Someday

Someday, I'll make it there, I swear...

Out of reach. Privatized. Too expensive. Too exclusive. Not enough information. The sport of kings. I have to hire a guide? A lottery system? Beats? Where am I going to stay? The list could go on and on, but these are a few of the excuses that repeated in my head over the last decade whenever I entertained the idea of heading north to go Atlantic salmon fishing in eastern Canada. Each time I seriously considered making a DIY trip at the end of the school year, all of those questions and doubts would inevitably squash the idea in my head. I always gave into fear and the unknown. One winter evening, I was listening to a live Instagram session between Topher Browne and Travis Johnson that discussed all things Atlantics when I did something I normally never do: ask a question. I wanted them to talk about DIY fishing, but didn't want to feel like a parasite seeking information. Instead I asked something that I actually find very interesting: "Do you ever think the PNW would adopt the "pay to play," model of eastern Canada in order to protect increasingly smaller populations of steelhead?" Topher laughed out loud at my mere mention of "pay to play". I believe his exact words were, "anyone that thinks that probably hasn't done much Atlantic salmon fishing". 

Touché Topher, touché...

                   

Despite Topher's truth bomb, every available piece of water (that I'm aware of) in eastern Canada is "pay to play" in my book. Whether it is paying to fish public water on only a couple rivers on the Gaspe for $130 dollars a day or paying a guide for the right to fish in New Brunswick, it is still expensive game. It is even more expensive if you win the lottery system and obtain the right to fish private water. Regardless, I took notes on the scant bread crumbs sprinkled in that discussion and listened to several other podcasts in order to put the remaining puzzle pieces together. The major hiccup in this preparation was that my National Board Certification Portfolio was due in May and I had my boards exam scheduled on the last day of school in the middle of June. That occupied all my spare time and energy. Venturing north was an idea that I slowly pecked away at. It wasn't until the final week before when I decided to fully commit to going. Despite the preparation, I still had no idea of specifically what I needed to do. When I finished my exam, I packed up the van, and began driving north. At the end of day two, I stopped at a crossroads to take an image of my arrival. As I turned towards my first destination, I song came on my playlist that seemed too timely for the moment. The song ended when I pulled over on the side of the river to watch the sunset. It was Zach Bryan's Someday...

Someday, I'll make it there, I swear

To that place that hunts my dreams at night

Singing heavenly highway hymns all the way up

To that beautiful old countryside

Someday I will come to my senses

Stop sitting on fences in fear

And I will realize after all of this time

That someday was always just right here

Today I will hold my head up high

Knowing some day has been here the whole damn time

There's a sun set setting, I ain't forgetting

The blood that made my heart warm

Today I found what I was searching for

Someday I will send you a postcard
From the place that I'm smiling tonight
I sang heavenly highway hymns all the way up
To this beautiful warm countryside

After taking in the sunset, I drove around looking for a cellular signal strong enough to buy my daily rod fee. Next, I had to find a spot to park the van for the night. I found it down a dirt road near the river. I set my alarm for 4:00 a.m. thinking to myself that I was a badass. When I woke up, it was already more than light enough to cast and fish. It was then I realized that this was going to be a different type of grind. On this particular river, the highway parallels the water and the beats are clearly numbered with specific parking spots and pull offs. I found myself on a run above an expansive covered bridge where I had multiple grabs which proved to be a non-targeted species: striped bass. There were a lot of them in the river, which I'm sure are decimating the population of smolts in an already threatened population. Complicating matters was an approaching heat wave. By noon, the temperature was already above 90 degrees and the water temperature was also increasing to a level I wouldn't be comfortable fighting a fish with. The next few days were forecasted to be around 100 degrees. At the end of the first day, I made the executive decision that the next two days, I wasn't going to fish. I also decided to abandon the current river I was on and head to a different system. I spent most of the next day in coffee and fly shops trying to avoid the sweltering heat. I found a nice campground on the coast that had Wifi, a jetty, and plenty of striped bass to mess around with. I tied some flies, game planned, and bought my passes for the next three days. 

Day I: 

I arrived early to a long run I had scouted on Google maps. At first light, I found myself at the head slowly lengthening out each cast in order to efficiently cover the water before stepping down. Two anglers came out of the woods and placed their rods on the rod rack next to a picnic table. Despite there being over 100 yards of water below me, they would wait until I fished it first. I didn't really know this at the time, but I waved to them to hop in below me breaking etiquette. They were shocked. Who is this guy asking them to literally low-hole him and give them first pass on a popular run? It seemed I had a lot to learn.

A few hours later, I was on the other side, and almost a mile downriver. I found a stop sign run and was sharing it with a regular named Frank. In the bucket behind a boulder, I had a hard grab and set the hook into my first Atlantic salmon. The fish began an aerial display reminiscent of a tarpon, without the sound of gill plates, catapulting through the air and throwing the hook. I was left in slack jawed silence after the encounter, but it gave me a tremendous amount of confidence in how I was fishing and presenting the fly. On the next pass, Frank hooked up and landed a grilse, which was also inspiring and gave me my first close up with the natural beauty of these fish. 

Day II: 

I woke up at 2:30 am to hike into the the spot I hooked a fish at the previous day. I crossed the river in the dark, walked about a mile, and was giddy with excitement at the prospect of first pass over prime water. When I got there, a regular named Joe was already in the spot swinging and sipping his coffee that was slung on his waist belt like a lightsaber. Fuckin Jedi. His saber of choice was an older Meiser and was still rocking an Airflo Scandi Compact. I let him have two full passes before I asked if I could follow him down. I think he respected that a lot and we became friends over the next week of fishing. During my first pass, he was on the bank making coffee and he told me that I was about to get one here. A minute later, shit went down. The initial grab was soft, merely a tap, followed by a long pause where I braced for impact. Instead, another soft tab and slow tension on the line. I set the hook. It was huge. The initial moments where chaotic as the salmon jumped all over the run in leaping cartwheels. It then took off...upriver. I managed the following blitz back downriver well, as the salmon pushed into my backing towards the tail out. A standoff ensued as I slowly gained line. It was at that moment, where it seemed like the cards were finally in my favor but that burst of confidence was short lived. My line suddenly went slack. The reel of shame ensued where I found a giant abrasion in the middle of tippet signaling that a boulder wore through my fluorocarbon. Hmmm...it was at this point where I finally learned my lesson about Maxima's popularity. This fish will haunt me...

Day III: 

Another super early morning and a repeat of the second day. I let Joe do his thing for a few passes before I entered the juice above him. Joe repeated his premonition in the generally same area of the run and on the next cast I hooked up with another adult Atlantic. This one was similar in size to my first hookup and about half the size of the fish I danced with on the prior day. I survived the initial onslaught and my much heavier tippet held strong. Joe tailed her for me and transferred control to my hands. She was the prettiest girl in the whole damn holler, that ain't no lie. All chrome with indigo hues with beauty marks in all the right spots. I recalled my six year old self watching that Cindy Crawford Pepsi commercial in 1992. The Atlantic is the Pepsi can...beautiful. I had to ask Joe to take a picture for me, which he willingly obliged. It is rare for me to get that stanky leg weakness in the knees but it lasted for several moments after the release. I was stoked...

That night I was exploring some of the more remote public sections on this river. It had been raining hard for most of the day, but the access roads weren't too bad in my opinion. I decided to check out one last spot before dark even though I was warned that the hole hadn't fished in years due to sediment loads. As I drove down the road to the parking space, I could feel my tires starting to load up with mud and slide a little bit. I brushed it off. A small depression resulted in the van getting stuck. It was about 8:30 p.m. when I gave up on trying to get out and realized I needed to find help quick. With no service, I hiked back out and found a few anglers making their last passes. We exchanged information and they said they'd head to the ZEC offices the following day to let them know of my predicament. I hiked back to the van and began pulling logs out of the woods to put under the wheels in an effort to get out. It was pouring rain, the mosquitoes were heavy, and the mud thick and sticky. Around 11 p.m. I gave up, took off my jacket and waders that were caked in mud and went to bed. 

Day IV: In the morning, I fired up my Garmin and sent off a message to my brother. I used a hatchet to clear pine branches and lay them on the ruts in the mud. No matter what I tried, I couldn't get the van completely out of its shallow ditch. Eventually, my wheels just spun continuously and I couldn't go anywhere. ZEC arrived around 1 p.m. and hooked up to my rear hitch to tow me out. I ended up needing a tow down the road for over 200 yards until I found hard enough ground for me to reverse on. I gave them a nice chunk of change for their efforts and retreated back to the coast, a campsite, a hose, and respite. Having already paid for this day of fishing, I lost some cash for the van debacle. 

Days V-VIII: These were an absolute grind. The water had done nothing but drop since my arrival and it seemed like the fish that were coming into the system were simply blitzing on through. On the evening of Day V I met up with Joe Goodspeed, famed rod designer, formerly of Thomas and Thomas, and now Diamondback. We ended up spending a whole day fishing together. His approach to salmon fishing was different than my own. Joe preferred fishing a single hander and a bomber dry fly, while I enjoy the wet fly swing. It was a fun experience picking one another's proverbial fishing brains. I was fortunate to catch two grilse with Joe. On my final day, I put in a serious effort hitting all of the good water I found over the week of my fishing but was unable to catch another salmon. I started the process of driving back to Delaware that evening in order to properly prep for the next trip on my horizon. 

Looking back on my first Atlantic trip, I'm not sure why I waited this long. Fear of the unknown seemingly is the main reason, but also funds, transportation, and a place to stay were other missing cogs. My teaching schedule is almost tailor made for this fishing season, but my salary is not. Moving forward, I'm hoping to make this an annual trip at the end of each school year with the aim of becoming a "regular". Meiser Joe is a regular. Maybe someday, say 15 years down the road, I'll be living out of my vehicle like Joe does every summer, catching salmon with a coffee tumbler slung on my waist and sneaking showers in at the campground with a "very understanding" wife back at home. Or, with me. Who knows?

Someday...

Setups this trip:

CND Gravity 13'4" 8/9

VR Salar Incomparible or Loop Classic 10/13

Nextcast Salarfinder 40 FFF 8/9 or Bridge Tributary 625

NAM Hazumi 50 lb. 

Burkie 8128

Loop Classic 7/9

Airflo Scandi Compact 480

NAM Hazumi 40 lb.

A prolific striped bass fishery = not good for salmon. 

Joe Goodspeed picking out a bomber...

Meiser Joe showing me how it is done...

Frank with a grilse...thanks for the hospitality.