The serious business of salmon fishing

fishin'

Here is one more story from this year’s salmon season.

My fishing partner had just hooked and lost a big, big salmon. Out of courtesy, I had reeled in my line and cleared the water to give him room to play the fish before his line had gone slack.

Standing on the shore, I was well positioned to offer an observation on his technique, the size of the fish and more, even a bit of sympathy. He just shrugged, stepped back into the pool and after checking his fly and leader proceeded to hook another fish.

I couldn’t believe my eyes. He didn’t do much more than grunt to let me know he was hooked up again. With a very deliberate motion he made sure of the hook set. The first run was blistering. The salmon had him into his backing within seconds. Not too many seconds after that Brad was running down the shore trying to recover some line.

After four great jumps and as many runs the salmon was nearly into the next pool down stream, still putting up a good struggle. Brad was making his stand on the last gravel bar before deep water. I was a couple of hundred yards away and ambling in a slow walk towards him.

My pace was timed to put me there when he was ready to land the fish. A salmon has to be on my own line to make me run nowadays.

I was pretty close when the fish made a run directly towards Brad from about fifty feet out in the pool. He raised his rod smartly to pick up the slack and started reeling as fast as he could. I guess he somehow hit the spool release because the next thing I saw was his reel exploding. It just flew apart!

exploding reel

 His rod arm extended out far to left. His right hand flashed and grabbed the spool in mid-air. When I think of it now it was like watching a big league shortstop picking off a line drive. He somehow slammed it all back in place only to realize he had jammed the line between the spool and the frame when the fish, which had turned by this time, started to arc his rod again.

By now this was getting pretty exciting and I expressed my support and concern by laughing until the tears came.


As the fish tightened his tackle to the breaking point Brad grabbed the jammed line and by brute force alone managed to free it. The reel screamed as it released the tension. The salmon took off on another impressive run. But one more jump and some sulking were all that remained of the brawl.

Late Fall Nova Scotian Salmon

 I managed to tail the fish without too much trouble even though I was weak with laughter.

You know, my impression of Atlantic Salmon fishing when I was young was that it is a serious thing, one of the mysteries of grown men, practiced only by elite specialists who solemnly played out their dramas in the hallowed, pristine wilderness.

There may be places where this is true. This place on this day was certainly not one of them.