Never Too Old to Learn

See the fish?

 I was thinking today about one of my favourite fishing spots up in the Musquodoboit River valley. Brad McCaughan and I used to fish there often, always with good results. If memory serves it was the place where Brad became a committed fly fisherman after we fished it side by side, he with a spinning outfit and me with a fly rod.

Anyway, I started out thinking about an old timer who used to stop by and see me when I worked in Liverpool many years ago. Once a week we would have a good bull session.


One day he told me about fishing the Meadow Pond brook back in the late 50's or 60's. He described how the brook had undercut banks that sort of floated when you walked on them. Most people would walk down stream fishing short casts with worm and spinner. It used to be a pleasant place to fish although only a very small handful of fellows ever caught more than one or two small trout for a hard day's fishing.

The handful of guys who did catch fish there did extremely well, catching lots of fish and more than a few big ones. The difference between " most people" and those fellows was knowledge not luck.

The thing was that every time a fisherman would take a step downstream on those floating banks the trout would be spooked and flee downstream. This would in turn frighten the fish the angler was casting to and so it would go as the fisherman worked his way along. To catch one while fishing like that would truly be lucky. For us kids, who normally travelled in noisy packs, it was down right miraculous to get one of those lovely speckled trout up on the bank .

The secret to fishing the boggy, Meadow Pond brook was to start at the other end, the down stream end, and fish upstream with just a worm or a worm and one split shot. You had to go along stealthily, casting upstream and letting your bait drift as naturally as possible through every bit of cover and especially letting it sweep in under the banks.

You might still have spooked a fish or two but it didn't seem to put the fish down upstream of you.
By applying this little bit of hard earned wisdom a brook, that most people thought of as pretty but not very fishy, revealed itself to be a haven for big, wily, speckled trout.

So to get back to the original thread of this story, there I was remembering this little brook I'd known since my childhood, its secrets only revealed in the light of adult knowledge, when it struck me: I know another brook that is almost its twin, my little spot up in the Muskie!

Now here is the darnedest thing, even though I have enjoyed this place for years, have had some great days there and more than my share of trophy trout from its waters, I have been fishing it wrong!

I had forgotten the lessons of Meadow Pond brook and its floating banks. I can only guess that I'd gotten away with it in this spot because there is a lot of room to cast so I could fish it fine and far off.

Come spring I will return there and fish it again, this time with some sophistication as befits a grown man.
I guess I just never really outgrew the little boy who couldn't wait to get a line in the water.

Heck, I still usually run those last few steps to the fishing hole even though I know better. No Sir, this spring will be different. I can't wait to see what that brook really holds.

The Trophy Trout of Christopher Lake

The local trout hatchery sometimes releases its over-matured brood stock into Christopher Lake. These are two or three pound Eastern Brook Trout and people flock to the lake trying for these trophies. I have tried, off and on, for them over the years and have come close but never quite managed it.

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The first time I was within striking range was at the mouth of a little brook that empties from Second Christopher Lake into First Christopher Lake. I was fishing a Muddler Minnow and having some luck with small eight and ten inch brookies. I could see a big fish rising every few minutes a short cast offshore. It was slowly heading in my direction so I waited and fished, quaking with excitement and anticipating the slashing strike of the big Brookie.

The fish was about a hundred yards away and still meandering along its feeding path, holding to the pattern, as a canoe came down stream from Second Christopher Lake. The fellow fishing in the bow was casting a big silver spoon seemingly randomly. He hollered a cheerful greeting as the canoe glided over my fly then to add insult to injury, his line came tight on the great big trout I’d been patiently waiting to intercept.

He obviously wasn’t casting quite as randomly as I thought.
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The next time I came close was at the same spot but this time I was in a canoe. While unloading the boat from my truck I noticed a small grass frog near my foot. It was chilled by the early morning I guess because I just reached down and picked it up. As I tucked it into one of my fishing-vest pockets I thought, “There, a secret weapon if I see one of those brute trout”.

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Well, I fished around for an hour or two with no sign of any trout at all. None were rising. Nothing was touching my fly. I was well and truly skunked!

While rummaging through my fly boxes trying to figure out what to try next, I remembered the frog from the boat launch. Pulling it from my vest pocket and holding it in the palm of my hand I was struck by a pang of pity. The poor thing, I just didn’t have the heart to impale it on a hook to catch a trout I was planning to release anyway, so lowered it over the gunnel of the canoe, nestled in my palm. As the water slowly rose up my hand and the frog found itself awash it gave a kick. Gradually gaining speed, he made for the near shore.

My rod lay across my knees forgotten for the moment while I watched the frog swimming away. I was slightly appalled by the bloody instinct that had caused its capture in the first place. My little friend had only gone about ten feet when the water erupted and he disappeared into the gaping maw of two plus pound Brook trout.

That was the only fish I saw that day.

New fishing pictures

Some great new pictures added to the gallery.

Here are a few of them.