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
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
August Trout
Monday, July 28, 2008
Rainbows and Earwigs?
We're having company... our captivating new grand-daughter is coming to visit us in August - all the way from California! She's a bit too young for fishing, but I know her dad (and maybe mom, too) would enjoy some fly fishing.
August means low water, which translated into practical fishing terms, means warm water. Traditionally, August has been the time to abandon the brooks and streams, and head for the Atlantic Ocean to fish for mackerel, jig for cod, or go shark-fishing.
In spite of this, I'm trying to come up with a fly fishing day trip (or two) during their one-week stay. Let's see what the local options are...
- Smallmouth Bass fishing in Ten Mile Lake
- Chain Pickerel in Louis Lake
- Stocked Rainbow Trout in Hidden Hills Lake
- Brook Trout - if you can find them this time of year
- Brown Trout on the Mersey River
- Trophy Brook Trout (hatchery stock) in the Christopher Lakes
- White Perch in most lakes
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
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Priorities
It seems I've spent my whole life establishing priorities, consciously or unconsciously, and making decisions based on them. Much of it has involved putting off what I really want to do for some real, or imagined, future benefit.
I've been sitting here reminiscing the last ten days or so. What sparked it was a phone call from my friend, Parker Suley. Parker called from Labrador to give a fishing report, and inquire when I would be coming to visit. I had to tell him that I wouldn't be coming this year - priorities.
He mentioned that he started fishing the 4th of June and as of July 13th, he had released over 60 Atlantic Salmon. He said the water has been perfect this season, lots of fish in every pool. Two friends from St. John's were there when he called, and they had caught five that day, and eight the day before.
I was overcome with a form of nostalgia - regret, perhaps - maybe grief, I don't know. I felt so conflicted over my decision not to go this summer that I had to do something about it. That something ended up being the 10-part series of posts on Rocky Bay. Now that's done, and I still feel much the same...
I'm beginning to think what I should have done was pull out all the stops, and high-tail it for Labrador - priorities be damned!
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP
Photo by Random Phrump: Drew and Parker at The Falls.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Rocky Bay Part X: The Final Tally
Well, I've written more Rocky Bay posts than Sylvester Stallone made Rocky movies. I guess I've milked it for all it's worth. Just a few final thoughts on the experience...
When I look back on the salmon fishing trips I've had over the last 20 years, Rocky Bay has to be one of the most memorable - not so much in terms of numbers of fish caught, but more for the intangible qualities that stay with you for a lifetime.
I'm talking about the obstacles we faced and overcame. We pushed ourselves to the limit every day, and got great satisfaction from knowing that it was our efforts and our attitudes that influenced the outcome more than the circumstances we faced.
All told, we tagged seven grilse, released eight, and lost another four, in our week on the Old Fort. That's a pretty good success rate on any river. I enjoyed not having a guide, and I enjoyed sharing the experience with my brother, Steve.
The Bilodeau Brothers have made some improvements to the camp at Rocky Bay in the years since we were there. They offer a number of packages for salmon and trout anglers. Check them out at Napetipi River Outfitters.
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP
Photo by Random Phrump: Steve at Third Pool, Old Fort River, Quebec.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Rocky Bay Part IX: The Truth Comes Out
After a coffee, a sandwich, and a nap, Steve and I returned to First Pool for a couple of hours in the afternoon. His losing streak behind him, Steve made up for lost time by catching and releasing two more grilse in a matter of minutes!
The #6 White Phentex Bug was deadly on the Old Fort River. It was the same fly pattern that our brother, Al, had success with last summer, actually landing a fish on a broken fly! Fished wet or dry, the salmon took it readily. I released one more grilse before the rain settled in.
Having forgotten my rain jacket, I was more than glad to get back to camp, fire up the stove, and warm my bones. After supper, I broke out the Glenfiddich Special Reserve and the half-liter of bottled water I had stashed in my duffel bag.
"So that's what happened to that bottle of water, " Steve exclaimed. " I saw it on the kitchen table when we first arrived, then it vanished!"
"Guilty, as charged, Steve. I just couldn't stomach the thought of mixing 12 year old scotch with that brown water dripping out of the hillside, so I put it aside," I admitted, as I poured our drinks.
"I knew you took it," he said. "Every time I brushed my teeth with that foul swill, I cursed you for keeping it all to yourself. I guess I owe you an apology."
"Cheers, mate!" we clinked glasses. "It was a sneaky trick," I admitted, "But I hope you'll agree it was worth it."
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP
Photo by Steve Dobson: Fish On!
Monday, July 21, 2008
Rocky Bay Part VIII: The Floater
It was a blustery day, windy and cold, with a big chop in the harbour. As we were leaving First Pool, I saw something that chilled me even more than the weather. On the far side of the river, two glossy gray-brown shapes surfaced for a moment, then disappeared. I got the distinct impression of something substantial lurking beneath the water.
"Oh, no! Was that what I think it is?" I cried. "Was that a floater?"
"Where?" asked Steve.
I pointed with my rod. "It looked like a pair of waders with boots just like yours," I added. "It could have been a drowned angler, possibly a guest from upriver, at Morgaine's camp." Just then, we both saw one boot break the surface, then another boot, ten feet away.
"Those aren't boots," Steve exclaimed, "They're seals!"
Steve was right. They were seals, and they were in the river for one reason. With all the rain we'd had lately, fish were coming up from the salt on every tide. These two had ventured out of their element in pursuit of a favorite meal - Atlantic Salmon.
While we were relieved that we didn't have to launch a recovery operation, it was still disturbing to see these sea wolves in a salmon pool. It was probably a good thing that we had decided to return to camp for a few hours. There would be no chance for anglers in First Pool until the seals were gone.
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP
Photo by Steve Dobson: The Old Fort River at Rocky Bay
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Rocky Bay Part VII: Success
Today, we took time to cook breakfast before heading out to the river at 5 AM - our clothes somewhat soggy after two days of rain. At First Pool, I caught a grilse on a #6 White Phentex Bug. Then Steve waded out and promptly hooked one. His whoop of joy was still echoing off the hills when the salmon leapt clear of the water and his line fell slack. In disgust, he stomped ashore and tossed his wading staff on the ground. "What do I have to do to catch a salmon on this #@%% river?" he said to no one in particular.
I didn't know how to respond, but we talked it over, replaying the scene in our minds. There were salmon in the pool - of that, there was no doubt. They were in the mood to take a fly, as well, and Steven knew exactly where to cast, and what the 'fly du jour' was. One thing occurred to me. "Did you set the hook on that fish?" I probed.
"Come on," he gestured at the pool, "In water like this a salmon hooks itself."
"I always set the hook, though," I said. "What harm does it do to make sure the hook is set?"
"Can't argue with that," he replied.
"Go back out, right now," I insisted "and remember to give the rod tip a flick as soon as you feel the weight."
Steve waded out again and fished for almost an hour, then returned to shore, empty-handed, and even more discouraged, if that was possible. Back in the river, I waded to a familiar rock. Using landmarks on the opposite shore to triangulate my target, I made about six casts to get the right amount of line out, and Bango! - I hooked another grilse, which Steve netted with his usual expertise. "I'm getting good at landing them," he grimaced. "Haven't lost one yet! What's that - five, now?"
"I dunno, who's counting?" I lied. "Here, Steve, try this fly," I offered, as I clipped it from my line.
Steve tied on the Phentex Bug, returned to the pool, and in a very few casts, was into another fish. I watched him set the hook on an aerobatic grilse that flipped and flopped all over the pool. Then Steve turned and headed for shore. This time, it was my job to man the net, and I worried that if I screwed this up, I would never hear the end of it. But it was "No worries, mate!" a few moments later, when I hoisted his gleaming prize.
Steve had snapped his losing streak, and a look of relief was spreading over his face. He plunked himself down at the picnic table and pulled a cylinder from his vest, "Now it's time to enjoy this fine cigar my buddy, Brad, brought back from Cuba."
As he slipped the Cohiba from its airtight container, I pulled the "flask" from my vest. Not really a flask, it was a small mouthwash bottle filled with single malt scotch. I poured some into the cap and offered it to Steve. He looked at me with a frown, then tipped it back and started to gargle. "What the hell?" he said with his eyes, and then slowly it dawned on him that the amber liquid was not Listerine - not by a long shot.
"You've been holding out on me," he accused. "Where did that come from?"
"There's a bottle in my duffel bag," I replied. "I've been saving it for something worth celebrating."
"Jeez," he laughed, "Here I was thinking how bad my breath must be, for you to pour me a shot of mouthwash!"
It was a good moment. We laughed, toasted our success, and with the warmth spreading in our bellies, the tension melted away until it was suddenly all good again. We decided to take our three fish back to the camp, put them on ice, and take a short siesta.
Good Luck and Good Fishin'!
RP
Photo by Random Phrump: Steve's Streak Snaps (Try saying that quickly, three times.)
