More Medway History

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

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

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.