Toast the gods no matter what

It’s here at last. It’s been a long winter, and today is the big day. Of course I’m talking about salmon fishing.

As I write this, today is June 1 and salmon season 2021 has just opened. But take note, Labrador’s rivers remain closed to angling until June 15.

I’m writing this column ahead of schedule and maybe you can guess why. Because on Friday, June 4, my buddies and I were heading to the west coast to fish on the Grand Codroy.

When you get to read this I’ll have my first week of angling in the books and hopefully have danced a few ditties with the silver bullet.

EARLY SEASON THRILL

I’ll fish for salmon on and off throughout the summer but early season run ocean chrome is my biggest thrill. These fish are tremendously powerful fighters and arguably are the king of all game fish, for sure the very pinnacle of the freshwater species.

The biggest, brightest and nastiest fish come early when the rivers are high from snowmelt. The lesser comes later. The big boys are not easy to catch in high water but I love a challenge.

So that’s the game, long days of casting in cold icy water, but when the big pull comes and the line goes tight, well what can I say? You’d have to experience the moment to fully understand. Some refer to the drug of the tug, I know it’s intoxifying. The happy chemicals course through my veins. Must be primal, beyond analytical analysis.

I want the best of both worlds. That’s Labrador and Newfoundland I’m referring to. This is a very big province and early fishing on the island’s southwest coast is just ridiculously too darn early in the Big Land.

So we’ll come back from the Codroy, cut the grass, set a few spuds, and head to St. Barbe to catch the ferry to Labrador. The timing will hopefully be perfect for early fish in southern Labrador. Or so the plan goes, because in this game there are no certainties or absolutes.

We are rolling the dice and gambling on the whims of Mother Nature and salmon gods. The deities are a fickle lot. The least transgression could displease them and ruin the week, even the season.

PERSERVERANCE

One year I declined a jumbo burger at the Viking 430 in Reefs Harbour. Rain poured down for two solid days and Castors River overflowed its banks. Sorry guys just didn’t seem to cut it.

They reward perseverance. Any sort of complaining or whining is the darkest of sins, sets them into a fiery temperament, good for neither salmon nor fisher. One year we raced with the tail of a hurricane and had no idea what one of us had done to deserve the wrought. Anyway, I did eat my burger that year, so I plead innocent.

Aside from the threat of crazy flooding on the Pinware, our more immediate concern involved our own bit of comfort. Could we manage to get our canvas tent camp set on the field before the rain began? According to the forecast we might barely make shelter before the start of 100mm plus of rain. We pulled our truck onto The Green with an hour of daylight in the bank.

The Green, that’s what they call it, a field by the Pinware bridge that Lundrigan’s Construction cleared for a work camp. We’ve been camping there for more than 20 years.

I have to do just a little bragging here. We can set up a Labrador tent with the best of them. Like a well-oiled machine we moved with swift deliberate intent, the four of us, each a cog in a process of poles, ropes, pegs and canvas.

We all know our part. Neither Chris nor Matt tie any knots. But they are quite skilled at layout and tautness.

TIME TO RELAX?

By duckish the wood stove was in its place in the cook tent and we were assembling our cots in the sleep tent.

“Looks like we made it,” says I. “Time for an India.”

“Yes indeed.”

Rod lit the fire and we settled back in our camp chairs. Chris fetched four beer from the cooler and passed them around. Just as we twisted our stoppers the patter of rain breached the still of night. The gods will cut you a break in the midst of the storm. Have faith.

Perseverance is the essence of angling and hunting, a virtue most essential to success. The gods know and enforce this. My god did it ever rain. Parts of the field flooded but not our tent. A good thing, either by luck or design, or another reprieve for someone’s sin, either way there would be further testing of our mettle.

The sky cleared by midmorning and we went fishing, bolstered by strong camp coffee, toast, bologna and eggs.

No surprise buddy, the river was high and rising. The Pinware is tough fishing in high water, dangerous to wade and hard to find biting salmon. But we fished as best we could. I’ll try various techniques suited to water conditions but this water was nuts. We fished all day with zero hookups. Nobody complained or frowned.

NO BAD DAYS

A bad day fishing is better than a good day, well doing just about anything. So we cooked supper and spun a few yarns.

The next day was the same. Still we fished and not a sniffle of negativity. We all know how this goes. You don’t know a person’s true character until you have fished or hunted with them. All sailors are grand in fair weather. My buddies can sail in storms. Nobody cried to go home.

The next evening Rod caught a grilse and we cooked it for supper. We toasted the gods with the best whiskey we had. One fish in three days is better than many things. They were watching and listening I’m certain.

The fourth day was the best fishing ever. We just about had the river to ourselves and there were big silvers in every pool. The water was still high but falling, so no fear of getting trapped on a sinking rock island. Yes, that can happen.

For whatever reason the salmon were super aggressive. If you passed a fly near a fish the rod bent. If you saw a swirl you hooked a fish. It was heaven on a river and made up for three lean days in spades.

We never did figure out what displeased the gods. Or maybe it was all for the good, because the tougher the journey the sweeter the prize. And it all happens in a life of fishing.