Seeing More Salmon

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

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'?

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!

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...

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

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

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.