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.

Early Spring Trout Fishing

Early spring is a hard time to be a fly-fisherman. Everyone knows that a nice fresh minnow or a big gob of worms is going to catch some trout. A fly, well, it is a bit harder to have the same confidence.

I used to head out on opening day with a pocket full of big Muddlers and an eight-weight outfit. I was excited to be fishing again after the long winter but really, it was mostly casting practice.

I remember fishing opening days with Glenn Parlee when I lived in Queens County. He is the best canoe man I have ever had the pleasure of fishing with. He does have one annoying habit though. He catches big trout.

The worst example of this was one opening day on the Medway River.

He casually maneuvered the canoe through runs and rapids that left me white-knuckled in the bow.

At one point, I flicked my Muddler into a picture perfect little pocket just behind the dump of a small section of rapids. I was so sure I was about to connect that I started to give a play-by-play commentary.

“Dobson places a perfect cast into the pocket and braces for the strike. The crowd falls silent…” that sort of thing, only the strike never came. I tried again and still nothing.

Turning to Glenn, I gently expressed my disbelief that there was not a trout holding there.
He shrugged and picked up his rod then cast a God-awful rubber minnow thing into the spot I had just worked over with the fly.

Ka-boom! Instantly he was into a seriously substantial Brook Trout. I cannot remember the exact measurements of the brute. I mean the trout not Glenn, but it was the biggest Eastern Brook Trout I had ever seen.

The only one close to it I had ever seen Glenn caught opening day the year before.

Like I said, a nice guy with one annoying habit.

New fishing pictures

Some great new pictures added to the gallery.

Here are a few of them.