The Lost Salmon Rod

 Warren told me a good story the other night. He and his fishing partner were out on the Medway River early in the season. The water was high and very dark. As they lined the boat up with landmarks on the shore to pinpoint their position, Warren got ready to drop the anchor.

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Now most boats rigged for salmon fishing on the Medway have a special rig attached to the bow that the anchor rope is passed through and by lifting the rope you can lower the anchor, or raise it, or just adjust it a little.

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When the anchor is out of the water it hangs off the bow or can be lifted into the boat.

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As long as there is a forward pull on the rope, the line is held fast which makes handling the anchor a one hand job if you need to adjust position to chase a fish or get a better angle for a cast.

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That doesn't matter much because this boat didn't have one. The anchor was just tied-off to a thwart with the line in loose coils on the deck under their feet. Once the boat was positioned exactly where they wanted it in the pool Warren heaved the anchor overboard. The anchor line whipped away following the weight into the depths. One of the coils came tight around the tip of one of their salmon rods, flipping it over the gunwale and dragging it deep into the river.

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What a commotion as the boys first stared in disbelief at this catastrophe then frantically pulled the anchor back aboard hoping beyond hope that the rod was some how still attached. It wasn't.

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The Medway River in the full flow of early summer can be awesome. The water almost black and running free from dams or other human interference has incredible power. It can pull the bow of an anchored boat under if you get your anchor fouled when retrieving it. But that is another of Warren's stories for another time.

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The current had moved the boys a fair ways downstream from where the rod went over by the time they got their thoughts organized. Edging the boat back forward, making careful sightings and note of the landmarks, they anchored again at what they figured was the place of the disaster.

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Peering over the side into the black and roiling water it seemed hopeless, the rod was lost. The other fellow in the boat who happened to be the owner of the rod, tore a strip of cloth from his brightly coloured shirt and wrapping it around a wrench or some other sinkable from the boat, dropped it over the side. The fluttering strip of cloth faded from sight long before hitting the bottom and there it stayed.

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As fierce as the Medway River can be in full spate, come the hot days of summer the river settles more placidly into its banks becoming a beautiful, tea coloured stream. The current flows in a dignified, slow procession carrying tiny islands of foam kicked up from the progression of small falls, Bangs Falls, Bear Falls and so on down to Port Medway and ultimately the sea.

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It was August when the boys thought to head out on the river to search for the lost rod. They were optimistic but not hopeful. In short order they were lining the boat up with the aid of meticulously recorded landmarks and carefully this time, dropping the anchor at what they thought was the spot.

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They leaned out over the sides of the boat scanning the tannin coloured water. The bottom was clearly visible. There, a couple of feet away was the calmly waving strip of torn shirt. About three feet downstream from it was the lost rod.

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And so the salmon season on the Medway ended with a few new stories and a valuable lesson or two. I wonder if the boys caught any fish that year? I must ask Warren next time I see him.

The Famous Portland Hitch

The first time I ever saw the Portland Hitch, or even heard of it, was in the early 1990’s while fishing the House Pool on Grandy’s Brook with Henry Hare.

A bright flash in the tea brown water under my fly meant that a salmon had moved for my Blue Charm.

“E’s coming” said Henry, “Give ‘im the ‘itch.”
“What?”
“The ‘itch Bye! ‘Ere gimme your fly.”

And with that he hauled my line in hand over hand while I kept my fingers locked on a pinch of line to keep the measure of the cast.
Within seconds he had looped two half-hitches of my leader around the fly, just behind the eye.

I flicked out the measured cast and watched as the fly hit the water. The current snatched at the Blue Charm raising it to the surface like a water skier. It swung in a perfect, slack-free arc waking a “V” shaped commotion across the pool.

As it neared the spot where the salmon had rolled, the fly just disappeared. A throbbing weight on my line gave a better explanation than my disbelieving eyes and I soon had my first fish on the Hitch.

Called variously the Hitch, the Riffle Hitch, the Riffling Hitch and most famously the Portland Hitch, it is all the same thing.

The idea is to get the fly to riffle or wake across the surface of the water.

The conventional way to apply it is to hold your fly, which is tied on in the usual manner, so that the eye points downstream. Two half hitches of your leader are tied around the fly just where the head and the body meet. When it is riffling you want the head of the fly to point in the direction it is travelling.

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It can be done with the fly pointing the other way but that would seem backward to me, despite the early descriptions of the method in fly fishing literature.

Present the fly as you would a wet-fly. When it is working, the results are amazing. A strike can come anywhere in the swing. I’ve seen fish tear across a pool to intercept a Hitched fly.

They say the method originated with Newfoundland guides who would pick up the worn out, gut-eyed flies discarded by the sports rather than see them go to waste.

Here is an interesting variation I use during the summer when the water is starting to get low and the fish are a bit stale.

I rig a sinking-tip line with a short leader and hitched fly. This sub-surface presentation can really spark things up if the fish have been sulking in the pool for a while.

It is counter-intuitive I know, but it is an interesting technique and always worth a try if all else fails.

The Myth of the Long Cast

 We all do it, especially if the fishing is slow.

We stop fishing and start casting. I mean really driving it out there. We still keep up the pretense. We watch the drift with eagle-like intensity and carefully retrieve with just the right action but as soon as we have enough line-in-hand for a good double haul, zoom!

We wing it out there, sending another long cast looping through the air, just because we can.

It is fun. It is usually the exact wrong thing to do but we all still do it, especially if someone is watching.

The fact that any fly-fisherman worth his salt who witnesses the exhibition invariably mutters under his breath, “What’s that idiot up to?” does not seem to inhibit us in the least.

 

 I have often been on both sides of that scenario at different times on the same day.

Casting is a pleasure. Even when you begin to understand the mechanics of the thing, it still seems a little miraculous.



Here is my experience with the practicality of the long cast.

Most of the trout I have brought to hand were within twenty-five or thirty feet of me, many much closer. Most of the salmon were within thirty or forty feet of me.

Fishing is about many things but catching is all about line control.

Here is the thing, keep in contact with your fly so that a movement of your rod tip to tighten on a fish does not have to first pick up coils of slack line. That is it. There is no great mystery or secret.

I heard that bit of wisdom from an old guide in my early years of trying to learn to fish. I have spent the past twenty or so trying to get it right.

As you become more skilled with your fly gear your circle of effectiveness will expand from five to ten to twenty yards and more. Most of the trout you catch will still be within twenty-five or thirty feet but you will also be able to reach out and pick off the odd fish foolish enough to show himself within range. Those moments are exceptional and can sure make your day.

Salmon fishing often requires long casts under difficult conditions. Some of the most memorable and spectacular salmon I have connected with were the result of extraordinarily long casts. A long accurate cast is often the difference between, “Fish on” and fishless.

Having written that though, there are many places where I have watched salmon anglers work through a pool I know well, casting long elegant lines a mile past where the salmon were laying.

I have done the same thing and will doubtless do it again. It is hard to resist even when you know better.



A big Nova Scotia salmon taken in the Fall



I should note here that the biggest salmon I have ever caught was a rod length from me when I saw him and and he took with just my leader and about four inches of fly line poking out of the tip. I was wading across the River Phillip and saw him roll on the edge of the fast current above me.








In thinking this ramble over, here is the gist of the opinion I am offering:

The ability to cast a long line will sometimes give you an advantage.
The ability to control your line so that you keep positive contact with your fly will always give you the advantage.

Pinched barbed hooks now mandatory for Atlantic Salmon angling in Nova Scotia

Pinch the barbs of your salmon flies!! A note just in from the Flies and Lies e-mail list.

Pinched barbed hooks now mandatory for Atlantic Salmon angling in Nova Scotia in 2008.

The Nova Scotia Salmon Association has been lobbying for the use of pinched barbed (barbless) hooks while fishing for Atlantic Salmon for the past four years. Meetings through the Zone Management Committee Meetings and consultations with the Department of Fisheries and Oceans has resulted in this becoming a regulation commencing this year.

Commencing June 1st, 2008, pinched barbs will be mandatory, on the fly you are fishing with, in Salmon Fishing Areas 19 (eastern Cape Breton), 20 (eastern Nova Scotia) and 21 (Southern Nova Scotia).

Commencing October 1
st, 2008, pinched barbs will be mandatory, on the fly you are fishing with, in Salmon Fishing Area 18 (western Cape Breton and northern Nova Scotia).

This will make it easier to safely release these wonderful fish unharmed and to ensure they return to spawn again

Fall Salmon Fishing in Nova Scotia Means Big Fish

There is nothing like bragging about a big fish to almost guarantee getting one-upped.

Check out these pictures from H.R. Dobson of a fall–run salmon. This fish was caught last year.

Big Nova Scotia Salmon

He is holding the fly in his right hand but it is suspiciously out of focus. I can just make out a yellow tag but can’t see what the fly is. Darn. I’d be working like a demon at the tying bench this winter to put a handful of those in my kit.

A few days after he told me he’d caught this phenomenal salmon, knowing there were big fish in, I headed to the river.

None of the usual suspects could get away so I went alone. As usual I started fishing far above the pool, working the undercut banks. Taking a couple of casts then a step I worked my way along toward my favourite pool.

Fish on!

I was using the same rod and line set up I’d last used on a trip to Newfoundland earlier in the year. I was even using the same fly, still tied on from the last cast of that trip.

I know, I know; I should have tied on a new leader or at the very least checked all of the knots. I was just too impatient to get on the water.

So instead of a #4 Cardinal or Ally’s Shrimp, I was casting a #12 Blue Charm with just a couple of Crystal Flash fibers tied into the hair wing.

Within minutes I was firmly into a two sea-winter fish. I got one other as I approached the pool.

There were a few fellows working slowly into the main holding area so I just walked around them and went back into the river about a hundred yards past the pool.

The water was deep and fast as I gingerly shuffled along the bottom. I was searching with my feet for the submerged gravel bar that angled across the river making it possible to wade to the other side and fish the undercuts on this bank.

It was getting pretty deep.

As I became more buoyant my footing became less secure against the pounding current. I looked back to see if I had reached the point of no return or should retreat.

At that moment, out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw the back fin of a large salmon about five feet away, slightly above and in back of me.

I wasn’t sure it was a fish but I unhooked my fly from the keeper and with the just the line hanging out of the rod tip flicked the fly over the spot.

The fly landed sloppily and didn’t move more than a couple of inches when an enormous head poked out of the water and slowly took the fly.

Nova Scotia Fall Salmon

There was no turn or slashing strike, it simply engulfed the tiny fly then sank from sight. I couldn't believe it had really happened.

I didn’t set the hook, just held the line in positive contact with the fish.

I was in a bad situation. Barely able to keep my feet and Jimmy-legging my way along the submerged bank until mercifully, the water began to get a little shallower.

I was holding light pressure against the fish, feeding line as needed. As I felt my weight come back on my feet I re-tightened my drag and started looking for a place to play what had looked like the fish of a lifetime when he took.

About five feet from the shore with my feet well set on gravel I deliberately set the hook. Then remembering I was using a tiny fly compared to the usual fall rig, I set it again.

That’s when all Hell broke loose. The salmon roared up out of the black water and thrashed in mid-air before falling on his back with a tremendous splash.

His first run was short, ending in another nerve shattering jump. The fish played in short, powerful runs all ending in spectacular leaps. He never took me into my backing.

The runs gradually slowed. The leaps had less and less height until they were just swirls and boils on the end of the line.

I really didn’t have clue how to land this fish. I’d never tailed a lunker like this single handedly.

It turned out to be fairly straightforward. As soon as I got his head up I just raised the rod bringing the fish towards me like a torpedo. As he turned away from me I slid my hand along his back and the wrist of the tail was too big for me to miss.

The problem then was that I couldn’t reach the fly to un-hook and still hold his tail. I ended up having to grab the leader and pull the fish towards me until I had the fly in hand. A quick twist and he was gone.

I don’t know how big that salmon was, probably not as big as I think but it was an amazing experience. I climbed out of the water, vibrating with excitement and walked back to my truck.

That was enough for the day. I love Fall Salmon fishing in Nova Scotia.

A great day for football

What a great time of year this is.

I travelled up to St.FX for the first football game of the new season Saturday.

A perfect day, sunny and clear, the hardwoods are just starting to colour up. I had my fishing gear in the truck with me but didn't stop along the way, just enjoyed the drive with Amos Lee blasting on the CD player and the cruise control set a bit too high.




I have not heard any chat about fall run fish being in my favourite spots yet but have my ear to the ground.

The Margaree has a few fresh fish according to a post at http://www.novascotiafishing.com/ , a great resource for local fishermen. The members on the discussion forums are generous with information and very cordial with their opinions and responses to questions.