At the beginning and end of each trip, before I can even start talking about fishing, there has to be a partner who is willing and able to support my madness. There has to be someone who goes through the duress of life alone for a day, for two days, for three...; so that I can take that first step in the quiet waters, in the early morning, just as the sun breaches the rim of the world, and the birds loudly and musically pronounce the glorious first notes of the springtime.
This kind of love is not easy to come by. It is the kind that enables the one who is infused with it, to persevere through circumstances that are often difficult, sometimes exhausting; not only to allow her partner to experience one of his great joys, but moreover so that others may come to experience it for themselves and, in part, through him. Generosity incarnate is my wife, Laura.
Without her, there are not the fish, the fishing stories, the cigars smoked with friends or alone, the laughs, the beers, the early morning drives, the satisfying half hour at the end of the day when we amicably discuss our conquests, the victories we scored against the fish, the victories they scored against us - verily, if there was no Laura in my life then there would be no Steelhead, nor so many of the joys that attend the fishing of Steelhead.
One could think very wrongly that special needs might not have occurred if in some other dream, one had married another - but some things are fated. And I cannot think of a better fate than to share what Life has brought me with the beautiful person I have had the privilege and pure luck to marry.
Our first kiss was better than a float going down, better than a million floats going down; from our first conversation I knew that I had found the woman for me.
And now, when I come home, and I sit tiredly on the couch after a long day on the river, to have my two smiling, handsome 3 year-old sons sat on my lap, I feel the full blessedness of my life. It could not have happened any other way. I wouldn't want it to.
Thanks, luvy, for putting up with me. Thanks for being here to share it all with me.
Fishing with my brother is always fun and interesting because I like eccentrics, and Dan definitely fits that bill in his own way. Although he is my brother, he always manages to surprise me with one or another of his behavioral gems.
For example, this year: never mind talking to the man, because he's listening to some UFC podcasts on his mp3 player, even while we fish. I cannot count the number of times I had to repeat myself when addressing some observation to him, or asking him a question. In normal circumstances, this would provoke impatience, but I was amused enough to find it funny. It gets funnier every day, in retrospect, even though I struggle to understand how one so overtly and vociferously enamoured of wilderness should substitute the river's chatter and sweet morning birdsong, for droning voices recorded in mono. Such is eccentricity!
Due to unforeseen circumstances, we didn't get to fish much together this year. Although the fact that we only got to spend one morning, plying low, clear waters for only a pair of steelhead, might contribute to my sense of humour regarding Dan's podcasts, I wish we'd had more time together. The day I had planned for us on one of our eastern Ontario tributaries held all kinds of promise, but a flu (in one of my sons) prevented it.
Besides the fact that Dan is my brother, and we both enjoy and appreciate eachother's company, discussion and tastes in beer, I also relish observing his innate ability to catch fish, in action. I've always considered this ability to be far stronger in my brother than in myself, and watching Dan make minute and naturally sensible adjustments to his presentation over a few minutes or hours has always been a subject of keen interest for me. He does this whether he has been fishing for days on end, or whether he last fished a year ago. He seems to have some kind of radar which is not species dependent, but applies to all of them, and which guides him in his choices and his approach. I sometimes wonder if he has an unconscious "telepiscopathy," if he can actually read their minds...
Last year, when the previous day's rain forced us to fish for trout in what basically looked like mud, he was the only one who caught anything. This year, after I'd spent the first hour and a half after sunrise, plying a stingy stream, he appeared late as usual and picked up a steelhead on his first drift. It was all very casual, although it probably surprised him, if not myself.
I struggled only briefly for the title of this section of my Opening day 2009 Saga. The heading picture basically says it all. The gleaming, drop-back steelhead could just as easily be a double-barreled shot-gun!
Sometimes, when things aren't going well and you can't figure out why the fish aren't hitting your line, you need to drop into your comfort zone. This is what Khalid did for this year's opener, and it paid big dividends.
Instead of bringing out the centrepin, which he is still getting used to, he brought out his trusty old spinning setup. He rigged it properly, picked good current seams and pockets, had the right presentation and offerings, and ultimately he had more success than I've personally seen him have. He caught fish every day that we fished together. And furthermore, on the Sunday, he caught the biggest fish no less!
But the defining moment for him probably came when he tied on a jig and berkley's split-fin jig body, adjusted it based on the hits he seemed to be getting but not hooking, and ultimately had the float go down under the urgings of a hungry steelhead. He was understandably proud of having figured out what the steelhead would go for and eagerly and happily insisted that I get a few pictures of the lure in the fish's mouth.
All in all, it was as pleasant as usual to fish with Khalid. He is always a convivial fishing partner, making cigar smoke-breaks fun as well as full of steelheading discussion. What they've taken, what we think they'll take, what they seem to be feeding on etc... are all items of discussion and planning for our post-break activities.
Khalid's camaraderie is definitely one of the things that make me wish we had more river-time to spend, but I suppose that that's part of the reason that it's so precious: it's fleeting. It's over so quickly that one sometimes wonders if it was all just a dream...
To my great chagrin, it turns out that Ed was right, and if I'd followed his advice I might have acquitted myself of at least some of the verbal abuse that I peppered him with from the break of dawn.
But this just adds to the litany of my deficiencies for the day. I also failed to refresh his memory of how to properly shot a float fishing rig, how to distinguish between cured and uncured roe, how to read current etc..; luckily I didn't need to refresh any of his abilities in complaints output management. His skills in this area are surprisingly "on."
Maybe I can be forgiven, if only on the basis that he used to out-fish me regularly in the old days. In fact, he was always the more open-minded and experimental between us. It was while fishing with Ed that I finally decided to try a wet fly - rather than just roe, roe, roe - based on the keen observation that he was catching fish with them ... and I wasn't. So I had no expectation that he could have forgotten any of the skills he used to display during those halcyon days. But then, I guess that's what fishing less than once a year does to even the sharpest among us. Vile atrophy!
Yesterday, however, will probably have served to restore some of the old prowess and wash away much of the rust. After I finally realized that senility had robbed my good friend of all of his steelheading faculties, I set to playing the guide for about an hour, and this is when he started hooking into fish. Most of them got off, until his reflexes caught up to the action. When the float went down for the last time, he delivered a quick, strong hookset and the fight was on. Then, because his rig was a little on the light side for the fish he was battling - a spawned out hen in the 9lb range - I taught him how to do the "Michigan Dirty." It comes in handy when you need to bring a fish up river, that has stopped peeling off line but is difficult to turn. You can see him applying the technique expertly in the caption above.
Ed's advice to me? While I was filming the action : "careful you don't kill the batteries."
My retort: "aw I just recharged them two days ago. They'll be fine."
The result: no picture evidence of Ed's fish on my camera.
Officially, I could claim that he got no fish. I could do that, if it wasn't for the meddling, pictorially enabled presence of one of the other three characters in this little Saga, who snapped the picture in the paragraph above.
I am starting to believe in Destiny and Fate. I think that these two deities, these two powers of the universe, bend their attention even down to the minutest details, such as who on March 21st 2009 catches fish and who doesn't. All else being equal, the water being the perfect colour, and at the perfect height, with a gentle breeze out of the south-west and a birdsong morning - there is no reason why three perfectly good anglers should have such ill mykissian fortune.
It was in fact a very strange day, for the perfectly good reason that I wasn't even supposed to start the day where I did. I was originally taking a friend fishing, in the opposite direction of the compass. But he phoned me the night before, just as I was starting to prepare his roe bags, to save me the trouble. His wife and one of his children were sick, so he wouldn't be able to make it. The following morning, the flu that had assailed his family would miraculously abate, and he would call me at work thinking he was calling my cell... that is Fate.
This gave me the opportunity to fish with Wallacio again and finally meet Joe A. (aka JFL), with whom I've often corresponded. Joe's deceased but excellent Blog (Steelhead Diaries) served as inspiration for this little space of my own. I was glad to find that he has a very good sense of humour and is a joy to fish with. I was further impressed by his relaxed, easy-going, non-compulsive, low-keyed, unselfconscious style. :) I could tell that he and Wallacio have been fishing together for a long time, because certain orations and points of view that Joe expressed elicited smirks and suppressed giggles of the kind which can only come from long familiarity.
About the fishing, for the day, it was mostly in the back seat. We spent a lot of time talking, getting to know eachother and laughing. Each of us poked or got robbed by at least one fish. But I was the lucky winner for the day, cashing my lottery ticket in the form of a fresh 6lb hen. My two sherpas were extremely helpful with regards to landing the gleaming fish. Wallacio obligingly tailed the fish, while Joe took pictures. Although I took pictures of it, too, I really didn't have to go through the effort, since my sherpas did such a great job themselves. That is Destiny.
In the end, I was just really happy to get out. It's all about getting out there, for me.
It was 5:10pm and my self-appointed quitting time had come. My watch alarm was beeping, and it was time to pull the float from the water and go home, to help my wife with our rambunctious twins. The water was probably a little dirtier than I would have liked, and fishing a new river in high-water conditions is usually pretty challenging, no matter the skill level of the angler. Add to this the fact that I only had an hour in which to fish, and the result should be obvious. That is, until the float went down.
As it turns out, I had read the water correctly. After 45 minutes or so of dredging the deeper portions of a corner-shaped pool, I had decided that fish might be seeking rest behind the many bottom obstructions that had hampered my drifts in the long, straight section immediately following the tail-out of the pool I'd been fishing. I'd seen several large wakes in that run as well. So I had shortened my drift to what I hoped was an appropriate length, high enough to avoid snags but deep enough to come within the striking range of any fish that might be lurking there. Before the time could reach 5:10:30 - which is when the alarm would stop - I was fighting a 5lb male.
Not knowing the bottom of this river very well (yet) I had an interesting time landing this fish, but it was finally done. After a few quick pictures I released the beautifully coloured fish, wishing him success on his quest.
Part 2: Fishing with Wallacio and Exploring the New River.
Slush. Big gobs of slush, floating down the river seemingly consciously trying to grab our floats and wreck every attempt at producing a decent drift. That, and frozen toes seemed the order of the morning.
I was fishing with Wallacio, which was as fun as always (except for the above listed nuissances), and we were attacking as well as we could, one of the better pools on one of our favourite rivers east of Toronto. Although it was cold at the time, we knew that it was going to warm up significantly later on in the day.
Either way, our jaw muscles were not cold. They were well warmed up, as we kept the conversation going most of the morning. Among the subjects that were broached, Wallacio predicted that the slush would only disappear around 11 O'clock, when he had to leave. I told him I was optimistic, but as it turns out... I was optimistic. The slush hung around until 11, although it did start to relent around 9:30am or so. I find it, therefore, ironic that all the fish we caught were landed and released well before that time.
I was the first to get action. My float went down somewhat after the end of my drift, and it turned out to be a lovely little "shaker" which I quickly unhooked and released. We fished for another little while, and I got another hit. This time, the fish was much larger. After 5 minutes of the "Michigan Dirty" I managed to land another nice male steelhead. Wallacio snapped a quick picture and the fish was released unharmed. Both fish had hit in the same spot, so we decided to walk 10m or so downstream and fish it more seriously.
Not much later, it was Wallacio's turn to get into the game, and he didn't disappoint. After a good fight, I tailed the fish for him and we got ready to take a picture. It was a beautiful 7-8lb female, who bore proof of having benefited from catch and release: Wallacio's hook was on one side of her mouth, while on the other she bore a small wound which had obviously been given her by another angler's hook. Both of us are C&R advocates, so it was nice to be the recipients of its effects. Anyway, worried that ice might form on its gills while it was out of the water, I dunked the fish into the flow for a second. But only for a second; she was still very energetic, and with a powerful flick of her tail she slipped from my grasp. We watched her go, as she sped off into deeper water. Oops!
After Wallacio left, I fished for another half hour or so on this river, getting one bona fide hit but failing to connect. I decided that I should head homeward, but that I should also take a look at the river from Part 1 again: I really wanted to check out the mouth, and what the river looks like at the lake.
On my way to the river mouth, I saw a group of three fishermen. One of them seemed quite a bit younger than the other two, and I did a double take. In fact we both did. Having only ever seen pictures of eachother, it wasn't immediately obvious to either of us who the other fisherman was... but here was definitely Silvio from the Ontario Fishing .Net forum. We shook hands and said hello, and he shared a picture with me of a monster male Steelhead that he landed at "My Pier" that same morning.
I was not disappointed with my visit to the mouth of the river, even though it wasn't piscatorially successful. I did miss another good hit, though, again failing to connect because I wasn't paying attention. There was too much surf for me to fish it very well, and I knew that the time had come to go home.
On the way, I saw this fantastic creature and took a picture of it. Zeus himself, witholding bounty until my next allotted opportunity on the rivers!
Sorry. For once I have to apologize about using French material. That's only because the clip is from "Highlander," which is an English movie, and in my opinion few translations ever do justice to the original. Highlander is a conspicuous example of this... By misfortune, I couldn't find an English version of the clip, and this is about the length I was looking for. If you took French in school, but have forgotten most of it, maybe you can practice comprehension...
Highlander is a 1986 movie starring Christophe Lambert and Sean Connery, and it's one of my favourites. I posted the above clip despite the unfortunate dubbing, because some of you will have seen the movie and may remember this scene. Where Ramirez asks MacLeod to "feel the stag, his heartbeat," particularly reminds me of Spring - and it matches a recurring theme for me, which is the coming of Steelhead once the rivers have broken free of ice: sometimes it seems that one can almost feel it all happening, the rush and rumble of the water, the passing upriver of the fish.
Beyond the scene in the above clip, where the two sword wielders on the high cliff cannot possibly be Connery and Lambert, there is some pretty interesting goofiness in the movie. For example, consider the odd fact that a Scotsman, who has a thick Scottish accent and is posing as an Egyptian with a failed Spanish accent, is teaching sword fighting to a Frenchman, who himself has a thick French accent but is posing as a Scotsman with a (miserably) failed Scottish accent. What the ... is that? This really pushes Tolkien's concept of "suspending disbelief" to the max. Notwithstanding, the storyline has always held a lot of meaning for me. I especially appreciate the way the film treats "true" (a.k.a. "immortal") love calling out, via the symbolic invention of Immortals, the limits of love which consequence - or finally death - imposes. The symbolism of the Immortal becomes that of the memory of the beautiful thing that was, which in effect our children will eventually carry with them.And I believe that it's this symbolism that attracts the film's cult audience, to this day, in a similar fashion as "Romeo and Juliet," if of a lesser literary pedigree.
Anyway, the rivers have truly burst their seams. I've seen several today, and all of them are high and muddy, and the trout are fighting the currents even now...
Somewhere in the ether, where the hearts of all fisher men meet, at that specific point where reality dictates that their fanaticism must segregate them from women forever, where there had been incalculable woe there is now singing and rejoicing.
In other words, for all those Steelhead bums who thought that they had to quit fishing to avoid a life of loneliness and celibacy, there may be some salvation after all...
When I recently decided to update the blog links that I have posted on my site, I was pleasantly surprised to discover that an old stereotype that had somehow lodged itself inside my thick skull - namely that women who fish are few and far between - is completely unfounded. In fact, it appears that it may be ridiculous in the extreme to think that women could not enjoy fishing as much, or more, than men do. In the case of a specific woman, I can't say... but the basic truth, that women can fish just as well and as hard and as successfully as men can, is to me a very happy one. In fact, a lot of the blogs I've added are written by fly anglers of superior knowledge and skill.
In my search for new fishing blogs to list on my site, I came upon no fewer than 6 sites - and I have no doubt that I'll discover more and more of them, and so I will keep looking and keep adding any one that I find. If you know any good ones, please drop them in my comments. Once I've looked it over, I will post your comment & link the suggested blog into my site.
Please take some time to visit some of these blogs. Some of them are truly excellent, offering a insightful commentary, professional grade photography and engaging and evocative story-telling. I've also added some pretty good "male" blogs, which are equally worth looking over.
I am a poet and a father and a husband and a tired commuter, who likes to wear waders and chase steelhead from time to time. And sometimes I even become a fisherman, and that is the gift I carry with me away from the Lakes and the streams; that I was a fisherman today and that I will be again.
Please click on any of my images to view a full-sized version!
At the beginning and end of each trip, before I can even start talking about fishing, there has to be a partner who is willing and able to support my madness. There has to be someone who goes through the duress of life alone for a day, for two days, for three...; so that I can take that first step in the quiet waters, in the early morning, just as the sun breaches the rim of the world, and the birds loudly and musically pronounce the glorious first notes of the springtime.
It is the kind that enables the one who is infused with it, to persevere through circumstances that are often difficult, sometimes exhausting; not only to allow her partner to experience one of his great joys, but moreover so that others may come to experience it for themselves and, in part, through him. Generosity incarnate is my wife, Laura.
the fishing stories, the cigars smoked with friends or alone, the laughs, the beers, the early morning drives, the satisfying half hour at the end of the day when we amicably discuss our conquests, the victories we scored against the fish, the victories they scored against us - verily, if there was no Laura in my life then there would be no Steelhead, nor so many of the joys that attend the fishing of Steelhead.
special needs might not have occurred if in some other dream, one had married another - but some things are fated. And I cannot think of a better fate than to share what Life has brought me with the beautiful person I have had the privilege and pure luck to marry.
, better than a million floats going down; from our first conversation I knew that I had found the woman for me.
