The King of Fish, The Fish of Kings, by Greg Pearson
As a steelhead fly fisher you often daydream of fishing for Atlantic salmon: fishing big wild rivers, spey casting long rods and swinging classic salmon flies of the Victorian age. For a dirt-bag steelhead bum this romantic dream of fishing for "the King of Fish, the Fish of King's" can seem like an impossibility. However, we do have Atlantic salmon here in North America and it doesn't have to cost an arm and a leg to fish good water.
For the last seven years I have spent a week devoted to flyfishing for Atlantic Salmon in the rivers of Quebec's Gaspe' Peninsula, but always as a steelheader trying to catch a salmon. This year I was determined to approach the water and the fish as a salmon angler.
Rodger Nye, my partner for the trip was a fellow steelheader and fishing buddy from Swan Valley, Idaho. This would be Rodger's third trip to the Gaspe' but his first to fish the York and Dartmouth Rivers near the small town of Gaspe'. He knows, as do I, that early June can be feast or famine when it comes to fishing for these legendary. If mother nature is running say two weeks late, there are NO salmon in the rivers. Zero! We have both traveled to Quebec in search of the large June fish only to find the rivers literally empty. "Which pool would you like to practice casting in now?" a guide once asked me seriously.
The flip side of the coin, if mother nature is "on time" we will spend the week fishing to salmon fresh from the feeding grounds off the coast of Greenland. The fish can come into the river over night, smelling like salt and wearing sea lice. Another obvious bonus is that they have not seen flies yet so June fish are known to be "takers". These same fish, come August, will be so familiar with the popular fly patterns that they could tie them up themselves.
SIGNS
To see which side of the coin we would be dealt, feast side or the famine side, we would be looking for signs from mother nature. As a fisherman, you look for these signs. Signs that will tell you where to fish, how to fish and will the fishing be good or bad. We put these pieces together like building blocks to try and put some sense to what is coming and how best to deal with it. I am convinced that mother nature gives us these signs and that we humans have largely lost the ability to read them. The animals of the forest and rivers still speak this language and seem to give us a strange look and think "What is it with these idiots? It is spelled out right in front of them." It reminds me of the look I get when trying to order a meal in English to a waitress that speaks only French.
As our small plane approached Gaspe' I peered down looking at the hillsides, not too much snow, a good sign. The trees looked green, more then just the little buds of spring, another good sign. As we picked up our rental car I asked the pleasant fellow helping us if they have had an early spring. "No, no." he said with a French accent. "Everything is about three weeks late." Not a good sign.
We headed straight up The York River. We didn't have fishing passes, this was just a scout day and it was sunny and bright out perfect for spotting salmon. I was still in search of signs and told Rodger we will look at a pool called Baillargeon first. "I have never been to Baillargeon in June and not seen at least a few salmon," I told Rodger. We walked out on the bridge and looked down into the crystal clear water. Of course…NO FISH! I say "of course" because I have learned from many years of guiding that whenever I run my mouth off mother nature let's me know how much I don't know. (Example: "No ma'am, just keep casting, you will not hook one of those Barn Swallows." Thirty seconds later my client is crying and I am taking a size 16 PMD out of the beak of a half drowned and screeching Barn Swallow.)
As we silently walked away from Baillargeon I was a bit nervous and Rodger seemed to be quietly asking himself, "here we go again. What did I let Greg talk me into now?"
With great relief and turning to excitement all of the pools we looked at next had salmon, a good sign. More then I had seen before, an even better sign. Living on a world-class trout river Rodger has good fish eyes but he had a hard time seeing the fish until he calibrated his eyes for size. "Where is he from that huge log?" he asked. "That 'log' is the salmon." I replied. "Oly shite, he's huge!" Seeing log-sized salmon…a great sign.
On our first day of fishing, in the first pool we tried, in the first 10 minutes Rodger hooked and landed a salmon. A great sign. The fish was a very fat female around 12 pounds, chrome bright with a beautiful marine-blue back. In the next run, I landed a 10-pound male salmon. As the fish swam away we were both grinning from ear to ear. Then it started to dawn on me that this was very unfamiliar ground. I have never started a salmon trip this way. It all seemed too good. Now I was getting suspicious. Was mother nature setting me up for another lesson?
LUCKY OR UNLUCKY?
The night before our first day we took care of business. We got our fishing licenses and day passes, groceries and a couple days worth of Molson. All we needed now was a little, cheap, disposable cooler for keeping our water and most importantly the Molson cold. We hunted around but couldn't find one until we discovered that the tiny town of Gaspe' has a three story mall. We found our cooler in a little shop on the third floor and we were set. We followed three locals down the escalator and as we neared the bottom one of the women bent down and picked something up and got tripped up as the stairs disappeared under the floor. She stumbled but at the last second saved her balance and saved herself a face plant. Laughing at herself, face bright red, she spun around and thrust her hand at me. Instinctually and surprised I held out my hand. She rolled off about 15 quick words in French and dropped a penny into my hand. I don't speak a word of French so all I could do was guess at what she said. "This penny is obviously bad luck for me but will be good luck for you!" I thought might be a translation. Or was it "I almost died picking up this penny which is apparently bad luck. I would like you to have it". Latter that night this drove me mad as I tossed and turned thinking of pools full of salmon while trying to fall asleep. In salmon or steelhead fishing, luck plays a huge role, much more so then in trout fishing. Of course it pays to cast well and know how to present the fly but it still takes a fair amount of luck to get your fly in front of a migratory fish when it is in a taking mood.
GOOD SALMON FISHING
Over the next several days we hooked fish here and there, one to two a day. This is good salmon fishing. We had finally hit it right and for the first time I was fishing as a salmon angler not just a steelheader trying to catch a salmon. It felt good to think about the situation, make decisions about flies and presentation and have the fish respond.
On our fifth day of fishing the sky was overcast, the air was still and the mosquitoes and black flies were out and biting. If the flies are out and happily biting us then the salmon should be happy to bite as well, right? Signs, remember?
We started by walking through the forest of pine, birch and fern to a beautiful York River pool. The river rushes through a tight gorge and falls into a small pool, slows briefly and then squeezes through a narrow and deep slot in the ledge rock. In the tailout as the slot shallows and before the next spill there were two salmon. Up higher, in the pool, there was a very large fish by herself fining in the clear shallow water. Rodger fished to the big girl as I directed from my perch on the cliff above. I could see very well as the fly swam in front and above the salmon. On about the third fly change she suddenly followed the fly for about 10 feet then returned to her lie. Rodger waited and then made the same cast with the same fly but this time she showed no interest. He changed flies and she looked again but didn't take. Fly after fly the big salmon would chase but wouldn't commit. Rodger went through nearly every fly in his box and soon I was throwing him flies to try and find the magic ingredient that would convince a non-feeding, fat and content salmon to take. After a couple of hours fishing, changing flies, fishing, resting, fishing, etc. we gave up and went to the tailout. Our two smaller salmon were still there. Rodger stood on the hillside 15 feet above the salmon and watched my fly pass over them. A fly change or two and Rodger said surprised "He grabbed it!" It seemed to take forever for the line to go tight but finally it did and I had him hooked up…for a few seconds then the hook pulled out. Shite! The good news was that we found three salmon, two of which chased flies and one actually took. The black flies and mosquitoes gave us hope that we could find another taker or two so we moved on.
We went to a pool that we knew had a lot of salmon in it but they are notoriously difficult to hook. To access the pool it is necessary to walk down a very long (200') and steep stairway built into the hillside. Several days earlier on our scout day I had slipped on the upper end of the stairs leaving me with a huge bruise on my arm where I caught myself. I was just to the spot where I slipped before and thinking, "OK don't fall this time" and down I went again. I got a matching bruise but the alternative to catching yourself is an express route to the river 200 feet below. "A lucky bruise" I tell myself.
At the bottom of the stairs we can immediately see a lot of salmon. Large salmon. Some of the fish are resting in the tail while the bulk of the school are suspended in or just below the foam created by the waterfall above. After the river falls it piles into a cliff face and turns 90 degrees. The heavily oxygenated water churns and circles making for a very tough drift. I tell Rodger that we will be here awhile and that we should start with a dry line and then some different flies and a sink tip. I start at the top with a short dry line and a size 2 Green Pearl as Rodger stares casually from the rock 15' above the fish. On about my third cast Rodger jolts and says, "oh shit, you've got one!" A second later I felt the line go tight and Rodger says, "It's a big one!" The salmon fights well but behaves and does not rush down into the rapids below the small pool. I tail the fish and Rodger tapes it for me. 39 ˝" and chunky. What a beautiful salmon.
At this point I have had a great day of salmon fishing, hooked two and landed one that would weigh over twenty pounds. I just hoped we could find a fish for Rodger. We fished the pool with a few more good passes but the fish would have nothing to do with us.
Next we hiked into a pool that had no fish in it on our scout day but it just looks so nice that we had to give it another try. The light was poor but we stare and stare into the pool. When trout guiding I have to spot 12-20" fish so as I look through this glassy water I can't believe that if a salmon was there I wouldn't be able to see it. Rodger is a salt-water angler that lives on the banks of a trout river, he can spot fish as well. We both comment on a few fishy looking lines or a ghostly shape or two but nothing that is100% salmon. Finally a window comes over a large flat yellow rock and I see the thin black vertical line that trims the tail of a large salmon. Now I can see it well because I know it is there. I got really excited and babbled, "There's one! There is one, 100% sure-maybe more-I don't know. Your up Rodge, I'll watch your fly."
Rodger starts in 50' above the salmon and I watch his fly make it's arc down and across the river. The pool has some strange currents and as he fished down through the run we are discussing how best to angle the cast and mend to get the desired presentation. Suddenly, well above the large yellow rock, a salmon appears, chases, opens his mouth and returns to the deep. "Have you got him?" I ask. Rodger says no and looks at me like I am nuts. "I just felt a tiny little tap," he says. I couldn't believe how aggressive the fish slashed at the fly but no hook up. Rodger changed flies and tried the cast a few more times. "Well Rodge just keep working through, you still haven't got down to the fish on the yellow rock yet." Rodger went back to the routine of cast, mend, swing…step, cast, mend, swing…I watched the fly as it descended the run and passed over the salmon on the yellow slab unnoticed. I was a bit discouraged that the fish didn't move and even more discouraged that I could clearly see that there were no salmon in the tail of the pool. Two casts later as Rodger kept moving down through the pool a salmon materialized and burst onto the fly. "He's got it!" I made the mistake of yelling long before Rodger felt the pull. A real dirty trick as you can excite your buddy into an early strike and a burned fish. However, Rodger remained cool and only pulled tight once he felt the full weight of the fish. Perfect, we both get a fish today. We are all smiles and laughs until the fish comes unpinned. I really don't mind losing a fish but my gut hurts when a friend or a guiding client loses a nice fish. We had a quick hearing about what went wrong, kind of like the hearing that Mavrick went through in Top Gun after he crashed his F-14. Just like in the movie, the panel decided that it was not pilot error just a case of unavoidable bad luck and he quickly resumed flight status. Normally we would trade out after a hook up but I insisted that Rodger go to the top of the pool and go through again. I tried to sound upbeat "Maybe there is another taker in there, I would go through again Rodge." We both believed however that the hooked and fighting salmon had probably spooked the other fish and our chances were unlikely. Rodger tied on an all green stonefly and started in. I watched the fly's swing as it approached the big fish on the yellow rock. The fish showed no interest on the last pass so I was shocked when she shot up like a barracuda and nailed the tiny fly. This time I kept my mouth shut until long after the line went tight and Rodger began to grin. After a nice battle Rodger landed the salmon, a chrome bright female of about 14 pounds.
Rodger got the fish but I got the lion's share of the excitement watching the fish pounce the fly. Rodger wanted his turn…to not fish.
I double turled on an all green stonefly to the 10-pound Maxima tippet and started at the top of the pool. The light was slowly changing and soon Rodger was calling out from his perch that he thought he could see more fish in the tail of the pool. He was right. As my fly came across the slick water in the tailout, the water exploded and Rodger started yelling, "Do you feel him yet? Do you feel him yet? He has got the fly!" No, I did not feel him yet. I tried to stay calm and hope that the line would go tight. Finally the pull came and I set the hook. "It's a big fish!" Rodger said.
The salmon pulled hard and made a run for the tail but I was lucky enough to turn him before he hit the rapids and coax him back into the pool. After 8 to 10 minutes the fish was close and it looked to be around the same size as the fish that I got earlier in the day. A nice big fish but no big deal. Rodger and I had been using our 13' 7 weight rods. Light for the York where the fish average 20 pounds but the casts were short and the rod was so comfortable to cast and besides we had been landing all of the fish in under 10 minutes so it seemed fine. "This is a big, fresh fish Rodge. If we can land fish like this we can get any of these fish on our 7 weights." I exclaimed.
The fish is still a bit green but I thought I would try to tail him. Rodger asked if I wanted a hand and I said, "No, I've got him." Like I said, a nice big fish but no big deal. I was in slow, waist deep water so that I didn't have to reach down far. I extended my right hand toward the salmon while keeping the rod up with my left. The salmon's tail came out of the water as I reached. It was huge! The fluke was as tall as my forearm is long. My normal cool-no big deal self suddenly became very un-cool. I went from "no big deal" to "Holy fuck!" in a nano-second. "Rodger, I am going to need help with this fish! It's giant!" I said. The fish was close and I was trying to lead it to Rodger. He was still bucking and keeping his head down. I know better then to try and lift a heavy fish with a long rod when he is close but I wasn't thinking straight at this point. I had the rod in a 13' hula-hoop configuration when KURPAKI! The rod broke just above the second ferrule. Before I knew it I had half the rod in one hand and half in the other with line in between (like num chucks) and a huge salmon pulling on the other end and then another KURPAKI! This time the tip section broke. Rodger and I stood still for a moment and then I said, "I am still going to land him." I chucked my rod parts, line and reel ashore and gently but quickly hand lined the big salmons head toward shore before he made another run which would have been a disaster. I let go of the leader and latched onto the salmon's wrist with both hands. Rodger and I were stunned. "Holy fuck! It's fucking huge!" Rodger took a picture or two and we taped the huge male at 45x23". I held him into the current until he swam away, his back looking like a 2x12 plank.
We sat on the bank both a bit stunned and Rodger told me of the take that he witnessed as the fish took the fly. Actually three fish came to the fly, the first shot off the river floor coming fast and turned just short of the fly. As he turned off, two other fish appeared simultaneously on the fly and the big male was the lucky (or un-lucky) winner.
We rested the pool awhile and both of us reflected on the past hour as the highlight of both of our salmon fishing careers. I thought about earlier in the day when getting my gear ready for the days fishing and I stumbled onto the penny that the French girl had given me. It was definitely better luck for me then her.
THE CURSE
All good things must come to an end. We should have walked away right then and there. Called it a good day and made cheers over a couple of cold Molson's, but it is very difficult for a fisherman to leave a pool full of fish. As Rodger let loose with his 4th or 5th cast, I noticed a beaver swimming up the far bank. Rodger noticed the beaver as well and being the good fly caster that he is he hit what he was looking at. He didn't mean to but his fly landed right on the beaver. "Oh-man, I almost hooked that beaver!" He shouted. The beaver dove that line started coming off the reel. "O-god I did hook the beaver!" Rodger said half embarrassed and half disgusted with himself. We both felt terrible but had some relief when the hook pulled free.
Obviously, the curse prevailed and we caught no more salmon that night. Or the next day.
Our last day was looking grim. Pissing rain, cold and wet and we were starting to believe heavily in The Curse Of the Beaver. We fished half of the day and no fish. We decided to return to the magic pool but it was also the birthplace of the curse. No better place to reverse this miserable spell the beaver had cast.
Rodger worked the pool through with a couple of different flies. nothing. The pool was dead and I really thought we should move on but Rodger wanted to try the little green stonefly that had worked so well earlier. I watched as the rain splattered off of my hood. Suddenly I watched as two salmon materialized and chased the fly but neither took hold. "Whoa! Rodge, you need to repeat that same cast." He waited a while and cast the exact amount of line at the exact same angle and as the fly neared the sweet spot a single salmon came up slowly and took the fly. Rodger landed the fish and we taped it at just over 40 inches with a girth of 19. A 25 pounder to shed the curse. Thank God! In salmon and steelhead fishing keeping your head right is very, very important. You have to gingerly balance the curses, luck (both good and bad) and signs with success and/or lack of success all within your tiny fisherman's pea brain. I can't imagine if we had not got that fish on our last day what the curse would have grown into with 358 days to fester.
|
` 
