As we crossed international bridge Paul got his first look at the rapids and I wondered what he thought. I remembered back to when Ted and I first saw that water with high hopes of getting into some spring steelhead. A quick and uneventful passage through customs and we headed down to the rapids on the Canadian side. It was afternoon and we only had a couple of hours of fishing time before darkness would fall. On went the waders (and several other layers of clothes for Paul) and soon we were wading and casting in the crystal clear, cold waters tumbling down from Lake Superior. We waded straight past the gravel beds and the blackened spawning kings out to a rock that sat at the head of a pool just below the spawning fish. I was confident there'd be steelhead sitting in behind the salmon, feasting on eggs so I thought Paul was in the best spot C I could think of. Besides it takes a little time to get used to the heavy currents of the river and I wanted to give him some time to adjust before I had him wading in the more treacherous waters.
Coming up on International BridgeI was just heading out to my favourite pool when I looked over my shoulder and noticed Paul's rod arched over and throbbing. I headed back through the fast water just in time to net a small steelhead for him, his first. It wasn't big at all but I was glad to be there. I was confident there'd be plenty of larger ones in the next couple of days. After a photo or two I headed back out to my pool and began swinging streamers with my spey rod.
Paul with his first SteelheadAs the light began to fade my rod bobbed and a few heavy headshakes preceded the bold leaps of a small atlantic salmon. Despite a gallant effort the fish was soon subdued. Paul and I looked over the relatively unexpected catch. It was only beginning to develop spawning colours and the brilliant reds, oranges and yellows of the sunset reflected along it's silver sides. We fished until nightfall but our two fish were a fitting way to start things for the trip.
A small Atlantic Salmon
Sunset over International BridgeWe stopped fishing and grabbed a bite to eat at what was to become our kitchen and dining room for the trip, the Wendys by the casino. Then it was back out to the discharge from the powerdam to flick the spoon about. I know this spot gets fished pretty heavily by the locals when the fish are in so when there was nobody about I wasn't too confident. We fished for a few minutes but it just didn't have that "fishy" felling and we were both getting tired. it was a short drive to the carpark of the casino and we crawled into the back of the truck, zipped up our sleeping bags and drifted off after checking in with our loved ones on the phone. I was feeling pretty good about things and it was good to have a couple of decent fish under our belts and two more days to really go after them. I'm sure I dozed into a dream about catching giant steelhead before entering a deep, heavy sleep.
I must have subconsciously kept one ear open in case a policeman came around because I sat up when I heard the creaking open of topper hatch. Paul was already up and luckily he was more alert than I was. It took me a few moments to register what was going on. I just remember a shifty little short dude looking in at us with a hood on (pretty common in Canada) and then shock on his face when he saw us. He gulped and exclaimed "Dude, there's guys in there, eh!", before slamming the hatch down and running off. My mind hadn't even registered what was happening but Paul watched outside and saw him run off and which direction he went. Now we were both pretty awake and were trying to come up with legitimate reasons why someone would want to break into the back of a truck but were having quite a bit of trouble. The thing is that in the boat we'd left hundreds of dollars worth of fishing stuff just sitting there for shifty little hands to take off with. Maybe he was too short to see over the sides of the boat, or maybe he was just a little unprepared, or maybe he was just looking for a cozy place to sleep, but he sure took off like a bat out of hell when he saw us. As I thought about it the next morning I was a little freaked out about it, but at the time I remember Paul and I just joking about it and thinking nothing of it. We just kept repeating, in our best Canadian accents, "dude, there's guys sleeping in here, eh". But even that wasn't enough to hold us from slumber for too long and it was too cold to keep from snuggling cozily into the sleeping bags and blankets.
Casting spoons at the power plant discharge I must have subconsciously kept one ear open in case a policeman came around because I sat up when I heard the creaking open of topper hatch. Paul was already up and luckily he was more alert than I was. It took me a few moments to register what was going on. I just remember a shifty little short dude looking in at us with a hood on (pretty common in Canada) and then shock on his face when he saw us. He gulped and exclaimed "Dude, there's guys in there, eh!", before slamming the hatch down and running off. My mind hadn't even registered what was happening but Paul watched outside and saw him run off and which direction he went. Now we were both pretty awake and were trying to come up with legitimate reasons why someone would want to break into the back of a truck but were having quite a bit of trouble. The thing is that in the boat we'd left hundreds of dollars worth of fishing stuff just sitting there for shifty little hands to take off with. Maybe he was too short to see over the sides of the boat, or maybe he was just a little unprepared, or maybe he was just looking for a cozy place to sleep, but he sure took off like a bat out of hell when he saw us. As I thought about it the next morning I was a little freaked out about it, but at the time I remember Paul and I just joking about it and thinking nothing of it. We just kept repeating, in our best Canadian accents, "dude, there's guys sleeping in here, eh". But even that wasn't enough to hold us from slumber for too long and it was too cold to keep from snuggling cozily into the sleeping bags and blankets.
In his defence, it was a cold morning, but I hadn't driven all the way to Sault Ste Marie to sit in the truck during prime fishing time so I left Paul to his warmth, donned my waders and headed out to my favorite pool. I fished without a fish for a good hour or more before I noticed Paul stumbling out to the rock he'd fished from the day before. I was unaware that he'd gotten lost and been struggling to find a shallow spot to get out to the berm wall for the last half hour and been frustratingly watching me but unable to get to me. When he finally did manage to get out to the berm and over to his rock he was wet, cold and out of cigarettes. Did I mention he had the net. In my mind he had just been lazy and disrespectful of my efforts by sleeping in the back of the truck instead of coming out and fishing. At this point I was losing respect for him as a fisherman and thought he was a weeny because he couldn't handle the cold. I made a mental note to put a teaspoon of cement in his coffee that evening to toughen him up.
Well as luck would have I finally got whacked and cartwheeling up came a fine atlantic salmon. That was the only time the fish broke the surface but the violent headshakes and dogged runs were very characteristic of atlantics. But although I didn't get a good look I knew it was a big fish. I fought the fish out and when I did get a good look my heart came into my mouth. It was indeed a big fish. A huge fish. I was in the low teens (pounds) for sure, deeply coloured with a huge formed kype. It hadn't fought with the zest of a silver summer fish but it was certainly a trophy. Now Paul had seen the rod and me fighting it (eventually) and, to his credit, was doing his best to wade through the heavy current and he'd never done it before so he had no way to know which way was safe to wade.
The fish was played out and beaten, now gliding as much on it's back as upright and I swung it around into the shallows waiting for the net to arrive. Well the fish had one more headshake with that big kype and that was enough to dislodge the fly. All I could do was watch as my exhausted fish floated back through the heavy water and off towards Lake Huron. I was frustrated and upset and the bumbling, struggling net man was the perfect candidate to blame for my failure. In hindsight I was an arse for letting him have it but it's not like he just rolled over and took it anyway. But for a couple of Wilkes' it was a pretty mild dummy spit and we got over it in a few minutes.
Perhaps what helped most was the two of us went down to a spot known as "atlantic alley". To get there yo have to go through some deep water (but not much current) and you have to have a fair bit of faith in the guy leading you to do it. To Paul's credit he trusted me and we were soon fishign side by side and joking around again. We hadn't been there five minutes when Paul informed me he'd been slammed but didn't hook up. He cast back to the same spot and BANG fish on. The fish struck a long way out and in some heavy current so it took Paul some time to seduce his first Atlantic salmon. We did the usual congratulations and all that jazz but it was short lived as we both wanted to get back to it.
A couple of casts later he was on again and before I got my fly wound in I was hit. The sky above us was looking foreboding, dear and heavy and I hoped there was no lightning in it as we were very exposed and couldn't get to safety quickly if the weather went bad. Paul landed another nice atlantic, a little larger and somewhat fresher than the first. As you'd expect it also fought better and gave him a decent workout.
Minutes later it was my turn and the spey rod bobbed and waved under the strain. Line peeled from the reel and once the fish made it into the heavy water it was a chore to turn him. This atlantic was still pretty fresh and gave a good account of itself and although it didn't dull the pain of the earlier lost fish, I was happy.
The next few minutes were crazy. A storm front pushed through and dumped hail on us, then heavy rain but while that happened the fishing was insane. We were getting hit every drift and it was just a case of getting the fly into the water and it was "fish on". So much for atlantics being hard to catch! First Paul got a hook jawed male then I hit a larger fish that brought a big smile to my face. From there we just stopped taking photos and enjoyed ourselves. It all slowed down after twenty minutes or so and then we fished for a half hour or so without a hit. We decided to check out another spot.
We made out way all the way up to the gates on the American side of the rapids and within a few minutes Paul was hooked up. This time his reel was screaming adn he was in a dog fight. The fish shot out of the water like a torpedo and it was clear to see it was a coho that was still pretty silver. Paul has a good time with it and I informed him these things are the best of all the salmon and trout to eat. Consequently it went into a shallow rock pool for later.
Another ten minutes or so and I was hooked up with good coho and then Paul with another small atlantic. It was getting almost too easy. The Paul was onto another nice coho and we had some nice fillets of coho flapping about in that rock pool. We also got a few smaller atlantics but we weren't even counting them at this point. We could see large salmon and steelhead porpoising up at the very heads of the gates and despite our best efforts we couldn't get our offering up there. We just kept hoping they'd cruise back into our range. Unfortunately they never did and eventually hunger and nicotine cravings forced us off the water. It had been a great session and I was so glad I'd made the long trip worthwhile for Paul. I felt a heap of pressure had been taken off me.
After a surprisingly long time to find a place that sold cigarettes we were back at Wendys and reliving the memories of the morning. That was some good fishing and we'd pretty much had the place to ourselves. Once lunch was done we headed over to the local flyshop and got chatting with the owner. While we were there a friend of mine who I've met on the river a few times came in. Keigan is from Nova Scotia and has fished some pretty amazing rivers for atlantics. He has a wealth of knowledge. So poor Paul had to sit and listen to us talk about flyfishing for hours before keigan decided to join us and head down to the river for the hour or so that was left in the day.
We really didn't have long to fish as the sun was setting fast so Paul headed to his rock and I went out to my favourite pool. As usual I was just swinging away and out of nowhere was a savage slam and off charged a heavy fish. This fish had some weight to it. It kept deep but the solid headshakes suggested it wasn't a steelhead. the runs just weren't as explosive as fall steel. I was getting frustrated and wondered if I didn't have a big king on because I just couldn't make headway. But the fish did tire fighting the heavy current and the big rod and when it did roll onto its side I saw that I had a BIG atlantic. Not the size of the one I lost in the morning, but still a big hen atlantic. I netted her and took her across for Paul to have a look at. He suggested you buy atlantic at the store so it must taste pretty good so we might as well throw it in with the cohos. I've never taken an atlantic so I figured why not give it a try for a change. My buddy Johnny was on the bank with clients and needed some spawn for his clients the next morning so I let him clean out my fish and we were on our way as it was certainly dark an getting cold.
I'm pleased to say that night went without being interrupted by anyone. We ate a nice meal in the casino and Paul stayed and played for a while. I just headed back to the truck for some welcome rest and alone time. When morning came I decided I was going to rig up specifically for steelhead. The previous evening we'd talked to Johnny and he said the fish were just starting to trickle in to the rapids and most of the larger ones were down at the base in the deeper water, still staging. But the fish he had been getting were in behind the chinooks and specifically targeting eggs. It was time to resort to indicator fishing on and behind the redds. I started riht up on the beds in with the salmon as first light began to poke into the sky. I hooked up once but came unbuttoned after about 20 seconds or so. In the low light it was hard to see and I fouled a salmon or tow, luckily though they just pulled off easily.
As the sun came up I moved down into the darker water behind them and again the line came tight again and shot off. This time the small steelhead came clear of the water before the fly pulled free. Before the sun rose too high I hooked up a third time, this time on a five or six pounder, but again I couldn't drive the hook home and stay connected. I was pretty frustrated with myself at this point. With the hgiher sun the strikes slowed right down and Paul and I headed back out to the deeper water of my favourite pool. Paul did hook up with a bullet of a steelhead that hit like a freight train and lept two or three times before throwing the hook. It was a decent fish and it was a real shame for Paul that it didn't play the game for a little longer. Still a few minutes later he was on again, this time with a big, deeply coloured buck with a fully developed kype. Being a bigger fish it put up a good show took quite some time to come to the net. It was a fitting last fish, deep and heavy.
It was raining and getting colder. Paul's hands and lips were freezing and his resolve was weakening. I headed back up behind the reds for one final attempt at an egg-eating steelhead. Finally the rod doubled over but as the fish shot past me I saw it wasn't a steelhead. In fact it was a giant chinook, still clean and somewhat silver. It was mouth hooked and I almost couldn't believe it. It was also one of the most stubborn fish I've played up there. Whenever I thought it was beat it would shoot back out into the heavy water and dig it's nose down. I fought that thing for over 45 minutes and several times Paul headed out to net it. Each time it saw him or the net and took off again. When the drizzle started to freeze and both of our hands were freezing I began to get more frustrated. It was just a chinook after all. I tighten up the drag and palmed the reel. Under the pressure the tired old buck circled back into the shallow water. he did this a few times and each time I shortened up on him. Finally though, I got just too heavy handed and the hook pulled free. Oh well. My back, shoulders and arms hurt. My hands and face were frozen, the wind was coming up, and my stomach was grumbling. I looked at Paul and his fishing spirit was nowhere to be seen. It seemed we were done.
We grabbed one final meal at Wendys and, after a brief heart attack when I couldn't find my green card, headed back across the border into Americaland. we did have one final sidetrack before heading back though. Paul wanted to pick up trinkets for his family and I wanted to show him the mighty mackinaw bridge so we headed south to the tourist trap on the other side of the bridge. I'm always impressed crossing that thing and Paul had a great time blowing hundreds of dollars on an assortment of momentos and toys. The store owners loved him. We flirted with the pretty gas station attendants again but aside from that it was an uneventful drive back. The kids were very excited to see us the next morning but it wasn't easy getting out of our beds to play with them. All in all it had been a pretty successful trip.
Well as luck would have I finally got whacked and cartwheeling up came a fine atlantic salmon. That was the only time the fish broke the surface but the violent headshakes and dogged runs were very characteristic of atlantics. But although I didn't get a good look I knew it was a big fish. I fought the fish out and when I did get a good look my heart came into my mouth. It was indeed a big fish. A huge fish. I was in the low teens (pounds) for sure, deeply coloured with a huge formed kype. It hadn't fought with the zest of a silver summer fish but it was certainly a trophy. Now Paul had seen the rod and me fighting it (eventually) and, to his credit, was doing his best to wade through the heavy current and he'd never done it before so he had no way to know which way was safe to wade.
The fish was played out and beaten, now gliding as much on it's back as upright and I swung it around into the shallows waiting for the net to arrive. Well the fish had one more headshake with that big kype and that was enough to dislodge the fly. All I could do was watch as my exhausted fish floated back through the heavy water and off towards Lake Huron. I was frustrated and upset and the bumbling, struggling net man was the perfect candidate to blame for my failure. In hindsight I was an arse for letting him have it but it's not like he just rolled over and took it anyway. But for a couple of Wilkes' it was a pretty mild dummy spit and we got over it in a few minutes.
Perhaps what helped most was the two of us went down to a spot known as "atlantic alley". To get there yo have to go through some deep water (but not much current) and you have to have a fair bit of faith in the guy leading you to do it. To Paul's credit he trusted me and we were soon fishign side by side and joking around again. We hadn't been there five minutes when Paul informed me he'd been slammed but didn't hook up. He cast back to the same spot and BANG fish on. The fish struck a long way out and in some heavy current so it took Paul some time to seduce his first Atlantic salmon. We did the usual congratulations and all that jazz but it was short lived as we both wanted to get back to it.
A couple of casts later he was on again and before I got my fly wound in I was hit. The sky above us was looking foreboding, dear and heavy and I hoped there was no lightning in it as we were very exposed and couldn't get to safety quickly if the weather went bad. Paul landed another nice atlantic, a little larger and somewhat fresher than the first. As you'd expect it also fought better and gave him a decent workout.
Paul's first Atlantic Salmon
Another atlantic for PaulMinutes later it was my turn and the spey rod bobbed and waved under the strain. Line peeled from the reel and once the fish made it into the heavy water it was a chore to turn him. This atlantic was still pretty fresh and gave a good account of itself and although it didn't dull the pain of the earlier lost fish, I was happy.
First Atlantic in my hands for the dayThe next few minutes were crazy. A storm front pushed through and dumped hail on us, then heavy rain but while that happened the fishing was insane. We were getting hit every drift and it was just a case of getting the fly into the water and it was "fish on". So much for atlantics being hard to catch! First Paul got a hook jawed male then I hit a larger fish that brought a big smile to my face. From there we just stopped taking photos and enjoyed ourselves. It all slowed down after twenty minutes or so and then we fished for a half hour or so without a hit. We decided to check out another spot.
A hook jawed male
A nice one coming out of the net
Not a bad atlantic so I'm all smilesWe made out way all the way up to the gates on the American side of the rapids and within a few minutes Paul was hooked up. This time his reel was screaming adn he was in a dog fight. The fish shot out of the water like a torpedo and it was clear to see it was a coho that was still pretty silver. Paul has a good time with it and I informed him these things are the best of all the salmon and trout to eat. Consequently it went into a shallow rock pool for later.
Another first for Paul - this time a coho salmonAnother ten minutes or so and I was hooked up with good coho and then Paul with another small atlantic. It was getting almost too easy. The Paul was onto another nice coho and we had some nice fillets of coho flapping about in that rock pool. We also got a few smaller atlantics but we weren't even counting them at this point. We could see large salmon and steelhead porpoising up at the very heads of the gates and despite our best efforts we couldn't get our offering up there. We just kept hoping they'd cruise back into our range. Unfortunately they never did and eventually hunger and nicotine cravings forced us off the water. It had been a great session and I was so glad I'd made the long trip worthwhile for Paul. I felt a heap of pressure had been taken off me.
Me with a coho
Yes, Paul caught the biggest coho
One of the many smaller atlantics After a surprisingly long time to find a place that sold cigarettes we were back at Wendys and reliving the memories of the morning. That was some good fishing and we'd pretty much had the place to ourselves. Once lunch was done we headed over to the local flyshop and got chatting with the owner. While we were there a friend of mine who I've met on the river a few times came in. Keigan is from Nova Scotia and has fished some pretty amazing rivers for atlantics. He has a wealth of knowledge. So poor Paul had to sit and listen to us talk about flyfishing for hours before keigan decided to join us and head down to the river for the hour or so that was left in the day.
We really didn't have long to fish as the sun was setting fast so Paul headed to his rock and I went out to my favourite pool. As usual I was just swinging away and out of nowhere was a savage slam and off charged a heavy fish. This fish had some weight to it. It kept deep but the solid headshakes suggested it wasn't a steelhead. the runs just weren't as explosive as fall steel. I was getting frustrated and wondered if I didn't have a big king on because I just couldn't make headway. But the fish did tire fighting the heavy current and the big rod and when it did roll onto its side I saw that I had a BIG atlantic. Not the size of the one I lost in the morning, but still a big hen atlantic. I netted her and took her across for Paul to have a look at. He suggested you buy atlantic at the store so it must taste pretty good so we might as well throw it in with the cohos. I've never taken an atlantic so I figured why not give it a try for a change. My buddy Johnny was on the bank with clients and needed some spawn for his clients the next morning so I let him clean out my fish and we were on our way as it was certainly dark an getting cold.
A good female Atlantic SalmonI'm pleased to say that night went without being interrupted by anyone. We ate a nice meal in the casino and Paul stayed and played for a while. I just headed back to the truck for some welcome rest and alone time. When morning came I decided I was going to rig up specifically for steelhead. The previous evening we'd talked to Johnny and he said the fish were just starting to trickle in to the rapids and most of the larger ones were down at the base in the deeper water, still staging. But the fish he had been getting were in behind the chinooks and specifically targeting eggs. It was time to resort to indicator fishing on and behind the redds. I started riht up on the beds in with the salmon as first light began to poke into the sky. I hooked up once but came unbuttoned after about 20 seconds or so. In the low light it was hard to see and I fouled a salmon or tow, luckily though they just pulled off easily.
As the sun came up I moved down into the darker water behind them and again the line came tight again and shot off. This time the small steelhead came clear of the water before the fly pulled free. Before the sun rose too high I hooked up a third time, this time on a five or six pounder, but again I couldn't drive the hook home and stay connected. I was pretty frustrated with myself at this point. With the hgiher sun the strikes slowed right down and Paul and I headed back out to the deeper water of my favourite pool. Paul did hook up with a bullet of a steelhead that hit like a freight train and lept two or three times before throwing the hook. It was a decent fish and it was a real shame for Paul that it didn't play the game for a little longer. Still a few minutes later he was on again, this time with a big, deeply coloured buck with a fully developed kype. Being a bigger fish it put up a good show took quite some time to come to the net. It was a fitting last fish, deep and heavy.
Last fish of the trip - a big atlanticIt was raining and getting colder. Paul's hands and lips were freezing and his resolve was weakening. I headed back up behind the reds for one final attempt at an egg-eating steelhead. Finally the rod doubled over but as the fish shot past me I saw it wasn't a steelhead. In fact it was a giant chinook, still clean and somewhat silver. It was mouth hooked and I almost couldn't believe it. It was also one of the most stubborn fish I've played up there. Whenever I thought it was beat it would shoot back out into the heavy water and dig it's nose down. I fought that thing for over 45 minutes and several times Paul headed out to net it. Each time it saw him or the net and took off again. When the drizzle started to freeze and both of our hands were freezing I began to get more frustrated. It was just a chinook after all. I tighten up the drag and palmed the reel. Under the pressure the tired old buck circled back into the shallow water. he did this a few times and each time I shortened up on him. Finally though, I got just too heavy handed and the hook pulled free. Oh well. My back, shoulders and arms hurt. My hands and face were frozen, the wind was coming up, and my stomach was grumbling. I looked at Paul and his fishing spirit was nowhere to be seen. It seemed we were done.
We grabbed one final meal at Wendys and, after a brief heart attack when I couldn't find my green card, headed back across the border into Americaland. we did have one final sidetrack before heading back though. Paul wanted to pick up trinkets for his family and I wanted to show him the mighty mackinaw bridge so we headed south to the tourist trap on the other side of the bridge. I'm always impressed crossing that thing and Paul had a great time blowing hundreds of dollars on an assortment of momentos and toys. The store owners loved him. We flirted with the pretty gas station attendants again but aside from that it was an uneventful drive back. The kids were very excited to see us the next morning but it wasn't easy getting out of our beds to play with them. All in all it had been a pretty successful trip.
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