Fall Salmon Fishing in Nova Scotia

Well, I made it out for some good old Nova Scotia fall salmon fishing this week.

I let my fishing partner talk me into getting on the road by 5:30 AM. Not too tough a negotiation because there really aren’t many things I enjoy more than sunrise on a river; especially one that I know holds the promise of multi-sea-winter salmon.

The weather was slightly overcast and shirt-sleeves warm. A good long chat, a couple of Tim Horton’s double doubles and we were pulling into the field beside the river.

It was still dark but the first greenish streaks were starting to show on the horizon. We got geared up and walked down to see what we could of the river before the light fully broke. The water was low and amazingly warm for late October. I thought it over for a few minutes and decided on a change of tactics.

The most success I’ve had in fall salmon fishing has been with sinking-tip lines and large, bright flies. Things like the flashy marabou Cardinals are usually the order of the day. Under the present conditions I decided to fish as I would in the late summer when fish are sluggish takers and usually have been laying in the pools for weeks darkening up, waiting for a freshet to carry them further along their journey.

Brad, my fishing partner, stuck with the traditional fall set up. At sunrise we hit the water. I fished carefully knowing in the past I’d caught fish all along the run. Depending on the height of the water, grilse would lie in certain spots salmon in others. I’d never seen the water so low at this time of year - or so warm.

 Several times I felt the slight hesitation that marks the surprisingly subtle take of a big fish only to set on a floating leaf. On I went, quartering down stream, casting as close to the far bank as I could, letting the fly swing into the deeper water. It becomes almost hypnotic. Intensely concentrating on the cast, placing the fly where it needs to be and watching the drift, imagining the fly under the water, looking for any clue that there is a fish reacting to it.

Then a burst of adrenaline and the intensity of the moment when your line starts to move in a way contrary to the current. Don’t think about it. Don’t wonder if you imagined it. Strike!

The take was undetectable without the visual clues. I was fast into a big salmon. At the moment of contact I flashed back to a trip my brother Warren and I had taken to Labrador and the good advice he had given me. "Always consciously set the hook."

It’s better to lose a fish in the first few seconds than after a long fight. Better for the fish and better for you.

 When I felt the weight of the fish, I very deliberately set the hook again. The first leap turned my legs to water. This was a big salmon by any standard. I’d tied on a lighter leader in the semi-darkness of dawn after seeing how low the water was and immediately started doubting - first my intelligence, then my knots.

The initial run had me into my backing. Another big jump and I was running down the bank trying to get back into contact with my fly line. And so it went, until the runs became shorter and the jumps became slashes on the surface.

Brad offered to tail the fish for me and waded out into position. Usually this is the riskiest part of the whole event. As soon as I could lift the salmon’s head I got the fish parallel to the bank and let her down beside Brad.

With a move worthy of Mikhail Baryshnikov he slipped his hand behind the fish and grasped the wrist of the tail. I don’t really know how big the fish was. It was a female and I didn’t want to handle her too much before the release.

One fish like that could re-populate this whole system. If you can figure it out by looking at the pictures let me know what you think.

My heart had barely stopped pounding from that great fish when Brad’s reel started to scream. The fish that leaped at the end of his line was almost unbelievable. Bigger by far than the beautiful fish I’d just landed.

 Six leaps and several spool draining runs later, just as it looked like he was getting the fish under control, his line went slack. That big buck just swam away.

Moments later he was into another. And so the day went, I had the pleasure of tailing a really big fish for him and was able to use the lesson he had given me in the art earlier that day to make it look easy. The truth is I was petrified that I’d loose his big salmon by missing the grab when the opportunity presented.

If you’ve never tailed a big salmon trust me when I tell you: like every other aspect of the sport, sometimes you can do no wrong; other times you can.