luke's face, he'd seen plenty of salmon that size before. We really have almost no idea today how big, or how numerous the Medway salmon once were.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

- Random Phrump

Medway Heyday / Mersey Misstep

2008-01-27T20:16:00.001-04:00

One of the many large salmon that were caught on the Medway River was captured on film, and the photo was published in the Liverpool Advance in the mid-1970's. The angler, Oscar Anthony Sr., said that this fish, at 34 lbs., was the second largest he had caught. Twenty years previously, he had landed his 'fish of a lifetime'.

Dennis McKinnon gave me this photo, and added a few details to the story. He said that Oscar told him he would never have landed the fish except that a kid on a bicycle was passing by. When Oscar hollered for help, the boy dropped his bike and ran down to the river. Oscar was disappointed to see such a young lad - according to Dennis, he was about 10 and not much bigger around than a toothpick. Oscar didn't have much choice - he gave the boy his gaff and instructed him to stand at the riverbank and brace his feet well. "When I lead him ashore, you strike smartly with the gaff, and don't let go!" Together, they managed it, the boy and the angler. It put me in mind of something that happened when I was a boy...

It was five minutes to six on a foggy morning in June when I skidded my bike to a stop on the Mersey River bridge. A fisherman was standing near the concrete abutment on a treacherous-looking pile of boulders, getting ready to cast. I couldn't help noticing his gear - the first bait-casting reel I'd ever seen - as he effortlessly flipped a red-and-white surface lure halfway across the river.

I didn't stay long - a couple of casts - I had to pick up my newspapers at the pool hall, behind Wharton's Barber Shop, and deliver them to my customers in Liverpool. About an hour later, crossing the bridge on my way home, I wondered if the fisherman was still there. He was, and he was wrestling with the mightiest fish I had ever seen - a huge Striped Bass!

He looked up, then beckoned me to come. I sped to the end of the bridge, wheeled into Lane's Motel parking lot, dropped my bike, and sprinted for the river. When I got there, the man had the fish near shore. Holding out his car keys, he said,

"Kid, take these and open the trunk of my car - it's the one with New York plates.Get my landing net, and hurry!"

I had to clamber down over the rock pile to reach him, but before I did, he drew back his hand and put the keys in his pocket.

"On second thought, I think I can get him if you'll just hold the rod." He passed me the rod. "Just hold on tight - don't let go!" he said as he took the line in his hand and stepped towards the fish.

The tide was falling, and the boulders at the waters edge were slippery and covered in rockweed and periwinkles. The man reached for his trophy, lost his footing and jerked the bait out of the fish's lip. I watched in stunned silence as the great fish wriggled out of the man's grasp and returned to the deeps.

To this day, I can't help thinking that the outcome would have been different if he had let me get the net. But, what do I know about it? The man was from New York - he was surely thinking... what if the kid steals my camera? or even worse, my car? How could he explain to his wife, who was probably still asleep in the motel room, that he gave his keys to a complete stranger?

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

- Random Phrump

Presentation, Presentation, Presentation...

2008-01-26T18:07:00.000-04:00

The advantage of having kept a log is the perspective you can achieve by looking back over seemingly random events. One thing led more quickly to angling success with trout than any other: a 5-weight rod.

I'm guessing that most readers will interpret FFLog, the subtitle of RANDOM CASTS, as Fly Fishing Log. Many years ago, I created a habit. I disciplined myself to keep a fishing log, mainly because of my unreliable memory. I have friends who have a good memory - my brother, Dave, has a phenomenal memory, but when they ask me if I remember a person or event from our shared past, too often they are greeted with a blank stare - I just don't remember. Ergo, the FFlog!

One thing I do remember is singing in a community choir with a man named Wayne Crouse. We struck up a friendship through our shared interests in music and flyfishing. Wayne built custom flyrods, and my hobby was woodcarving and building 'crooked knives'. We also struck a deal - my project during the winter was going to be a mounted fish for Wayne's cottage wall, and his project was to be an 8 foot # 5 weight rod, crafted from Sage RPL Graphite blanks.

It was a long wait for fishing season to arrive, but when it did, Wayne had delivered my new fly rod. I went from a 'best ever' record of 50 trout a year, to catching and releasing 150 that season. My success steadily improved to 300 a year - and I was not a fishing pro - I worked a 5-day week like you.

What does that say about catching trout? It tells me there are 3 keys to success:

Presentation
Presentation
Presentation

I had always used my #9-wt. salmon rod for trout fishing. It's all I knew - that, and the fact that I rarely caught a trout over 10 or 11 inches. The new #5-weight rod and matching, lighter-weight line allowed me, with only average casting skills, to present flies without spooking fish. This contributed to catching more trout, and also, bigger trout. I'm not saying you need a custom rod - today's production graphite rods are great, compared with the old bamboo and fiberglass rods I started with - but, if you haven't already done it, consider getting yourself a decent #5wt. If I were buying one, I'd get a 9 foot rod for better line control. Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
- Random Phrump

Rumsey Lake Minnow

2008-01-26T13:02:00.000-04:00

Rumsey Lake, spring-fed and shaped like a figure-eight, is nestled on the top of North Mountain in Nova Scotia's Annapolis Valley. It is stocked with 12 to 13-inch yearling Rainbows annually and receives a fair bit of angling pressure during late spring and early summer. What makes this such a challenging spot is the unusual water clarity. I had fished it about 6 times, since my first visit in '95, but only in the months of August or September.

In October, 1997, following a long drought, rivers were low and my annual pilgrimage to Nova Scotia's North Shore rivers for Atlantic Salmon kept getting postponed until conditions improved. Every weekday at work, I prayed for rain that never came, dreamed of the 20+ lb. salmon that would fill the rivers, and each weekend I blunted my disappointment by spending one day on Rumsey Lake. Nor could I find a friend to go with me - despite repeated invitations, my fishing partners were either too busy or not interested.

The first Saturday I caught one 13" trout; the next weekend - none, although I hooked and lost two larger fish. The following weekend, however, things got interesting... I left home at 4:30 am in pitch darkness and arrived at the lake about 6:30 am just as the sun was streaking the horizon. It was cold, bright and calm. The colorful foliage of the hillsides was reflected in the perfect mirror of the lake.

I was using "Jackwhacker", a custom-built Sage (8ft-5wt) rod, in a 14-foot square-back canoe. I trolled a Muddler for a while and saw signs of fish - rises, finning, subtle vees on the surface, but always out-of-reach. Had one strike, but no hook-up. I tried slow-drifting with a weighted Chironomid with no success.

In the early afternoon, cloud drifted in on a NE wind and I moved to the SW end of the lake. My experience had told me that these Rainbows were cruisers, constantly on the look-out for dragonfly nymphs, surface flies and small minnows. The lake has two species of topminnows - the two or three-inch Banded Killifish, and the smaller one-inch Stickleback. I wanted a fly to represent the Stickleback and as I scanned the flybox, my eyes fell upon an unfamiliar pattern.

I remembered, suddenly, that it was actually a remnant of a fly that had been given to me years ago by a German fisherman I once met on the Medway River. We had exchanged Salmon and Trout patterns and this was all that was left of one of his favorite trout flies after being chewed by several enthusiastic Brook trout. The details of the original fly remain dim, but it once had a pair of yellowish duck flank feathers tied in as cheeks on each side at the head embracing a chenille body. After the side feathers had been chewed off, I had tossed it in the box, intending to retie it someday.

I tied it on my 2 lb tippet wondering if it would be about the right size, shape and color, and in a few casts, I had a 15-inch reply in the net. A few minutes later, I felt a heavy strike that almost stalled the 2HP Evinrude. I quickly shut it off and dropped anchor against the brisk wind, then noticed I was perilously close to a bed of lily pads. As I hauled anchor with one hand, the fish headed straight for the canoe. I had to snug the rope quickly in the cleat, then reel furiously to keep the line tight. The fish passed directly under the canoe and I followed with the rod from left-to-right across the bow. Horrors! The rod wouldn't come across the bow - it was hung up on something.

The reel was singing, the fish streaking for the middle of the lake, and the rod bent nearly double before I realized what was up. My anchor drops from a pulley in a hardwood board that extends beyond the bow of the canoe. I hadn't got the anchor all the way up and my rod tip was now trapped between the bow and the taut anchor rope. I started to sweat. The rod was about to break. God, no! Not "Jackwhacker", my favorite rod that had earned its name on Labrador's Pinware River (another story).

Putting the rod between my knees, I hauled anchor with both hands, secured the rope in the cleat, then freed the rod in time to see the last of the flyline pass through the guides. I started the motor and followed the fish, reeling in backing as we headed for the center of the lake. When the canoe was safely away from the weeds, I killed the motor, anchored and rose to do battle.

The 2 lb tippet was holding under the strain and soon I got a glimpse of the fish - BIG! a beautifully-colored male - hookbill, gold belly and scarlet flanks. When he was a rod-length away, I slipped the net in the water and drew him near, but he took off like a wet cat from a bathtub - no way would he come near that net! Two minutes more ticked by and I knew I would have to net him or lose him - too much could go wrong. There were several anxious moments when he was just out of reach, but oh, so close. Every time I put the net in the water, he would find some reserve of strength and turn away.

Finally, I got his head up, towed him over the net, lifted, and the battle was won! Four lbs, 22 inches qualified this Rainbow as my favorite fish of '97.

RUMSEY LAKE MINNOW

Hook: Mustad 79580 size 8 (or similar 3x streamer hook)

Tail: 2 light Badger Hackle tips extending 2/3 length of shank past the bend

Rib: Oval silver tinsel

Body: Light grey chenille

Tying Instructions:

Tie in tail over barb.
Tie in rib material and chenille.
Take thread to head.
Wrap chenille forward and secure with thread.
Follow with tinsel rib and tie off.
Whip finish and cement.

Fishing Tips:

The fly is very quick to tie and durable to boot. Although the pattern was discovered by accident, it has become one of my favorite trout flies. I've used it for ten years with success in lakes, brooks, meadow stillwaters and big rivers. A good technique is to use an Intermediate (I) Uniform Sink line and retrieve with slow short strips. Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

- Random Phrump

The Bear Facts - Somethin's 'Bruin' at Chute Pool Lodge!

2008-01-24T23:31:00.001-04:00

As the sun slipped behind the columns of stunted fir and spruce trees flanking Labrador's Pinware River, we finished our meal and relaxed in the spacious living room of Chute Pool Lodge. My father, Harold, gathered scattered items of angling paraphernalia for our morning departure; my brother, Steve, browsed through a book on Atlantic Salmon fly patterns, while I jotted notes in my journal. A mug of steaming tea, laced, in traditional Newfoundland style, with sugar and canned milk, helped to focus my thoughts as I sprawled on the comfortable sofa and recalled the day's events...

Treetops were waving wildly in a blustery wind at dawn as I stretched, then felt around in my duffel bag for a pair of clean socks and shorts. Some fishermen are superstitious about their hats - I'm that way about clothes in general, but especially socks and underwear. For fishing, I like a pair of grey 100% cotton work socks. In cold weather, I choose a colorful pair of flannel boxer shorts; on warm days, a pair of cotton briefs. Nine days into a fishing trip, I have a problem - I can't decide which socks and underwear might be lucky enough to charm a salmon to the fly. I mean, if ladies can have 'lucky bras', it's not such a stretch for an angler to have a secret arsenal of wearable talismans. The trouble is... all my lucky ones are in the laundry bag. I'm down to the ones I never wear, the ones I hate: the socks with a blend of polyester, the briefs just a bit too snug. At this point, the choice becomes painfully clear - either wear the clean ones I can't stand, or confront the prospect of sniffing through the laundry for a pair to resurrect.

It's not that I think the fish can tell what you're wearing - it has more to do with confidence and concentration. As the fly swings through the water, you must follow it with your eyes, noting any swirl or wake that might betray a salmon's arousal. You must have confidence that each cast might bring that blood-stirring tension to the line, or you will not be able to sustain your concentration. Like ambulance attendants and firefighters, you must endure hours of tedium, yet be able to respond capably during moments of white-knuckled intensity. A simple thing like socks that itch, or shorts that strangle can eat up a lot of concentration. It's important to know, as you dress for a day astream, that your socks will keep you warm and won't shimmy down around your ankles every few steps. And it doesn't hurt to remember, while you step into your shorts, that you were wearing the very same pair the day you released an eighteen-pound salmon on the Margaree. Strange as it sounds, my recipe for a successful outing starts with underwear and socks.

The grey clouds dropped their cargo just as Ruby, the lodge cook, called us to the table. Driven rain spattered against the glass panes, the staccato rhythms making weird music against the howling wind. Usually, we dogged our breakfasts down and hit the trail, but on this, our last day, we lingered over eggs, sausage, toast and tea. I recalled that we needed a second cup to stiffen our resolves on that soggy morning. A weathered deck of playing cards hit the table and the three of us became absorbed in a cutthroat round of Hearts while the guides smoked and yarned in a room off the kitchen.

The downpour had dwindled to a steady drizzle as we geared up to leave. Harold decided to go with his guide back to the Tidal Pool where he had struck it big on our first day, landing a grilse and an Arctic Char. But Steve and I and our guide, Dougie Lee, headed for the Chute Pool. The rain petered out as we reached the river and we found ourselves the only fishermen at the celebrated pool. Perched on the slippery rocks below the falls, we watched and counted forty-one salmon and grilse leap at the foaming fury in barely five minutes. Steve rose a large salmon two hundred feet below the cataract, where the water was tamer, and I saw several fish roll, but could not tempt them.

At noon, we climbed the rocky bank to have our lunch. Dougie had brought a knapsack laden with a Thermos of steaming tea, thick slabs of ham and cheese on homemade bread, and Ruby's peanut butter cookies. As we gathered eagerly around the guide, he sheepishly admitted that we'd been robbed. He had left the knapsack on a rock and a hungry squirrel had found it, torn up the sandwiches, and made off with the cookies! I wondered how many lunches that daring thief had plundered, but I had to give him credit for being resourceful. Poor Dougie was in for an awful ribbing, though, when the other guides got wind of it.

After devouring what remained of our lunch, we said goodbye to The Chute Pool and made our way downstream to the Western Chute. Here, Steve and I had caught our limits just two days before, and we harbored dreams of doing it again. But it was not to be. Early in the afternoon, dragging a bug across the pool, I got a rise; then spent two unproductive hours crouched on a ledge, casting over a grilse that I could see from the high rocks below the falls. When Dougie whistled that it was time to head back, I stood up, defiantly, and popped one last cast right on top of the fish. I couldn't believe my eyes when the grilse surged to the surface. Keeping his nose within inches of the fly, he followed it through its swing, a full six feet or more, then turned back to his lie. That event sparked a half hour of "Just one more cast, Dougie." But at last, we had to leave.

Trudging up the steep wooded slopes behind our guide, his empty net an emblem of our day's exploits, we were silent, each remembering the rugged beauty of the river and the splendor of her salmon. This was a trip not to be forgotten. I marveled at the guides who worked only a few short weeks for the lodge owner, but managed, somehow, to survive the long winter - they too, like the squirrel, were resourceful. I wondered at their strange tongue and what it could wreak on the English language. Before I was conscious of it, I was translating the 23rd Psalm into their homely dialect:

"Da Lard's me shepherd, b'y,

I knows I shall not want,

'E takes me upalong da still waters..."

Suddenly my writing was interrupted as the door burst open and Harold made an entrance into the lodge's big living room like Cosmo Kramer on the Seinfeld show. He had a peculiar excitement in his eyes and his thinning hair fairly stood on end as he blurted out, "You'll never guess what I just saw!"

Steve, always the rogue, inquired contemptuously, "What, ... a big spider?"

"A snake?" I guessed.

"No," Harold replied.

"A bear?" Steve ventured.

"Yes, a Black Bear, just outside the lodge! I opened the door, and there he was - right in my face!

"What did you do?" Steve asked.

"I just yelled." Harold answered. "I think he was more surprised than I was. At least, he wasn't long beating it over the bank and down through the woods."

"Do you believe that, Steve?" I baited.

"Honest to God, it's true!" he proclaimed. "You boys come with me. We should be able to see his tracks."

Outside the building, in the ground, still damp from the morning's downpour, there were impressions - deep, and as big as a man's hand. No doubt about it, a bear had walked right up to the lodge.

"Here's where he ran along the bank," Harold crouched as he walked, "And this is where he went down into the woods."

Steve whispered to me, "Pick up a rock and throw it into the bushes."

Without thinking, I stooped and heaved a baseball-sized stone over the bank where it crashed and tumbled down the steep incline.

"Jeez!" Harold jumped almost out of his skin, then turned and saw us, convulsed with laughter, and realized he'd been had.

An embarassed grin spread over his features as he saw the humor in the situation, and we all shared a good laugh.

"Mister Bear was probably looking for a free lunch," I remarked, "just like the squirrel this morning."

A little later, with all in readiness for our morning departure, Harold said, "I've still got time to beat you fellows at Hearts before bedtime," and soon, we were seated around the dining room table, cards in hand. When it was Harold's deal, I excused myself and found lodge owner, Al Rothwell, seated in his big armchair in the living room. Quickly, I explained to him about Dad's bear sighting and asked if we could borrow his bearskin rug from the wall for a practical joke. He helped me to get it down and we draped it over the clothes rack just inside Harold's room, its head and toothy grin only inches from the light switch. Dimming the light and closing the door, I went back to the card game.

It wasn't long before Harold went to the kitchen for a refill on his tea, and I let Steve in on the prank. From then on, it was almost impossible to keep a straight face each time I looked across the table at my brother, hiding his grin in his cards.

About an hour later, Harold got up and said, "My stomach's acting up - I'm going to get a couple of Rolaids from my room."

As he left, we crept from our seats and followed him, our eyes peeping round the corner of the long hall that led to the bedrooms. Harold opened his door, felt for the light switch, then leapt backwards into the hall like he'd been shot from a cannon.

"Yahhhh! You dirty buggers, you got me again!" he wailed. We laughed so hard that it hurt and though we tried, we couldn't stop - the tears streamed down our faces as we clutched our aching sides and leaned, helpless, against the walls for support. Somehow, we regained enough composure to finish our game, but Steve's witty shots kept making us giddy.

"Dad, I can bearly believe you fell for that!" he quipped. "Couldn't you tell something was bruin?"

Later, in bed, drifting off to sleep, I thought about how enjoyable this trip to Labrador had been, not so much in terms of numbers of fish caught, but more for the special moments of companionship we shared on the river and at the lodge. It had been years since we laughed together like we did this evening and the feeling of it was good. Only one thing troubled me about our shenanigans - what reprisal awaits us on our next fishing trip?

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
- Random Phrump

Photo by Random Phrump.

Seeing More Salmon

2008-01-20T17:36:00.000-04:00

One of the things that really helped me become a salmon fisherman was having a friend who knew the sport. Dennis McKinnon was the embodiment of years of experience and generations of angling lore, all rolled into one awesome package, and he was my next-door neighbor for 15 years. Dennis could see salmon in our peat-stained water, partly because he knew where to look and partly because he knew what to look for. The first time I ever saw a salmon underwater, I was with Dennis.

"Let's take a run upriver," he said, "I've got an idea where you might get a hold o' one." In minutes, my rod, vest, and net were in the back of Dennis' Dodge Ram pickup, and we were bouncing over the dusty road on the east side of the river.

"Where are we headed?" I inquired.

"High Rock," came the reply. "This time o' year, nobody fishes it. You might just get lucky!" Dennis parked and led me through the woods to the river, across stepping stones to the very brink of a 'dump', where the water tumbled down. The morning sun stood well above the pines.

"There they are," he whispered. There's a salmon and three grilse layin' there." I peered into the dark water, adjusting my hat and polarized glasses, but could see nothing that looked like a fish, much less four of them.

"See 'em?" Dennis continued. "The salmon's got a mark on his back." I looked again. Below the surface, I could just make out the shapes of the large rocks that formed the riverbed.

"You've gotta' look hard," he encouraged. "Our river's not clear; it's kinda' brown, from the bogs. Look just behind the rock, here," he pointed.

"Which rock, Dennis?" I asked. "There's nothing but rocks here."

"The one we're standin' on!" he answered.

Then I saw... where the current swept around the rock, an eddy line creased the surface and, beneath that line, but a few feet away, I saw the fish! They were nearly invisible - only a faint, ghostly outline could be seen, so perfectly did they blend with the river bottom. Close enough to touch with a wading staff, yet, seemingly, unperturbed by our presence, occasionally, one would twitch his tail like a cat, or drop his jaw, displaying a milk-white mouth. Gingerly, we backed away and sat down on a rock.

Yes, there's more to the story, but it's too long for this blog. Anyone who's curious can find it in the sidebar item called "The Yarn Bin ". Learning to see salmon is something I've worked on for many years since that day. Here's some of what I've learned:

Assume that there are salmon in the pool - assume that they can see you.
Be prepared to invest some time in looking for salmon, at least half an hour. You may get lucky and see one in the first minute - usually, and especially for beginners, your eyes need to adjust to the task.
The best time to see into water is on a sunny day from 11AM to 1PM.
Wear a pair of polarized sunglasses and a hat with a wide brim. Try different colored lenses - I like a slight brown tint, but grey or green can also be good.
Approach the pool slowly, stay low - don't make any sudden moves.
Get to the highest vantage point and slowly stand upright.
Standing with your feet apart and level, if possible, shift your weight slowly from foot to foot.
Mentally, place a grid on the river and divide the stream bottom into sectors - give each sector careful scrutiny. Look for landmarks - submerged logs, rocks, weed growth.
Look for shadows on the streambed - this can be your best clue - the fish may be almost invisible, but if the sun is out, there will be a telltale shadow underneath.
Watch for movement - salmon change positions slightly, adjust their fins, open their mouths, - sometimes they leave their lies, circle the pool and come right back into formation.
Learn to look for windows into the streambed. By this, I mean the surface of the water may be braided with current and flecks of foam. If you stare at one spot, you will only get split-seconds of clarity. Instead, look for calm spots in the flow - patches that are relatively free of turbulence and use them as lenses. Lock your gaze on one of these moving windows and you may get a few seconds of clarity as it sweeps past you.

There's more to it than that, obviously, but these tips should get you started on the road to seeing more salmon.

"You should see what I saw!"

- sign in Lawrence Melanson's workshop.

Photo by W. R. MacAskill, "Medway River 1933" Nova Scotia Archives and Records Management.

Trout Artistry

2008-01-19T12:57:00.000-04:00

A gentle breeze corrugated the surface of the small lake. A tumbling brook thrust itself, like the fingers of an outstretched hand, into the dark water. We stood in the late September sunlight, wafting #14 dry flies, and letting the current carry our offerings to the waiting trout. Dave and I were having one last cast on the Woodens River before the long winter arrived. A splash! Turning, I saw my brother's flyrod bow. Another splash - this time at my fly. I lifted too late.

There is something stirring about wild Brookies feeding en masse - the way they approach mealtime with total commitment. Like hogs, belly-to-belly at a trough, they line up, noses into the current, waiting for the next morsel to drift within reach. A full belly belongs to the swiftest. There is no nibbling, no tasting, only an all-out savage pounce that sends a tingle up the spine as your fly gets the chomp.

There is such variety in the ways a trout can attack the fly. Sometimes, a wake comes streaking across the surface to intercept and destroy; more often a flash of silver rises up from the depths to engulf your offering. Occasionally, the fish leaps clear of the surface and takes the fly on the way down. At other times, it will come smashing down on top of the fly, as if to stun it, then turn and gobble it underwater. The same manoeuvre is sometimes employed with a variation - instead of leaping, the trout merely rushes at the fly, then turns, and slaps it with his tail. Artistry is the only word to describe it. For some unknown reason, certain trout make a display out of catching their prey. Why? Perhaps, the simplest answer is... because they can.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
- Random Phrump

The Newfie Nickel - a Medway 'Secret Weapon'?

2008-01-18T23:42:00.001-04:00

I'd like to take a metal-detector, and a snorkel and mask up to High Rock or Sunken Pool and prospect for Newfie Nickels. Years ago, there was a Cat-and-Mouse game played on the Medway River among anglers and the warden. Although the law said it was illegal to use a spinning device when fishing for Atlantic Salmon, many local anglers carried a little insurance in their pockets.

The Newfie Nickel was reputed to be the deadliest method for taking salmon on a rod and reel. It was a legitimate five-cent coin of the Dominion of Newfoundland, with one slight alteration - a small hole drilled near the rim. An angler could inconspicuously thread his leader through it so the coin acted as a spinner ahead of the fly. If, as often happened, the angler hooked a fish, he didn't worry about being caught by the warden. When the warden stepped out of the woods, a quick tug would break the leader, allowing the nickel to sink to the riverbed.

Here is a story told to me by Irving Hirtle, fish warden on the Medway for thirty years. Irving told me this in his room at Queens Manor when he was 95 years old.

"I had a fireplace up at McGinty's camp. I made the fireplace and I made a table too. Even the doctors would go in and have their lunch. It was at the Gravel Bar on the Flat. And Ezzie Shupe, he would've been Gene's uncle, he was fishin' the Gravel Bar and he hooked a salmon. He said to me,
"If you don't mind, get a boat and help me with the fish."

So, I got a boat and I went out and I gaffed the salmon for him.

"Now, I want to show you" he said, "the spinner I catch my salmon on."

It was a little fly, one of Stillman Shupe's, not more than an inch long. When the deer hair opened up on that fly, it looked as big as an orange. The sun would catch it and make it shine. Anyway, I went up the river and Lester Lockwood was fishin' Little Salmon. He could look right down on the Gravel Bar from where he was settin'. First thing, he told me, "Ezzie Shupe got a salmon on a spinner."

I said, "He didn't."

And Lester said, "By Jeezus, he did!"

"Well," I said "Did he catch more than one?"

"No, " he said "Just the one, but he caught it on a spinner. I could see it shine from here."

I said, " He caught that fish on the same kind of spinner you probably have in your box ... one of Stillman Shupe's flies. I know," I said, "'Cause I gaffed it for him."

Post Script

Luke McGinty had this to add to the story:

"I was there when Ezzie Shupe brought his salmon in to get weighed at Lee Anthony's store. I saw it on the scale - it went 45 lbs. He told everyone he caught it on a small fly at the Flats, but I heard he caught it at Sunken Pool. 'Course you couldn't believe a word he said about fishin' or deer-huntin' either. Anytime you asked if he'd seen any fish - 'No, not a thing, nothin' at all!'"

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!

-Random Phrump

Good News for the Medway!

2008-01-13T13:06:00.004-04:00

It's hard to grasp the richness of the Medway in bygone times. Early settlers journeyed on foot, by oxen, or by canoe. They traveled on paths made by native people who knew the land and the water, and where to find food. The first flyfishers found the river thick with life. During its heyday, the Medway was one of the finest Atlantic Salmon destinations in Nova Scotia, and one of the first of Canada's great rivers to be introduced to American flyfishers.

Nels Vaughan, Irving Hirtle, and Dave McKinnon were guides when Laurie Mack operated his salmon and moose-hunting camps on the Medway. They fished 'High Rock' and 'The Rolls', 'Sunken Pool' and 'The Gravel Bar' and knew every pool from Mill Village to Greenfield. Sultan of Swat - Babe Ruth, and American writer, Zane Grey, were among the well-heeled who came from south of the 49 to enjoy the sport.

"Salmon fishing - a despicable habit, afflicting those who are unencumbered by the necessity for work and burdened by the virtue of patience." - Random Phrump

The lore of salmon-fishing is a tradition that has been preserved through story-telling. Sadly, 1997 was the last year that flyfishing for salmon was permitted on the Medway River. I have been mourning the loss ever since - not so much the loss of angling opportunity as the virtual extinction of a vibrant local community and significant body of knowledge gained through human experience.

The Liverpool Advance (December 26, 2007) reported that 10,000 sea-run Speckled Trout, 7,000 Atlantic Salmon parr, and 270 sexually-mature gene bank salmon were recently released into the Medway River according to Medway River Salmon Association President, Darrell Tingley. The conservation group has reached agreements with the Department of Fisheries and Oceans, McGowan Lake Fish Hatchery, and the Coldbrook Biodiversity Facility that aim to restore and protect traditional fish populations in the Medway. Tingley says they plan to begin liming the Medway in 2008 to offset low pH conditions caused by acid rain. Local residents are quietly optimistic that some day a Catch & Release season for Atlantic Salmon will be the result. Here's to that, my friends!
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Photo by W. R. MacAskill, "Medway River 1933" Nova Scotia Archives and Records Management.

Row, Row, Row...

2008-01-04T18:25:00.000-04:00

Row, Row, Row Your Boat is a round we sang in the car on family excursions when I was a boy. As a music educator, I taught the song to two generations of school children. I meant it as a lesson in musical independence - the ability to maintain your focus while other voices do their best to throw you off. I rarely thought of the deeper meaning that springs from the lyrics - guidance for the fly fisher as well.

"Row, row, row your boat" speaks of sustained effort, of persistence. Ches Harlow once told me about his technique for fishing meadows and stillwaters for Speckled Trout. He always fishes a good-looking hole for at least 1/2 an hour. "Big cruising trout have a territory," he said."It can take them half an hour or more to make their rounds. You can fish and fish a spot; swear there is nothing there; then suddenly, Bango! You're into a nice trout."

"Gently down the stream," suggests harmony with the flow of events. Outboard motor not working? You could wrestle with it all day and turn your fishing trip into a curse-filled, knuckle-busting exercise in frustration, or you could make the best of the situation and perhaps still manage to enjoy your day. "Merrily, merrily, merrily, merrily," urges us to keep a cheerful and confident outlook in the face of obstacles.

"Life is but a dream?" I do know that on a good day of fishing, the job, the noise and clutter of the daily grind fade away until there is only water and the rhythm of the rod and, now and then, a fish.

Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Riparian Rights in Nova Scotia

2007-12-13T23:11:00.001-04:00

Riparian rights is a term from British Common Law. It refers to the designation of a river or stream as an article of real property claimed by the owner of the lands through which it flows. In my last post, I mentioned fishing private water in the province of Quebec. Private water no longer exists in Nova Scotia, unless you count man-made trout ponds, or backyard swimming pools. The law states:

"As a resident of the province you have the right to go on foot along the banks of any river, stream or lake and upon and across any uncultivated lands and Crown lands to lawfully fish with rod and line in these rivers, streams or lakes; you also have the right to use a boat or canoe on or across any river, stream or lake." (The Angling Act)

I was surprised to learn that much of the Medway River and the right to fish from Bangs Falls to Poultice Falls was once owned by a man named Michael Dwyer. Compare the letter of the law with the tone of Mr. Dwyer's letter to Mr. McGinty dated June 02, 1909. (Click to enlarge.)

I can only surmise that Mr Dwyer had made agreements with all three men named in the letter. Mr. Dwyer mentions sharing the expense of keeping a guardian on the river. I believe Payzant and Silver were contributing financially to this effort and, as such, expected first rights when Dwyer was not on the river. Included with the letter was a hand-drawn map showing the location of Michael Dwyer's lands. (Click to enlarge.) On the map, there is mention of Dwyer having purchased land from McGinty. Perhaps a condition of the sale was that McGinty would be allowed to continue to fish the river. The matter was eventually resolved with the passing of The Water Act of 1919 which terminated all private riparian rights, and transferred them to the government of Nova Scotia.

If you're thinking that this legislation was created to provide equal access for all anglers, think again - equal and free access for anglers was only a fringe benefit. The driving force behind the Water Act was to expropriate the province's waterways for future hydroelectric development.
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Al's Amazing Catch

2007-12-08T13:46:00.001-04:00

It was a perfect day, mid-August, 1999. We were fishing private water on the Old Fort River in Quebec, guests at Morgain's Salmon Camps. There were four of us on this trip: Dad, Alan, Dave and me. Dad had flown Al home from Alberta for his first taste of Atlantic Salmon fishing. Our daily routine was to travel in groups of three men - one guide with two sports. Dave and I went with Harvey Fequet, 8 miles by boat to fish Third Pool. A mile hike further on were Tag Pool and Fourth Pool. Dad and Al stayed closer to camp with Curry Fequet on First Pool and Second Pool.

At the foot of First Pool there is a wide sandbar where salmon congregate. Al had raised several fish there with a white Phentex bug, and even had hooked a couple briefly, but couldn't master the fine art of playing and landing a grilse. The air was thick with advice, "Keep your rod tip up!" "Keep the line tight - don't give him any slack!" "When he's taking line, let him go! When he tries to rest, reel like hell!"

It wasn't long before Al had another hookup on that Phentex bug. He followed Dad's and Curry's advice on playing a salmon and did his best to keep the rod tip up. The grilse cartwheeled through the air several times yet, in short order, the fish lay docile in the guide's net, whereupon the hook instantly fell out of its mouth!
When Curry examined the fly, he noticed there was no point on the hook - it had broken off! Alan, being a novice flyfisher, had experienced a close encounter of the rocky kind on a backcast. It had blunted his hook completely. He had been fishing the same fly for a couple of hours, had connected with several takers, but had been unable to achieve a solid hookup on any of the salmon. It was a minor miracle that he even hooked, let alone, landed that fish!

To illustrate today's post, I found a similar fly, put it in a vise, then snapped the business end off with a pair of pliers. The sketch in my journal, however, suggests that the remaining hook on Al's fly was, in fact, much shorter than my attempt to replicate it. (Click on the middle photo for a close-up view.) Landing that fish was quite an achievement for any angler, even more so for a newbie! So, here's to Al, the unsung angler, and his amazing catch!
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Photos by Random Phrump.

Hurricane Noel Hits Nova Scotia: Trout Hit the Beach!

2007-11-15T17:35:00.000-04:00

On the first weekend of November, we were visited by Hurricane Noel. Although it had been downgraded to a post-tropical storm by the time it reached the Atlantic coast of Canada - it still packed a good punch, with wind gusts up to 140 km per hour.

The photos give you some idea of what washed up on Beach Meadows beach. The rocks and the sand were littered with Rainbow Trout, some of the estimated 500,000 that escaped when wind and waves destroyed a fish farm located near Coffin Island in Liverpool Bay. According to local reports, the sea cages broke loose from their moorings and were dashed to pieces on the rocky shore. In the days following the storm, people combed the beaches harvesting the dead and dying trout - some filled their freezers with them.

Although many were killed, the vast majority of the half million escapees are still at large. Rainbow Trout are not a native species in this province, but they have been successfully stocked as a recreational fishery in a few land-locked lakes. Rainbow Trout have also established spawning populations in several Cape Breton rivers as a result of escapement from aquaculture operations in the Bras d'Or Lakes. What are the odds of Rainbows showing up in river systems along Nova Scotia's South Shore next spring?

According to David Dagley, secretary of the local Fish and Game Association - not so good. He says,

"Rainbow Trout prefer water with a pH of 6.0. Here in Queens County, our rivers have been so adversely affected by acid rain that the pH is in the 4.5 to 5.0 range."

Personally, I believe the escaped trout will wander into our rivers: they may even spawn in them. Whether the eggs will hatch and the fry will develop normally in our acidic waters, only time will tell. Fishing season re-opens on April 1st, 2008.
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
-Random Phrump

Photos by Robyn Bertling.

Global Warming? Shifting Seasons?

2007-10-28T10:31:00.001-03:00

The talk among Nova Scotia Atlantic Salmon anglers this fall has been all about the weather. September and October have been unusually warm. While the balmy days make comfortable conditions for anglers, some are saying they would rather brave the cold.

On Nova Scotia's Margaree River, Thanksgiving weekend anglers were saying that the fall run had not arrived this season. No one I talked to had seen a bright fish. Salmon that were sighted in the pools were all "black fish" - some had been there all summer, according to local anglers.

On the Wallace this weekend, there was no sign of the fall run. I talked with a woman who had tagged a grilse, and I actually saw the fish - scrawny and black. I also heard an eyewitness report of a large salmon being released, another dark fish.

I spoke with my friend, Norm Fortune, yesterday. Norm is a fixture on the River Philip, a local angler with years of experience. In his words,

"I thought the last two years were bad, but this year is terrible. I haven't seen a bright fish yet. Every year they come later and later. The season will be over before the fish come."

Norm is one of a growing number of anglers who believe that climate change is influencing Atlantic Salmon migratory behavior. He would like to see the salmon fishing season changed from its current (September 1 - October 31) dates, to a new schedule (September 15 - November 15), one that reflects what anglers are recognizing as a new pattern of migratory behavior - late returns of fall run Atlantic Salmon.

The water temperature yesterday on the Wallace was 55 degrees F. I checked my fishing log: Ten years ago, on October 25, 1997, the water temperature was 35 degrees F and the pools were full of fish. On that day, in a two hour period, I watched 69 salmon and grilse leap into the crisp autumn air - each one bright as a silver dollar!

Twenty degrees Fahrenheit is a significant temperature differential. I don't know what signal tells a fall run salmon when to enter a river, but if water temperature has anything to do with it, the local anglers may be on to something.

Photo by Dave Dobson: Town Pool, River Philip.

Medway Gold...Green... and Red

2007-10-17T19:59:00.001-03:00

What fabulous colors we enjoyed this fall! My wife and I took daily excursions on the Medway River in Charleston. I poled the boat while the Missus took pictures. They speak for themselves.

Photos by: Karen Dobson

Atlantic Salmon - Nova Scotia's Fall Run

2007-09-30T19:12:00.001-03:00

Next weekend I am going to do some salmon fishing in Cape Breton. Nova Scotia's fall run of Atlantic Salmon tends to favor big fish on many of the North Shore and Cape Breton rivers. You are more likely to catch a 10 - 12 lb Multi-Sea-Winter (MSW) salmon than a 5 lb grilse.

Whether or not it sparks an aggressive reaction from the fish, the Cardinelle definitely gets their attention. Salmon seem to be more inclined to take a marabou fly when it is "pumped" with the rod tip, causing the fly to pulsate as if it were alive. Sometimes the take can be very subtle, so set the hook if you feel any hitch in the fly's swim. At other times, they hammer the fly. You will have no doubt that you are into a good fish, but set the hook anyway. Tight Lines!

Banting Lake Lodge

2007-09-23T11:22:00.000-03:00

One of the dumbest things I've ever done was to videotape over a great piece of angling footage. It happened at Banting Lake Lodge in Newfoundland. I had borrowed a video camera and tripod for the week-long trip and this was my first experience using one. The beginning of the week was rough - hot as hell, water low and tepid. We fished like demons, nonetheless, from dawn till dusk, and one morning, towards the end of the week, I woke to hear Rocky, the guide say, "Harold's got one!" It was about 6 AM and, sure enough, there was my dad at the Top Pool well into a feisty grilse with the whole camp still snoozing. Seeing him land the first fish of the trip really got my Mojo going, and I couldn't wait to start fishing.

I tried the Middle Pool and soon raised a salmon. In fact, I raised him five times before I put down the rod, trudged back to the lodge and got the video equipment. With the camera all set up, I continued fishing. Ten times I raised the fish before he took the fly, and I got the whole thing on tape. It was a five lb grilse - pretty much as big as they get, for a 63 cm fish. Later at the lodge, we watched the footage and everyone said it was the first time they had ever seen a salmon take a fly on tape. I was pretty proud of myself, as I rewound the tape, cueing it up to watch once more.

About that time we heard a plane approaching. I put the camera down and we all hurried outside to see who was flying in. Then, I it occurred to me that I should get a few shots of the plane landing, so I went back for the camera and, without giving it a thought, recorded over most of my precious footage. Afterwards my brother, Steve, who works in the television industry, pointed out that there is a small switch on the cassette that locks it to prevent accidental erasure. Damn! I was wishing my leg was long enough to kick my own ass! Anyway, here is some of the footage just before the salmon grabbed the fly.

"Habits are at first cobwebs; at last chains." Old English saying.

2007-09-22T12:08:00.000-03:00

A habit is like a harness - it is a thing unto itself and has no particular relation to any behavior. It can be a willing servant or a terrible master. It takes about 3 weeks of mindful repetition to form a habit that will function automatically, that is, without any conscious effort. You cannot destroy a habit, but you can replace it with a new one. To quit smoking, for example, you must spend three weeks cultivating the habit of not smoking. How does this relate to fishing? Well, if you can develop a set of good habits, you are likely to become more successful and will probably enjoy your fishing more. Here's a story that illustrates what I mean.

One day, I invited my brother, Dave, to join me for some Atlantic Salmon fishing on the Medway River. It was early July and with the water low, I could hopscotch from rock to rock and get out to a place where I could clearly see salmon lying in the pool. Dave took up his position and began casting, while I observed the reactions of the fish. His fly landed gracefully, upstream and to the left of their lie, then swam with the current to pass just in front of their noses. The salmon ignored the fly for the most part, but on one particular cast, a fish surged up and, at the last moment, turned away. There followed many more casts with no reaction, when finally, I remembered that the salmon had risen to an errant cast that had fallen almost on top of the fish. I mentioned this to Dave and he promptly dropped a cast right on the money.

"You mean like this?" he asked.

Before I could reply, the salmon answered with a resounding smack at the fly, tasted the hook, and streaked across the pool. He leapt clear of the water, came down with a huge splash and, suddenly, the line went slack. Dave reeled in to find that all of his leader and a piece of the fly line itself was gone. When we examined the line, it was brittle, probably from exposure to insect repellent and sunlight. We could easily break pieces off with a sharp tug.

"When was the last time you checked your line?" I inquired.

"I haven't used this rod and reel since Grandy's River in Newfoundland," he replied, "two summers ago."

Right then and there, I vowed to make two habits that have increased my effectiveness as a guide: one - to always check the terminal tackle and test the knot and leader strength before a guest begins to cast, and two - to always pay close attention to exactly where each cast falls.

Postscript:

We replaced the leader and moved on to the next pool. Dave hooked a grilse at Little Salmon that gave his tackle a real workout as it cartwheeled high in the air, landed on a flat rock, flopped back into the water, swam under a sunken log, then back out again. After landing the fish, we both agreed that if we had only gotten video footage of that fish, we'd probably never have to work again. It was the most amazing piece of angling skill and shit luck either of us had ever seen.

Photo by W. R. MacAskill, "Medway River 1928" Nova Scotia Archives and Records Management.

Silver Carp "on the Fly"

2007-08-26T11:17:00.000-03:00

Better hold on to your hat or wear a helmet! Silver Carp, an introduced Asian species, have invaded the Mississippi River system and have now reached the Illinois River. They can attain weights of 60 lbs, but are more commonly seen in the 10-20 lb range. These fish are seriously spooked by motorboats and will jump 6 to 8 feet out of water, sometimes injuring boaters.

Asian Carp feed exclusively on plankton and other micro-nutrients by filtering surface water, and are very difficult to catch on rod and reel. Rising to meet the challenge, however, some innovative Americans have come up with another extreme sport. It gives a whole new meaning to taking fish "on the fly".

Photo by Jason L. Jenkins, University of Missouri.

"Game fish are too valuable to be caught only once." (Lee Wulff, 1939)

2007-08-23T11:41:00.001-03:00

Lee Wulff was a flyfishing legend. A true pioneer, he was responsible for a number of flyfishing innovations including the fishing vest. Wulff was also one of the first anglers to advocate Catch & Release, and he pioneered the development of lightweight tackle for Atlantic Salmon. Piloting his bush plane during the early 1950's, he explored Newfoundland and Labrador looking for new angling opportunities. He was a giant among fly fishers during the golden age of American angling.

The short film below is a gem. Pay attention to the skill exhibited by Wulff as he steps into the canoe and sits down (about 1 minute in) - just after he loses a fish. He does it with a natural ease that reveals a superb athlete. Later he coaxes a saimon to swim between his legs, and follows it with the rod. Equally impressive is the guide who shows expert command of the canoe in fast water with a 14-foot spruce pole.

See Lee Wulff in action on the Miramichi. This is Part 1 of 2.

More of Lee Wulff on the Miramichi. Part 2 of 2.

Fishing for Nourishment?

2007-08-23T09:56:00.000-03:00

I've been thinking about the sport of fishing - how it originated, how it has evolved, what could be next... Obviously, fishing was originally all about food. Somewhere along the way, at least for some of us, it became more than that - a hobby, an art form, an obsession, a religion? Beyond the need to provide sustenance in a physical sense, fishing has come to provide a kind of spiritual nourishment, especially for the urban dweller. It's a way of relaxing, of reconnecting with nature, and it provides the time and the framework for reflection - an essential ingredient in professional and personal growth.

With the growing popularity of Catch and Release, thanks to pioneers like Lee Wulff, many Atlantic Salmon anglers are becoming actively involved in conservation measures. One organization that is worthy of support is the Atlantic Salmon Federation. Aside from the satisfaction of making a contribution towards sustaining wild Atlantic Salmon, membership has other advantages, notably their superb quarterly publication, The Atlantic Salmon Journal.

Photo by Dave Dobson: October on the River Philip.

"Trying to catch a fish with rod and fly is like trying to catch a bird with string and bread." H.R. Dobson

2007-08-22T17:08:00.000-03:00

This is an interesting analogy, put forward by H. R. Dobson as part of our early education in fishing. I always thought it meant that an angler should practice stealth because fish, in particular, Brook Trout are wary creatures. I'm pretty sure that's what was intended, but I have been thinking of other interpretations...

When we were kids we loved to fish off Liverpool's Town Wharf - a massive wooden pier with a blotchy patina of creosote and seagull shit, and always, the stirring bouquet of dried fish guts. With our closed-face spinning reels, fiberglass rods from Canadian Tire, and "Daredevil" lures, we caught Pollock and, sometimes, Mackerel right off the wharf. It was lots of excitement for young boys! Once a fish was caught, we used a jackknife to chunk it up for bait, and hauled Eels and Sculpins up over the dock, as well. Occasionally, a bold Seagull would find itself on the wrong end of a hook, and cause all kinds of commotion.

What if birding were a legal sport like fishing? What if we could get a license to go out and try to catch birds with a rod, a reel and a lure, or bait? We'd have to study the habits of each species, and practice conservation, of course. There would have to be bag limits and seasons. I imagine we'd find pigeons pretty easy-to-fool, sort of like Pollock. People might go on safaris to capture exotic trophy birds like Emus or Condors. We might have to use live bait to capture Peregrine falcons, or to bag a Snowy Owl.

If "birding" were a legal sport like fishing, would you do it?

Photo: Pigeon Eye by David Gifford

Dragons that Fly!

2007-08-18T10:54:00.001-03:00

Here is a photo of a dragonfly (Green Darner) that has just been fitted with a tiny radio transmitter by Princeton University professor, Martin Wikelski (left). The scientist was tracking their migratory patterns in a 2005 study funded by National Geographic. Apparently they only fly during the daytime, in a generally southward direction, pausing sometimes for several days when conditions are to their liking. Two consecutive nights of decreasing temperatures will get them moving again.

One day on the Pinware River in Labrador, my brother, Steve, shot some video footage of a large dragonfly circling my head, picking off the blackflies that swarmed there. I joked about wishing it was tethered to my hat, trained to attack insect pests on command. Apparently, using Wikelski's technique, such a thing is possible. He uses Krazy Glue to attach the miniature radio transmitters - so, why not a length of monofilament?

I actually did have a dragonfly on a tether once. It happened like this. I was fishing alone in my canoe on a stretch of the Mersey River known locally as the Kedgie River. This is the section that flows from Kejimkujik National Park to Rossignol Lake. Trout were rising under overhanging trees near the riverbank and I made a beautiful cast with a small dry fly. It doesn't happen often, but this was a perfect presentation. As the line straightened out and the fly began to float down through the air towards the surface of the water, I anticipated a nice Brook Trout coming up to slurp it down.

Instead, something unexpected happened. The fly instantly took a different direction and came crashing down with a splash several feet short of the intended target. Annoyed and perplexed, I stripped in line to cast once more, when to my complete amazement, in slow motion, the fly and leader levitated off the water and up into the air. I kept stripping line and soon I had a clear view of what was going on - a large dragonfly had a death grip on my #14 Adams and was trying to make off with it. He circled the canoe, then dropped it and flew off. The truth - so help me, God!

The Boat on the Medway

2007-08-07T20:35:00.000-03:00

Here is a shot of the 12' aluminum boat on our land in Charleston. I've been going there almost every day lately. Today my wife and I were there twice. In the morning, we cleared brush and in the evening we took a boat ride and snapped a few pictures.

As noon approached I noticed a guy in a pontoon boat with a fly rod, fishing the water upstream from us. He told us he hadn't seen any fish. Perhaps dawn or dusk might have been better times for August fishing but he looked like he was just happy to be out on the river on such a fine summer day.

Photo by Random Phrump: Medway River, Nova Scotia.

Here's your hat - what's your hurry?

2007-08-01T11:02:00.000-03:00

Over at Steve Dobson's Fisherman's Blog, there is a post or two on the topic of fishing hats. My wife likes to travel and I always have the same request: "Bring me back a hat." Some of the hats she brings me I actually wear. In this case, the "Cool as a Breeze" model from BC Hats (Australia) has become my "go to" hat for fishing, gardening, boating - even mowing the lawn.

Let me tell you what makes it work for me. First, the brim is wide enough to provide a generous oasis of cool shade on a sunny day. Second, the crown is made from a nylon mesh that lets the breezes flow through. Third, it has a soft absorbent cotton "sweat band". Fourth, it is lightweight - made of sturdy canvas, but not as heavy as their leather models. Fifth, the adjustable lanyard keeps it from blowing off when you have an irresistible urge to stick your head out the window of the pickup and holler, "G'day, mate!"

The Original Dobson Clip "Hands Free" Rodholder

2007-07-27T13:57:00.000-03:00

Steve's done it again! I hate to brag, but that brother of mine is one smart feller. Years ago, he invented a system that allows a person to control a professional video camera from a wheelchair. He won serious kudos and an industry award for the innovation.

Now he's designed the perfect "hands free" rodholder that attaches to your fishing vest. It allows an angler to change flies, change leaders, or release fish unencumbered by the rod. At the same time the Dobson Clip holds your rod perfectly balanced and positioned for a great catch and release photo. At $14.95 (tax and shipping included) this is a must-have gadget for the serious fly fisher. Check it out at The Original Dobson Clip website.

Photo by Dave Dobson.

"Your true colors... are beautiful like a rainbow." C. Lauper

2007-07-08T09:46:00.001-03:00

I have been at Acadia University this week learning about communication, collaboration, and inclusive education. My course is in the morning so that leaves my afternoon or evening free for fishing. There is a small lake only about 15 miles from campus that is stocked annually with rainbow trout - a species not native to Nova Scotia. After looking at a few maps and making some inquiries, I found my way to the shore of the lake and waded out.

I hooked one right away and stripped in line till I had the fish in close, then decided to wind up the slack and play him on the reel. That's when he did some aerobatics and finessed himself a long-distance release. The second fish was much the same. The third and fourth, I managed to bring to hand and release. In thinking about the experience, I love seeing and touching the fish, but I kind of like the LDR - it's a Win-Win situation. The fisherman wins because he fooled the fish into striking his fly, the fish wins, because he escaped from his predicament. The most successful fly was my #8 Rumsey Lake Minnow (3 out of 4 fish) and the other was the magic dry fly - #10 Tom Thumb.

TIP: For summer fishing, when it's too hot for waders, I like to wear shorts and an old pair of sneakers - but running shoes don't dry easily - they stay damp and smelly. I've tried those "river shoes" with the rubber sole and mesh top, which dry in a jiffy, but they don't offer much protection from rocks. This year I stumbled upon a pair of molded rubber clogs at WalMart for only $8 - knock-offs of the popular Crocs brand. I decided to give them a try. They are great - lightweight, comfortable, washable, fast-drying and like a suit of armor for your toes.

"When a man gets to a certain age, he stops looking at women and starts looking at boats." H.R. Dobson

2007-07-01T09:47:00.000-03:00

I don't know if I believe the part about "stops looking at women"... I still look at sunsets, plants and birds, and water - things I find beauty in - and yes, the female form is in that category. Maybe I haven't reached that age yet.

Yesterday, I put the boat in the river for the first time since having the patch welded. To my great relief, the floor stayed dry as a bone. The anchor drop, new oars and oarlocks all worked like a charm. At 54" across the beam, she is wide and roomy for a not-quite 12' boat. I think I'm going to like her.

Photo by Random Phrump: Medway River, Nova Scotia.

"It’s a small world, but I wouldn’t want to have to paint it." Steven Wright

2007-06-24T10:38:00.000-03:00

The first time I put the boat in the river, I noticed a steady trickle seeping in from under the seat - right where that egg-sized glob of a patch had been applied. To make the best of a bad situation, I took my rod along, and headed for the mouth of Mink Trap Brook where Tim McKinnon usually catches some fine Brook Trout. The 2 HP Honda outboard started without too much trouble - even though it was the first time I'd had her out in 2 years. Managed to catch and release one 10 inch trout - not quite in the same category as Tim's lunkers. Now the boat must go to a man who will weld a patch on her. I think I'll take the wooden seats out and give them a coat of Benjamin Moore porch floor enamel while he's at it.

Photo by Random Phrump: Forteau, Labrador.

" When a thing is funny, search it for a hidden truth." - G.B. Shaw

2007-06-13T12:07:00.000-03:00

One day when my dad was but a lad, his mum asked him to go to the store. This was in the aftermath of the Great Depression. A dime could get you a lot of things in those days - one of them was a quart of molasses. She put the coin into a clean milk bottle and sent him off to fetch her a quart of the grocer's finest.

At the store, the man behind the counter asked, "Sumpin' fer you, buster?"

Harold showed the note from his mother and placed the milk jug up on the counter. After filling the jar, the grocer demanded his payment. Harold said. "But, the dime was in the jar!"

The man held the jar over his head and, sure enough, there lay the dime beneath a quart of sticky, sweet molasses. He let my dad take the jug home, under promise to pay at the earliest convenience.

When Harold returned the next day with the dime, he overheard the man say, "See? I told you that boy would do the right thing."

I stopped in to see my Dad today - after my not-entirely-successful trip to the hardware store. He offered me an anchor drop, already made, for my new aluminum boat. It was one that he had built for his canoe, and it simply bolts on through the bow plate. Looks like it might be just the right thing... I'll let you know how it works.

Photo by Dave Dobson: October on the River Philip.

"He must be a thorough fool who can learn nothing from his own folly." - J.C. & A.W. Hare

2007-06-12T09:03:00.000-03:00

When I pulled into the parking lot, the heavens opened and it began to pour rain. The man was waiting in his truck with his son - a boy of about eight. He opened a huge golf umbrella to give us some shelter while we transferred the boats. The boy ended up under the umbrella, watching as we untied my Zodiac from the roof rack, then his aluminum boat from the trailer.

Wait a minute! What is that? He hadn't mentioned the patch on the bottom - an egg-sized chunk of metal that had been melted into a gash. He swears it doesn't leak a drop. I probably should have turned tail right then and there, but I didn't and now I have the boat home in my garage.

I need to get some oars and oarlocks, a pulley and a piece of hardwood to make an anchor drop for the bow, then some stainless eyebolts for guides and a cleat to fasten the anchor line. That will make it safe for the river. Then we'll see if it leaks.

Photo by Drew Dobson: Western Brook, Newfoundland.

"Rivers are roads which move..." - Blaise Pascal

2007-06-11T11:57:00.000-03:00

When my cousin, Lee, died suddenly, I inherited his 11' Zodiac. That was four years ago and I have used the boat about 4 times. Today, I am heading up the road to meet a man who wants to trade his 12' aluminum boat for a Zodiac. We will meet in a parking lot to exchange boats. I'll let you know how that works out.