Day 1: Crooks Lake Lodge

Recently, I have been going through some of my personal belongings that have set idle for the last 4 years. I pull books and books about fishing out of boxes; fly tying books from Classic Salmon flies to Saltwater patterns and everything in between, fishing books from basic spin-fishing skills to advanced fly fishing techniques in fresh and salt water. I find a green booklet with an oak leaf labeled "Journal", I remember my father bought this for me to record my adventures for the summer in. Opening it up and scanning through the pages, most of them blank. I was frustrated with myself that I didn't record my day to days. Apparently work got too busy, or I was much to tired to even think let alone write about my days that season. Regardless, here is the first and last entry I made in my journal that June 2, 2016.

"Day 1: The day started early as we packed the Twin Otter full of gear, We stood eager on the dock as we board the aircraft bound for the wilderness of the Eagle River Plateau. Before I knew it we were in the air and flying over Goose Bay, and quickly my motion sickness kicked in. I swore that I was going to be sick a few times, but after what seemed like a long 25 minute flight, we landed at Crooks Lake Lodge. The wharf was submerged due to snow melt, and we had trouble docking. Once settled, each of us started to unpack all gear from the float plane and started to fix up the grounds. A long day of hauling boxes and fixing water leaks ended with a nice supper of pork chops and veggies. 

After supper we had a short exploration of the lake and surrounding pools. We motored down the lake dodging rocks as we reached the outflow. A difficult maneuver and I’m through the upper run of #1, we stopped to listen to Head Guide George Sheppard as he explained the fishing locations in this area. We then moved down to Pool #2, and anchor for a fish. I’m fishing my 10ft 7wt Vision Vipu with a Guideline Bullet 8wt line to toss the clunky articulated fish-skull baby brook trout pattern I tied up. First cast as my fly came to the boat I hooked and lost a good brook trout. After a few more casts I hook and land a fish that was approximately 5 pounds on the same fly. A quick photo with a big grin and my first Labrador Brook Trout is released safely. I am instantly distracted by a large pike swimming sideways in slack water?! I realize that this “big pike” was actually not so, as a much bigger one had it “T-Boned” and was swimming away with it. I Couldn't believe my eyes! After the fish swam away, I manage to catch two small pike before Perry Munro, George and I move over to Pool #2.5. 

We fish with no luck, and move back upriver through runs and dodging rocks until we reach the lake. We decided to troll one side of Duck Island, but this yielded no success. As we steamed up the lake I decided I wanted to head into the camp creek, I troll up and get to the corner pool and anchor. Within a few casts I hook and land a 3.5 lb Brook Trout and a small pike. I hook another brookie and lose it. I managed to raise a large fish twice and I decided to rest it. About 5 minutes later I put the fly over the fish again and I hooked it. A nice female about the same size was the one previous. I released the fish and pull anchor. As I made my way back to the lodge, I felt proud to have caught so many fish at my first attempts at Crooks. I dock the boat, tidy up and sit in for a quiet night in the guides cabin.

- C.S. "

Here are some pics from that first week or so of guiding at Crooks Lake Lodge.

Above: Looking up Pool #2 in High Water

Below: Pulled up on East Bay

 Above: My first Labrador Brook Trout

Below: My first client Alex Stratton and his first Labrador Brook Trout

 Above and Below: A couple fine Brook Trout from the Camp Creek

 Above: Alex Stratton hooked up on an indicator rig at the far side of #2

Below: Kyped up Humpback Brook Trout from the Camp Creek.

Isolated Reflections - Drawing Connections

The crunch of the reindeer moss underfoot becomes a frequent sound when in the big land, as does the constant hum of the mosquitos and black flies as they search for bare flesh. Other biotic sounds such as the complex tune of blackbirds and hermit thrush that are the background music to another unforgettable day of fishing. These seemingly minute details that become so regular, and so frequent that we may become deafened to as the summer progresses. Days and weeks after the trip, what stands out but the fish; the song of the reel and the people? After all that isn't that what we all go to Labrador to experience? 

Not is it until months past that these minute, overlooked details of our recollections of past trips become ever more apparent. Photos allow us to peer into the past and reincarnate these intimate forest sounds in our mind. Videos are the next best thing, capturing all sounds; like broken records these intrinsic sound-bits play. Bringing myself, and many other frequent flyers North of the fifty-third parrell a sense of serenity.  Is that what we all chase? But what about the fish, leather armchairs, scotch and camaraderie among like minded anglers? For some that may be so; maybe it is a checkmark on a bucket-list, or to break a personal best, possibly a IGFA line class record? The intent of a trip to Labrador may be clear before, and when one is there. Yet, glimpses of the true reason an angler escapes society can be seen when peeking through the willows of our consciousness to reveal our dream river. 


How do we express or relive those thoughts? Reading our journals, scanning through photos and videos, painting or drawing scenes based on memory, or writing nostalgic hindsight articles like this to somehow reconstruct lived experiences. Whether that is with or without the mind’s eye painting a romanticized version to allow us to feel a deeper connection to the land. Doing so is in no way a degradation of one's character, I myself am probably the largest culprit allowing my mind to roam. In some ways it could be a sense of loss, an empty space that can only be filled by exercising the mind by reliving past experiences. Possibly some form of grieving, or a vehicle to transport you somewhere other than being isolated during a pandemic.

There is no better time like the present to comfort yourself with these fond memories that poke through from your subconscious in shoots of beauty. Flush yourself from head to toe and become entranced by your love for the small things. Become creative, express your inner emotions and thoughts in a physical manner, make them reality. In a time when I am unsure of my departure to the big land, I find myself wandering in Nova Scotia’s barrenlands, to somehow draw a connection that one gets to the expanse, desolation and sense of distance from the world. Bringing those familiar sounds of the North into a reality in my home province will have to do for now. Trudging on through the knee high leatherleaf to get to the rising fish in the stills, or the smell of sphagnum as you punch through the bog as the black flies pick you apart like a skilled angler after trout on mayfly. 

Today, I’m off to the woods like many other Nova Scotians, and we are chasing more than finned quarry. Go catch what your soul needs for your tomorrows.

River of Flowers

This has sat on my desktop of my MacBook for much too long... Staring at me, begging to be re-read, edited, or what have you... So like most of my articles I post, it gets published on a cold winter night. When I can truly allow my soul to fiend the freshness of the boreal forest, and gin clear waters that run freely without human disturbance. Fully knowing it soon will come, and along all those potential memories for next winter.

*For clarification the Flowers River is not named after the plant group, but rather a popular surname of settlers near the mouth of the river. 

~

Swinging a fly for anadromous fish is a complex, frustrating and mind numbing activity that many fly anglers are intimidated by. The seemly never-ending search for that tight line after reading the water and repetitively presenting a fly to river looks no different than the rest, but you can feel the difference. Hours of casting with faith that the next cast will bring you the rush of dopamine that drives the addiction. We find ourselves chasing that fleeting connection between us and the fish of a lifetime, one that never dies. Spend countless hours preparing gear and tying flies. Lining boxes with tried and true patterns and others waiting for their moment in the spotlight. All for that overwhelming zero to sixty rush that can turn a day of fishing, into a day of catching. When perfect casts don’t always produce, the uncertainly of fly choice limits confidence in hooking a fish. Confidence; A feeling many anglers have when fishing in front of a seasoned guide; whether that be in themselves or their attendant. One must never lose it, for the beat and fly will be fished improperly. Ending fish-less sessions will put the weak off their game, but the dedicated rest and return with a positive outlook. 

A new day rises, confidence and expectations are on par, as is the weather. The canoe glides upriver as the hanging mist over the water is cut by the bow. Cruising over shoals and deep slots, around winding turns you reach your morning beat. Slowly drifting ashore, waterworn pebbles scrape the fibreglass as the boat slides to a halt. The failures of yesterday are now behind you, and the fruits of your efforts are ripe for picking. Approaching the head of the pool, a fly of confidence is selected. Fly speed ranks highest in importance of persuading a fish to take. Being careful to not wade deep, a short cast is made to mark the beginning of your rotation. The slow steady flows that are characteristic of the Flowers River pools are dotted with rocks, sods and clay banks that a keen guide will identify as prime lies. It is imperative to fish the entire stretch, as fresh fish often prefer non-traditional, unnoticeable lies. Unbeknownst to you, the fly tracks through the water on a bowed line; speeding closer and closer to your dream fish. A violent swirl disturbs the flat calm water of Jones Pool… but no tug. Was it the fly? presentation? Or both? Another cast is made, mimicking the initial offering. Again the same result, a refusal. “Try the hitch on he”, your guide says in his unique bay dialect. Taking the fly in, you keep your eye on the lie. Knowing full well that even if your offering isn’t exact, the Portland Creek Hitch will conjure the reaction you’re looking for. A half hitch placed over the head is all you need to make your fly create that irresistible “V” wake. 

Doing this has allowed the fish to rest. With another bowed cast, the fly skates over the lie and up rises the fish. Breaking the surface this time, it sucks the fly under in a toilet bowl flush. Your quarry turns and heads down river, bending the rod deep as the reel sings that familiar shrill tune. Flooding your soul with the sensation all salmon anglers pine for. The line sings through the flat water of Jones Pool, the fish breaks the surface in an forceful leap of silver and shimmering water. The twists and turns force you to bow to the tsar of salmonids and the hope that your line stays tight after one of presumably many jumps. 

One often takes mental notes of every detail that could somehow explain why that fish decided to take…. It seems no matter the amount of evidence, one may never know.

~

I probably could have continued on with this, but open ended stories allow the mind to be guided by their own desires. An ending that can only be controlled by the reader's Labrador memories, and subsequent fantasies.  I hope you enjoyed. 

C.S.

My Home North of 53

Looking back now, I may have taken it all for granted. I sat there and relished in the roar of the wild; while boreal chickadees called, the constant churning of  headwaters of the Kanariktok spoke an unfamiliar language as the northern winds blew through the stunted black spruce. In the moment I respected, appreciated and allowed myself to become entranced by the lure of the Labrador wild; I felt the pull much greater than ever before. But as I sat on a couch, in a warm building in Nova Scotia, with entertainment and services on demand. 

There was a looming feeling that my life was missing something. There is a constant subconscious yearning that calls me; pulling at my shirt tail as I cross main street. The feeling is apparent when the wind carries south that cold Northern air.  It is the same bitter wind thats has nipped the nose of known and unknown men that attempted to explore the flat, rolling expanse that is the Labrador Peninsula. It carries with it the harsh memories from days gone by; of hardened men who broke in the seemingly never ending craggy landscape.

That wind sent me packing north again, like a salmon returning to their northern waters. Back to the town of Happy Valley-Goose Bay, Labrador; the central hub for all things industry east of the once powerful Churchill Falls. The town sits nestled at the head of a large inland sea known as Lake Melville, where the mighty Churchill meets the brackish waters of Goose Bay. I stepped off the plane to that familiar cold, dry air. I waited for my bags as my mind raced at the possibility of exploring Labrador by snow machine. The fruits of ice fishing on Lake Melville or heading in country to gawk at the white rolling Mealy Mountains. I instantly felt at ease, a fullness that can only be compared to seeing an old friend. I like to think that most people have that feeling, like a small bit Labrador continues on within everyone that visits. It is like nowhere I have ever experienced. 

In a sense it is serenity, dotted with small towns that disrupt the still, yet dynamic boreal landscape. Labrador is not just a region, a part of Newfoundland or another world class fishing destination. It is much, much more than that. The culture, history and people of Labrador, which was destined to be part of the french speaking Quebec; has been engrained in Canadian history. Labrador is not just the forgotten sibling of Newfoundland, but a functioning stand alone entity. 

The landscape and peoples are interconnected. While the love and importance of ensuring land stays pristine, it is of understanding that the land is a resource for wise use. Yet, in some ways the land and its resources are taken for granted. Fish and game is over-harvested and household garbage is dumped, polluting the land. It is upsetting to know that though myself and others appreciate the land and all that it offers, sometimes a moment isn't taken to fully appreciate what we experience, though it is not without effort.

 I find it hard to fully understand and take in exactly what being in the wilderness feels like, until I am far away in my home province. Maybe it is just me, but the urge to return is often overwhelming. It overcomes me, forcing me to take action; whether that be flying north, sauntering through Nova Scotian woods or sitting here allowing nostalgia to guide my mind. Something is to be said about being 100 miles from nowhere, and whether it is a sense of secludedness that I thrive on; or the fact that spending time in Labrador allows me to be with like minded people. In a world of opportunities, this place will always allow me to live the life I dream of. 

Photo: Chase and Aimee Bartee



Thanks to all that stopped by to read this blog. It's not much other than a few personal thoughts about a place that I fully embrace as my second home. I hope some of you connect with this post, if you have a similar feelings about Labrador or another special place feel free to comment!

The Lizzard Lounge and the Kamikaze Shrimp

As I speed up the highway north toward salmon country, my mind slips to images of standing knee deep in the cool fall water. The water was just raised by rainfall graciously received a few days prior. As the wind parts around my helmet, thoughts of school leave my mind. The cold fall winds cut through my motorcycle jacket and bring me back to reality; a 2 hour drive from Fredericton to Sunny Corner, New Brunswick has just started. Making my way off of the wide highway into narrow two lane curves where once thriving communitiey still stand ; McGivney, Astle and Boisetown to name a few. I arrive at Doaktown , where I am to meet with Kyle Price for a lend of some waders (mine are still in transit from Montana, for the second time). I pull into Tim Horton's, get the waders, have a quick say with Kyle and order a large double double to warm me up.

Journey to the Lizzard Lounge

After about 6 dollars in gas, I cross the Doaktown Bridge and the urge to toss a line is peaking. As I roll into Blackville, I decide to make a stop to see my friend Cathy Colford-Mehiltz at Curtis Miramichi Outfitters for another visit almost two weeks after my first. A half hour visit ends with a new hat, some killer flies and a friendly farewell. It is always so nice to meet up with Facebook friends throughout my travels, a personal connection is much more enjoyable than some words exchanged over the internet.

 I hop on my bike again and continue North, taking the Warwick Settlement exit past the Renous-Plaster Rock highway. A few more corners, turn offs and a bridge or two and I land at the Lizzard Lounge (Paul and Steph's home away from home), to end my journey. Paul and Stephanie are there to greet me, it's been much too long since I have had the honour to see them both. I get inside just long enough to warm up in front of the wood fire and unload what little I could take with me. Paul was ready to go fishing, a quick fish before dark couldn't hurt!

We drove up the road, and walked to the banks of the Northwest Miramichi. Crossing the river a gorgeous looking pool lies downstream of a swift run. The pool was dotted with holding rocks, perfect for fish coming up after the bump of rain. Paul like a great host offers me first pass at the fish. Wading out into the pool wielding my 7wt 11ft switch with my yet to be named shrimp pattern tied the night before "turle knotted" to the end of my line.  I felt confident in the swing I was presenting, but the usual swing was not getting the job done. As I worked near the bottom of the flat pool, the swing slowed and I decided a well bowed line may speed the fly up just enough to get a fish to take.

Kamikaze Shrimp

A few bowed lines later and a weight was on the end of my line I lifted my rod and the fight was on. The fish was not big, but a fish just the same. During the fight the species changed from chub to brook trout, then finally with a jump at the end of the fight. A grilse Atlantic was the culprit of the less than exciting battle. The leader entered the eye a few feet, and with a few head-shakes the fly was in the air, and fish back to his lie. Paul comes over to shake my hand, laughing as the kamikaze grilse was just caught. I sat on the round river rock and let it all sink in. It was so rewarding after a long journey to hook up on a fly for an instance like this. Needless to say, the fly had named itself and the Kamikaze Shrimp was born. After a few more passes before dark to no avail, we left the river and ended up back in front of the fire for a beer and some grub. An early night was in order; but the alarm came early.

Saturday morning rolls around with a bang on the door,  a quick cup of tea and some french toast whipped up by the lovely Steph! The cold waders and boots go on, and we are on our way. We roll up river to fish an amazing pool with a jagged bedrock cliff over looking the holding water. We emerge from the trail to see two salmon anglers are just about to give up with their attempt at a tight line. They hinted at some fish in the pool, so we were quite confident that we may have some luck. Stephanie went down through the pool with a small Pompier, and a few casts in a rising fish caught our attention as the sun burned the fog from the water.  As she worked to where the fish rose, the fish took with unexpected force. The rod was bent and with a few head shakes the fish was gone. We joked that she "ruined" the pool, but all jokes aside we didn't see anything else move except for a few trout Paul had enticed out of the shadow of the rock face. The kamikaze grilse struck again...

Moving downstream into a busy pool with active fish, the water seemed to be producing well for other anglers. A few passes couldn't hurt we thought, so Stephanie went through and hooked a beauty buttery female on a Cutty Sark tied by Mr. Gary Tanner. We found some more love when Paul went through and hooked a gem of a fish on a modified hair wing- too sacred to even grace the text of this blog. What an amazing pool, fish and day- one not to be forgotten. I'll save the photo posting for their respective owners.  Needless to say we had to go back to that pool before the weekend was out.

We then went back to the Lizzard Lounge for lunch. I met Paul's good friend Brandon over a few drinks, and some very delicious food. All four of us headed to find new water; we passed by the Little Southwest as anglers tried their luck along it's banks. But the water was much too low for our liking. We continued on to the Renous, the water was low but we thought it was worth a flick. I love fishing new water, even if it is unsuccessful. At least Brandon and I both caught a good buzz, Paul and Steph didn't have the luck we had. Again we had a few more drinks at the Lizzard Lounge and went to bed, a bit big headed..

The beautiful Renous River

The bang on the door came again around 7 am, another quick tea and we donned our cold waders and boots in the almost-freezing temperatures.It was last morning on the Miramichi watershed chasing salmon for the weekend, and I was determined to hook up. We went back to the successful pool of yesterday, and were greeted by and empty bank. This gives us first crack at any new fish entering the pool over night. Brandon offered the pool to me first as he'd be there for the rest of the week. Like a good Canadian I didn't take it without remorse, and I fished down through in front of him. A few rotations had passed and still no sign of company; fish or other anglers. Paul had just started down through the pool and a nice fish came up to look at his offering... But to no avail.

A few fish had been moving around the pool, and we all tried various flies over them. Large fall patterns to small summer patterns and no tugs.. I walked out of the bottom of the pool and sat on the chair watching my friends work the water. Meanwhile I was thinking like a fish, I changed my setup and grabbed the fly I thought would get the job done. I start down through the top, and within a few casts and strips I was into a big fish. My rod doubled as the fish ran down deep in the pool, and before Paul could get his line out of the water, it was jumping over it. My J.W. Young Beaudex was screaming, and the fish was making his rounds through the pool. My knees were buckling and with a big smile I fought my biggest salmon in my career. After about a 10 minute fight the fish was tailed by Mr. Elson, I was so happy to have hooked and landed such a fish with my good friend to tail it. Thanks Paul, you're the man... Paul is rocking the nsflyguy.ca hat, which is a nostalgic token from a lot of work and effort put in by all, especially my man, Mr. Mark Willigar...

Still shaking over this girl

Stephanie's artsy fartsy photo

We continued fishing after I came out of the pool, and after a few more turns through by Paul, Brandon and Steph, I step in and go through the pool again. This time with a large down-eyed glasso infused spey fly. I got to the bottom and hooked, and lost a wee grilse at hand and burned another fish. No more love from any of our offerings sent us home for lunch. Some more friends had been awaiting our arrival, awaiting fish stories from the morning. I finished off my weekend by talking fishing, fly tying and beer drinking with my good friends Howie, Bill and Mr. Gary Tanner himself- our first time meeting. I wanted to stay but I had to come back to the real world of books and studying. A not so cold drive back to Fredericton capped off a great weekend with some amazing fisher people!

A fall coloured dry offering...

I wish I could return, but school is just too busy... I really appreciate the accommodations and food, and especially the fishing. I was meaning to do this for a long time, and it was so worth the wait..

Thanks again... and Taylor if you are reading this, clean up your mess haha ;)

Tight lines.

The Do's and Don't's of Fly Fishing in Low Water Conditions

As many of you, I am a hardcore angler who loves to be on the water. No matter the weather, season or time of day, you can find me somewhere chasing fish. But what happens when the water get so low, even the most thoughtful fisherman don't fish? Well, that is a very good question; the answer lies in the ethics of what you are doing. 

The Main Southwest Miramichi at drought level

Low grassy section of the St. Mary's River

Let's start by saying this is not fact, or true for all instances... It all comes down to ethics and education. Is catch and releasing this fish going to be successful, is the water much too warm, are they near spawning? The list goes on. Low water brings unusually warm water conditions for streams; holding pools become the other refuge for large fish, making them easy targets. But during these low water conditions these large pools only have one real source of dissolved oxygen (D.O.) : the riffle or run coming in. This source is depleted of oxygen due to water temperature and reduced flow from upstream. Many of the fish within the pool will be resting close to the inflow.  How ethical is it to fight a fish in slow water when the required water quality is not adequate for non-stressed survival? 

Rocky Brook during low summer flow

It all comes down to where the water source is coming from, how high you are in the system, how long you fight the fish, and what you do with it after it's in the net. Let's start with the don'ts...

Don't fish in streams with a shallow slope. This leads to low oxygen water from lack of flow and oxygen added through rapids and falls.

Don't fish for fish who are resting in cold water refuges, as their last resort at survival.

Don't fish during mid-day to afternoon hours, this is when the water temperature is the highest and D.O. at it's lowest.

Don't fish lower in the river system as water temperatures are usually much higher; than their headwaters.

Don't fish in streams with tea-stained water, these streams are quite warm due to the sun absorbing into the dark surface.

Dark, slow moving tea stained water late August

Don't fight fish for extended periods of time, use your rod and get the fish in quickly. Depleting its energy in low-oxygenated waters is a big no, no.

Don't take the fish out of the water for an extended length of time.

Don't take six or seven photos of the fish, four or five feet from the water..

Don't fish large, gaudy flies, you'll not have much luck during the day.

Okay, now that I've made you feel bad if you've done these things. We all have done them in one way shape or form. Either that, or I've angered you enough that you have left the page in distaste. On to the Do's; again this is my opinion, feel free to disagree. #troutlivesmatter though... 

Do practice proper catch and release methods, wet hands and barbless hooks.

Do revive the fish properly, facing upstream in flowing water.

Low Water on the West Branch St. Mary's River

Do your honest and best effort to ensure the fishes survival after it's left your hands.

Do exercise thought into where, how and what species you are fishing.

Do use a net if you want to take photos, leaving the fish in the net (in the water) while you set up the camera is best.

Large Minipi Brook Trout

Do know your limit, when you've caught 10 fish in one area; maybe it is time to move on to the next spot. Give that pod a break.

Do use small hooks, this will not only improve your fishing success, but will also increase survival in released fish.

Do fish streams that are fed by springs and do not have a lot of standing water in their headwaters (i.e. lakes, swamps and bogs).

Do fish in tidal water, you never know what will be lurking in your favourite river's estuary.

Do fish in the evening, but preferably morning; you'll have your most success and the fish have the highest rate of survival. D.O. goes up as water cools down through the night.

Do the fish a favour, and when conditions are just not favourable for survival; leave them well alone.

Stream of high slope in high water vs. low water conditions

There are some more that I could add, but those are some of the most important ones many anglers should know before they get their fishing fix during low water conditions. I hope you enjoyed, learned something or at least had some kind of reaction to my words. If you agree, protest or are neutral feel free to leave a comment and share with you friends.

Thanks for reading,