Nova Scotia Fall Salmon Season Ends

The fall salmon season is over.

It ended on Halloween day. All told the season was great, lots of big fish hooked in the rivers draining into the Northumberland Strait and Gulf of St. Lawrence.
My season was not great in terms of fish landed but was superb in terms of feeling great and being able to spend a couple of days bumming around the river. Water temperature was 4 degrees.

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Last year this time I was wondering if I would ever again enjoy the pleasures of a frosty October morning on the water.



Next year I will spread my days over several weeks in October rather than putting all my hopes into the last week of October. It is salmon fishing after all and we all know that the fish were filling the river the week before we were there.







Here are a few photos of my trip last week with Aaron and another day I slipped off alone.









No fish, but a great couple of days nonetheless.
Who said something like, most of us fish our whole lives without ever realizing it is not the fish we are pursuing?

New Picture Added to the Web Album

Geoff Jamieson sent a great fishing picture for the web album today. He says,"The attached pic is a salmon my buddy Shawn landed this October on the West River (Antigonish) despite the dreadfully low water all the whole month of October. It was 30" long, maybe 10-12 lbs."

You can see the rest of the fishing pictures here. Send some if you have them. Nothing I enjoy more than a picture and a good fishing story.

When the rights of sportsmen clash with the rights of Aboriginal hunters or fishers

I had an interesting experience the other day while fly-fishing for Atlantic Salmon on a well-known Fall run river. It was a great morning and I've posted earlier about the success of the trip. What I didn't mention was that shortly after landing the first fish of the day I was standing on the gravel bar taking a breather when a fellow walked out of the woods carrying a heavy spin fishing outfit. He was set up with the gear I would use for Bluefish or Stripped Bass fishing except for what looked like a one ounce, lead, Shad Dart on the end of the line. I should preface this story with the information that the fraternity of anglers that frequent this river and its pools are steeped in the traditional courtesy of salmon fishers. Pools are rotated and peer pressure is brought to bear on those that don't know the unwritten rules or decide not to follow them. Pools are fished from the entry point with a pattern of a couple of casts and then a step, a couple of casts and then a step. If you raise a fish you take a few more casts or tell the fellow behind you that you've raised one and he should go around and ahead of you through the rest of the pool. It is not a bad way to fish and very democratically shares a limited resource. If you start to feel crowded just fish on down through the pool and continue to fish your way down the river until you find a more isolated spot. My friend says the best fishing is always a hundred yards further down river than the other fellow is willing to hike.
To get back to my story, there I was face-to-face with what looked to be a poacher. He was surprisingly cheerful and seemed oblivious to my eyeballing his fishing gear with horror. As he was asking if there were any fish around, a salmon gave a crashing leap in the tail of the pool. It was actually kind of funny as he waved a dismissive hand at my gear, "You wouldn't want to get into a fish like that with what you're using. It might be alright for trout but this is what I use for everything." We had a chat about his gear and it turns out that he was an Aboriginal person with the right to harvest ten salmon for food. He was under no or minimal gear restriction so could proceed to fish when, where and how he liked. As he got ready to take a few casts another fish showed in a slow motion porpoise on the far side of the pool. There were lots of fish here and only three of us fishing. I suppose it could have gotten tense or confrontational but we were all simply exercising our right to fish on a glorious day in a magnificent setting.
Experience has taught me that there is fishing and there is catching. The two do not always go together regardless of the apparent advantages of tackle or technique. He wasn't geared up to fish the runs into or out of the pool only the deepest parts of the river so rotating the pool was as normal until we got to where he stood then simply went around him and continued to the end. He kept up a steady stream of banter and jokes. In a way it was like fishing with Jimmy Flynn, the famous comedian, lots of laughs and wry commentary. Because the river was very low for the time of year it would seem likely that the fish would hold tight in the deepest holes and be easy prey to a deep dredged hook but that was not the case. The river was also quite warm and the fish seemed to be lying closer to the broken, highly oxygenated water where the current tailed out into the pool. Brad and I had good fishing while he touched one fish that briefly hooked up and was gone within seconds. I found it pretty interesting to fish with this guy. There was the potential for conflict no question, but I quickly realized that the apparent disregard for the conventions of the sport even to the courtesy of rotating a pool were not out of mean spiritedness but simply cultural difference. His whole attitude toward the fishing was a little different. He was there to enjoy the day and did, but fundamentally he was there to harvest food. There was no selfishness about him. If a fish rose he'd point it out. If one of us hooked one he was enthusiastic in his observations of the skill or lack of it displayed. At one point he gave me a fly he thought would increase my success because that pesky Brad was out-fishing me.
I've heard stories of negative experiences when the rights of sportsmen clash with the rights of Aboriginal hunters or fishers. In thinking over my recent experience a few things stand out. The first is that even if there were no gear restrictions I'd still choose to use the lightest fly-fishing equipment possible to fish Atlantic Salmon for sport. If I were fishing for food on the other hand, my tactics would change instantly. Secondly, the nature of my life and work is such that when I go afield for recreation it is alone or with select companions to enjoy a respite from the enforced sociability and collegiality of a highly structured corporate environment. If I was hunting or fishing for food rather than sport my attitude would change. I would certainly try to create a team and seek to offset one's weakness with another's strength.
My gut feeling is that my ignorance of Aboriginal culture, social conventions and attitudes is typical not exceptional. I would never choose the present system of two sets of rules and regulations for different citizens of the same country but that’s what we have. It is what it is so let’s make the best of it. I enjoyed meeting that fellow from Truro and fishing with him. It was a unique experience. He gave me some interesting things to think about and a darn good fly too.

Fall Salmon Fishing in Nova Scotia

Well, I made it out for some good old Nova Scotia fall salmon fishing this week. I let my fishing partner talk me into getting on the road by 5:30 AM. Not too tough a negotiation because there really aren’t many things I enjoy more than sunrise on a river; especially one that I know holds the promise of multi-sea-winter salmon. The weather was slightly overcast and shirt-sleeves warm. A good long chat, a couple of Tim Horton’s double doubles and we were pulling into the field beside the river. It was still dark but the first greenish streaks were starting to show on the horizon. We got geared up and walked down to see what we could of the river before the light fully broke. The water was low and amazingly warm for late October. I thought it over for a few minutes and decided on a change of tactics. The most success I’ve had in fall salmon fishing has been with sinking-tip lines and large, bright flies. Things like the flashy marabou Cardinals are usually the order of the day. Under the present conditions I decided to fish as I would in the late summer when fish are sluggish takers and usually have been laying in the pools for weeks darkening up, waiting for a freshet to carry them further along their journey. Brad, my fishing partner, stuck with the traditional fall set up. At sunrise we hit the water. I fished carefully knowing in the past I’d caught fish all along the run. Depending on the height of the water, grilse would lie in certain spots salmon in others. I’d never seen the water so low at this time of year - or so warm. Several times I felt the slight hesitation that marks the surprisingly subtle take of a big fish only to set on a floating leaf. On I went, quartering down stream, casting as close to the far bank as I could, letting the fly swing into the deeper water. It becomes almost hypnotic. Intensely concentrating on the cast, placing the fly where it needs to be and watching the drift, imagining the fly under the water, looking for any clue that there is a fish reacting to it. Then a burst of adrenaline and the intensity of the moment when your line starts to move in a way contrary to the current. Don’t think about it. Don’t wonder if you imagined it. Strike! The take was undetectable without the visual clues. I was fast into a big salmon. At the moment of contact I flashed back to a trip my brother Warren and I had taken to Labrador and the good advice he had given me. Always consciously set the hook. It’s better to lose a fish in the first few seconds than after a long fight. Better for the fish and better for you. When I felt the weight of the fish, I very deliberately set the hook again. The first leap turned my legs to water. This was a big salmon by any standard. I’d tied on a lighter leader in the semi-darkness of dawn after seeing how low the water was and immediately started doubting first my intelligence, then my knots. The initial run had me into my backing. Another big jump and I was running down the bank trying to get back into contact with my fly line. And so it went, until the runs became shorter and the jumps became slashes on the surface. Brad offered to tail the fish for me and waded out into position. Usually this is the riskiest part of the whole event. As soon as I could lift the salmon’s head I got the fish parallel to the bank and let her down beside Brad. With a move worthy of Mikhail Baryshnikov he slipped his hand behind the fish and grasped the wrist of the tail. I don’t really know how big the fish was. It was a female and I didn’t want to handle her too much before the release. One fish like that could re-populate this whole system. If you can figure it out by looking at the pictures let me know what you think.
My heart had barely stopped pounding from that great fish when Brad’s reel started to scream. The fish that leaped at the end of his line was almost unbelievable. Bigger by far than the beautiful fish I’d just landed. Six leaps and several spool draining runs later, just as it looked like he was getting the fish under control, his line went slack. That big buck just swam away. Moments later he was into another. And so the day went, I had the pleasure of tailing a really big fish for him and was able to use the lesson he had given me in the art earlier that day to make it look easy. The truth is I was petrified that I’d loose his big salmon by missing the grab when the opportunity presented.

If you’ve never tailed a big salmon trust me when I tell you: like every other aspect of the sport, sometimes you can do no wrong; other times you can.