This is exactly how it happened. We had breakfast in the very early morning at the Country Haven Lodge on the banks of the great river. Pete then collected us in his pick-up and drove Tim Ellis and myself a couple of miles downstream to a favourite pool. The light was full now, a grey, cold sort of day for early October. It was Tim's first sight of the river and two fish rolled instantaneously, big and inviting. Pete put Tim at the head of the pool and took me a hundred yards lower, showing me how to use the single-handed, eight-weight outfit to maximum effect. It all seemed strangely light and intimate to me, more used to eleven-weight double-handed stuff but, when in Rome...
Then, exactly fifteen minutes into the trip, Tim was shouting us. He needn't have bothered. The splash of an enormous fish would have brought us running anyway. "Jeez," Pete whispered, "That is enormous!" I had never seen a salmon as big either on a line or running free. For exactly fifteen minutes that fish showed itself exactly fifteen times. But it was bigger than fifteen pounds. Pete was saying perhaps three times that size and I wasn't disbelieving him. A lot of the time, the fish just kept deep and you could see from the action on the rod top that it was pulling the line round the bottom rocks as it slowly pushed its bulk up against the current.
The fish never seemed, in truth, to be tiring. It almost seemed to be playing with us, the situation well within its own control. As the minutes ticked by, though, Tim was most definitely feeling the strain. He never went to bits, he never lost his composure, but you could see from the draining of the blood from his face that the pressure was mounting. And then the fish went round yet another rock and this was the straw that broke the rod's back. It sprang back straight, the fly line catapulting through the air towards us. Not a word broke the silence between us for minutes.
The next day, the wind got up mightily. Tim and I found ourselves on a pool even closer to the sea but it was being hammered by a biting, freezing easterly. Perhaps we were carrying the weight of disappointment still. Perhaps it was just a bit too much alcohol the night before. But it was obvious we didn't really have the stomach for fishing and we sat on a rock, sipping the coffee that Pete produced. And then, you know, I just looked at the river in front of me. Here. There. Everywhere there were salmon leaping. But this is the point. They weren't small salmon, even medium-sized salmon. Most of them were monsters. Most of them were over thirty pounds in weight. Never, I realised, had I had such a chance. Very probably, I knew, I would never have such a chance again. Suddenly the knowledge galvanized me.
I fished like a Dervish. I fished with complete, utter, absolute concentration for the three hours until lunch called us away. I pulled every stunt I knew. I tried every fly in our combined arsenal of boxes. Still the salmon kept piling past me. Still the line refused to straighten. Then I put on a Bomber. A huge white and orange, floating fly. I belted it upstream, retrieving line as it floated back towards me. On that one fifteen yard drift, three immense salmon came up to inspect, rolling over or around the fly. Not one took but that image, those feverish thirty or forty seconds will remain frozen in my mind forever.
IN FACT
- There can be no doubt that the various, excellent salmon conservation projects on the Miramichi are producing some fantastic results. Enormous runs of salmon run this magnificently beautiful river. The community is engagingly proud of the Miramichi and its fertility. Here, people live very close to their environment and it's wonderful to see how they protect it and rejoice in it. Salmon fishing here is very much ingrained in the spirit of life.
- Fishing begins in the spring when the ice breaks. Then the black salmon fishing takes place. This, in reality, is actually pursuing kelts as they mend and return to the sea. It's not as bad as it sounds. These fish are feeding hard, are frequently in outstanding condition, take flies with ferocity and fight very well. It's not classic salmon fishing but if you're new to the game, it's immensely exciting and productive and teaches you a lot about this branch of the sport. The ‘proper' salmon fishing probably reaches its height in the later summer and early autumn. Our trip was in early October which is considered one of the prime times.
- Double-handed outfits are beginning to be seen more often on the Miramichi than previously but the vast majority of the local anglers still use eight and nine weight, nine or ten foot outfits. These are generally quite adequate to cover the majority, if not all of the pools that I personally fished. Wading, though, is essential and the entire team took Hardy EWS outfits. Rods were a mixed bunch. Amongst others, I saw Zanes, Platinums, G-Tecs and GRXis. These fish are big. You need a reel with serious backing capabilities. And a clutch to go with it. Zanes. G-Tecs. Angels. Cascapedias. They all performed with distinction. We generally used floating lines but I suspect some of the deeper pools would respond to sinkers or intermediates. The black salmon fishing is generally done with fast sinkers. Flies are probably best bought over there. The quite gorgeous Cathy Colford is a magnificent fly tyer herself, works at a tackle shop on the river and, beguilingly rides a big blue Harley. I don't need to say more!
- You forget Canada is so close. BA operate frequent flights from Heathrow to Halifax which take approximately six hours. Remember we're not talking Vancouver. The east coast is closer than you think. From the airport, the drive takes approximately three hours along largely deserted dual-carriageways. As far as I'm concerned, the place to stay is with Byron (Boyzie) and his family at the Country Haven Lodge. Great food. Great guiding and fishing. Great accommodation. Great atmosphere. This is classic Atlantic salmon fishing with a very friendly face.
(www.flyfishingatlanticsalmon.com)
